When you follow the thin blue line. It’s noisy. It’s crowded. It’s a pain in the neck to get to the start. It’s hillier than you want it to be. It’s hotter than most runners would prefer.
Deal with it, because the New York City Marathon will always be on the bucket list of anyone who has ever flirted with the idea of joining a mass of humanity on a 42km trek. This is the grand journey through the greatest city in the world. If it were easy, everyone would do it.
The 53rd edition of the annual marathon race in New York City is set to take place on Sunday, November 3, 2024. For the 2024 event, New York City Road Runners said that they had received over 165,000 entries for the race — the second-highest number since the race began. I ran it twice in ’95 and again in ’97 with two friends. Here’s their inspiring story.
There are many bridges to cross — well, five, but two of them are very long. There is an endless straightaway early on and a couple of sneaky-hard hills toward the end that will test the brain as much as the legs. There are also countless strangers cheering and handing out water and bananas and orange slices. And more mass love than anyone not named Taylor Swift will ever feel.
Let me introduce two friends. Craig ripped apart by a road accident, made blind and with failed kidneys, was told he would never leave a wheelchair because of his life-changing event. And ex-Army veteran John. He was an above-knee amputee.
Craig wanted to run the New York marathon. His doctors told him it was impossible for him to stay on his feet for the several hours it would take to walk the 42km distance. The doctors said he could not flush his kidneys through the hole in his stomach during a marathon and so the toxic waste would build up in his body and kill him. He pressed on. He trained hard. He adapted his bagged dialysis. His determination sweeping up, Craig rose to the challenge and said he would complete the event again on crutches if I helped him.
Craig ran his race. That’s him in the red cap.
Craig Jessop
The challenge to train, adapt, and eventually run the New York marathon not once, but twice, in 95 and 97, with the Achilles Track Club led them to complete their race and led me into the most wonderful life lesson. Empowerment is what Achilles is about. Focussing runners on their abilities, not their disabilities.
In ’95 I ran with John Riley as his guide and pack mule, carrying an extra 50kg of supplies. Riley ran that 42kms on crutches. Even now the memory of his palm-size blisters I had to treat during the run makes me wince.
It starts with crossing the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge. The Achilles runners leave first and early. Five kilometres later there’s a big right turn onto the long straightaway of Fourth Avenue. It is not forever, but it feels like it.
Downtown Brooklyn gets the party started. We were happy to see the Pulaski Bridge into Queens which marks the halfway mark, and, up ahead, just in the distance, the Queensboro Bridge that would carry us into Manhattan. The bridge that inspires the music.
One foot, one crutch end, in front of the other, following that thin blue line.
On the Queensboro Bridge, Riley and I were alone, the wheelchair jockeys miles ahead of us when we heard the unmistakable sound of long, loping, rhythmic strides behind us. Ta-dummp, ta-dummp, ta-dummp. We turned to watch the world’s elite athletes jogging by. There is a long sweeping corner that swallows you up at the end of the bridge. We followed them as they disappeared. That is where we felt the roar as we headed downhill into Manhattan’s First Avenue.
First Avenue. Credit: Calla Kessler for The New York Times
You have 16km left. For the next 5km, there are crowds six-people deep on the sidewalks, spectators hanging off fire escapes, music coming from the bars where the taps opened early, and big speakers blasting sounds through the flats in East Harlem.
The crowds, seeing the best of the world’s elite runners, let loose this pent-up visceral symphony of hooting and hollering. Then immediately behind these stars came two unknown lads from Whangarei. The ex-Army vet on his crutches. The crowds could not believe it. The sidewalk symphony hit a roaring crescendo. I shouted to my mate, “Settle down, Riley, you crutched wonder, that cheering is for me. New Yorkers have never seen a pack mule run this fast.”
A couple of kilometres on, outside a notorious Kiwi pub, the patrons — hearing of Riley on the live broadcast — poured onto the road and called us onwards with a rousing haka and shouts of, “Go Kiwi, go!”
It doesn’t have a catchy name like Heartbreak Hill, but that stretch of 39 and part of 41km is every bit as brutal, even if it does not look like it should be. As Mount Sinai Hospital gives way to the start of Museum Mile — Museum of the City of New York, the Cooper Hewitt, the Guggenheim Museum — we were almost at that glorious final right turn through Engineers’ Gate.
Under we went into Central Park. Through the trees to the other side of the Sheep Meadow, we glimpsed the bleachers and bunting and knew the finish line was close. This stretch back in the park felt a little longer than we thought it would. Oh, and that last rise on that final 200 metres, crushing. We rose along with it, too sore to smile for the camera, and we crossed the finish line, pumping tired arms into the air. He made it!
John Riley
In ‘97 there was another runner. Gazza, I’ll call him. Because of his cerebral palsy, he was wheelchair-bound from birth. The doctors told his parents he would never walk. So badly affected by his condition was his balance that it was a constant struggle for him just to stay upright. He would fall over frequently. He could drag his left foot and walk a few steps. He, too, was determined to have his marathon moment. His wonderful mother, Joan, refused to believe the doctor’s prognosis and spent long hours putting the youngster through a tough rehab programme she designed herself.
Gazza was allowed to start early at 5 a.m. Refusing a wheelchair, he dragged that left foot up that bridge and around the course for hours as he limped 42km. He wore out 6 left shoes as the tops of them scraped through to the bare flesh of his foot. He fell 14 times. Each time he got back up and limped on.
He crossed the finish line in a respectable 7 hours 54 minutes and 58 seconds.
Gazza
My humbling journey with these friends, and the experience of the Achillies Track Club, taught me that while we cannot change much about the circumstances that life confronts us with, our attitude to those circumstances and doing something about them is everything.
You will get knocked down in life. We all do. Even judges. You can choose to stay on the ground where you fall, or you can get back up and take another step forward and keep going on to achieve much.
Craig was told he’d kill himself and that it was impossible for him to stay on his feet and walk for 42km — he pressed on. John was told an above-knee amputee had never completed the event on crutches, yet he did, twice.
When you think about it, judicial service is a marathon. If you are appointed in your early 40s it’s an ultra-event! You might not run 42km in court, but the impact on your mind and body, and on those you love, is palpable. Cognitive overload, vicarious trauma, compassion fatigue, and bone weariness from relentless scheduled work, driven not so much by the measure of the ‘quality of your justice’ but ‘file velocity’ will test your limits. I remain constantly in awe of your perseverance, your good humour and resilience in the face of these odds, that none but judges will ever understand.
That’s why we formed JANZ — judges helping judges. Gathering along your way. Quietly in the background. But here when you need us most. Here when, at home or abroad, judicial independence is challenged. Here for you and your whānau. Running alongside you on your marathon.
Anytime, call us for the comfort of a friendly talk. Join us in our regular gatherings. Better still, invite us on down for one! Or take those moments to pause and reset at our break away weekends. Where we gather, try to do some community good, and enjoy the company of friends, new and old.
There is an inspiring song written by American folk musician Si Kahn that speaks to these moments. Especially the Shona Laing version covered by her for the late Paul Holmes series on our differently abled athletes at Barcelona. Try this link
Puri whitiora. Keep fit.
Gerard
What You Do with What You've Got
Chorus:
It's not what you're born with
It's what you choose to bear
It's not how big your share is
It's how much you can share
It's not the fights you dreamed of
It's those you really fought
It's not what you're given
It's what you do with what you've got
What's the use of two good legs if you only run away
What's the use of the finest voice if you've nothing good to say
What good is strength and muscle if you only push and shove
And what's the use of two good ears if you can't hear those you love
Between those who use their neighbours and those who use a cane
Between those in constant power and those in constant pain
Between those who run to evil and those who cannot run
Tell me which ones are the cripples and which ones touch the sun