So many people crossing the finish line of a marathon look as happy as when I won. They have tears in their eyes. The sport is full of winners.
~Gary Muhrcke, winner of the first NYC marathon
Before you can have a “dream come true,” you have to have a dream. Running a marathon was never really a dream for me, but more like a bucket-list item. All my running friends had done them, and I figured I’d eventually have to do one myself. When I did, it was an amazing experience, but not really a dream come true.
But yesterday I worked the finish line at the Long Island Marathon. My job was to place the medals over the heads and around the necks of the people who ran the 10K, the half marathon, and the full marathon. I wasn’t the only volunteer, so I’m going to estimate that my share was about 1,500 heads. I witnessed an awful lot of “dreams come true” yesterday.
Running a long distance requires focus. There’s no room for emotion while running. There’s no time to express the anxiety felt at the starting line; the gratitude felt for the cheering crowd; the frustration when there isn’t a water stop near enough; the inspiration when a runner in a wheelchair passes you; the disappointment when you know you won’t make your target time; the elation you feel when you pass someone; the incentive or despair when someone passes you; the delight when the running is going well; the fear that you may not finish; and, finally, the joy when you spot the finish line and hear the announcer call out your name. After that long, challenging run, peppered with an array of mixed emotions, both good and bad, who is the first person the finisher encounters? Me.
Some of them hug me. Others blurt out, “Thank you, thank you,” or “I didn’t think I could do it.” They are exhausted, panting, out of breath and often stumbling, but they all express gratitude that I am there to acknowledge their triumph. More than a few told me, “I’ve been waiting to see your face for over five hours.” “I’m a winner!” “I made it!” One runner did a somersault; another did 26 pushups right at the finish line. Sometimes, pairs finished together with hands held high. There was an engaged couple dressed in a bridal veil and tuxedo T-shirt. Fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, sisters and brothers all ran.
There were also many who were strangers at the start, but after finishing the last miles together, became soul mates, comrades. One woman told me she signed up for the half marathon but realized that her friend needed help, so she did the full marathon with her. Now that’s a friend! There were high-fives and hugs. There were men with bloody nipples and shirts stained with salty sweat. There were chafed thighs and cramps that required ice or a massage at the medical tent. None of that diminished the exuberance of the participants.
The overweight people are the most inspirational to me. If that 300-pound man can run a marathon, what am I doing standing here? The large teenage girl tells me, “I did it! I lost 50 pounds already! I did it, and I’m gonna keep doing it.” There are all types of people, all races, ages, sizes: those with runners’ bodies and those with beer bellies; the Asians who give me a “wai,” bowing deeply to receive their medals; the people in costumes: the Hulk, the clown, the man in the suit, the waiter holding a tray of drinks. Teams finish together: New York Road Runners, Black Girls RUN!, Greater Long Island Running Club, We Are Athletes, Fred’s Team, Friends of Karen. Most are running to raise money for charities; some are running just because it’s fun.
If I hang the medal and don’t hear a “thank you,” it’s because they are crying — men and women both. They are the emotional tears of joy that we shed at weddings, births and graduations, and when we see soldiers coming home or look at old photographs. They are the deep, emotional tears that connect us to our loved ones, to our brothers and sisters who shared this experience with us, and to the rest of humanity. “I’m okay,” they all say, and their emotional equilibrium is restored by the time they see their families. I’m the only one to witness the tears. Their families hold signs, scream their names and applaud them. They hold up their children and say, “Look at Mommy,” and sometimes they pass the baby over the fence to finish with her mom.
The marathoners are handed Mylar blankets as they come through the chute. The silver capes make them all look like the super heroes they are, invincible, at least for now. And, for some, it’s a dream come true.
— Eileen Melia Hession —