Everyone knows that the marathon goes up First Avenue, and I knew that. Except that whenever I pictured arriving in Manhattan, in my head, we ran up Second. So, while I was excited to see the crowd I was hearing, exiting the bridge and making a left down to First Avenue just felt really wrong.
But the crowds, as promised, were terrific. They were loud and rowdy (helped, I'm sure, by the bars), reading and screaming my name like they knew me. I counted down block by block until 74th, a rising feeling of nervousness and excitment until I hit the people that actually knew me. Hugs, kisses and refusals of additional supplies. I was happy that I looked good enough that they wouldn't worry before they saw me again.
Up, up, up First Avenue to like 1,950th St.
Then another hill on a stupid little bridge, and back to people with signs!
"Welcome to the Bronx"
"Nice Legs!"
"Go Hotstuff!"
"Beer ===>"
"Your Feet Hurt Cause You're Kicking Ass"
"Who needs toenails? You have glory!"
Steel drumb band, booming something hard rock-y, and then a children's Asian drumming group in full uniform. We couldn't have been in the Bronx for more than twenty minutes to a half hour; in, a semi-circle, and back out. Then, a big hill of a bridge (I will forever notice that all bridges are hills) back to Manhattan.
Leaving the Bronx, there was more than one sign that read: "Run like you stole something."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment