After watching the start of the race from the comfort of our couch, Zdenek, Peter, and I zipped across town to 1st Avenue and 69th Street, where we arrived in time to see the elite women and men sprint past at 16 miles. One hot chocolate later, we were lined up at the 25 mile mark in Central Park -- the ideal place to see the eventual winners breaking from the rest of the pack. Then it was time to meet up with Caitlin to yell, clap, and pump our fists for two straight hours. Caitlin and I, screaming and cheering in all our blond glory, encouraged at least a few men to pick up the pace. (Peter opted to cheer for anyone wearing a "Timex" or "PowerBar" shirt, while Zdenek moved as far away as possible to save both his hearing and his dignity.) While I didn't get to run 26.2 today, I did receive several propositions to accompany a few men on their last mile and a half, one tossed Twix bar, and an acknowledging wink from a smiling Frenchman.
By 2 pm we were cold, hoarse, and suffering optical illusions after watching thousands of runners go by. So just as though we'd actually run the marathon, we rewarded ourselves with pizza and beer at the end of it all.
Caitlin and I took a break from screaming to snap this photo
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