On Running the New York City Marathon

Crystalizing my experience participating in NYC’s most iconic sporting event

The idea to run the New York City Marathon was always a pipe dream of mine. The seed was planted when I attended my first marathon after moving to NYC in 2014; I was immediately blown away by the spectacle that it was. I was inspired again when my brother ran it in 2018 to raise money for the Pat Tillman Foundation. Both times I considered entering the race, the inspirational spark came and went without a real sense of urgency to do it.

This past March, I finally got the push I needed. I was celebrating being one year cancer free after beating testicular cancer in 2022, so I had a cause I believed in and felt close to that I wanted to support in the Livestrong Foundation. After some coaxing from loved ones, I bit the bullet and agreed to begin the fundraising process to run for Livestrong. Raising money proved to be the easy part, which was fortunate given my supportive network and the worthy cause Livestrong stands for. Now, it was all on me.

I actually enjoyed the training component of it more than I thought I would. Having something other than work to truly focus on felt great. Getting into the routine and mindset of a runner was no easy feat, and I faced my fair share of injuries during my four months of training. Nonetheless, it was fun to use running as an excuse to explore whatever city I found myself in — whether that was Kiawah, Madison, Wisconsin or Philadelphia.

In the days leading up to the race, I was incredibly nervous. I wasn’t entirely sure I could do it. I had been dealing with some nagging injuries that caused me to miss two crucial weeks of training, including what was going to be my longest run of 20 miles. On top of that, I began to realize that I didn’t place enough emphasis during my training training on the grueling hills I’d face across NYC, as most of my long runs happened to be in flat landscapes with little elevation challenges. At this point, it was too late to go backwards and play the “what if” game. The bet I decided to make was on getting healthy and being able to bring it on gameday.

Getting to the marathon on race day was a marathon in and of itself. What started with a 4:00 am alarm and an early breakfast was followed by an uber to MetLife Stadium, where I was on a bus by 5:00 am to Staten Island. We arrived at marathon village by 6 am as the first group there, where we were greeted by coffee, bagels, waters and endless rows of porta potties. Given my late start time of 10:20, and the fact I was running the race solo, this left for a lot of alone time with my thoughts. I stared at the daunting Verrazzano Bridge like I was staring down a boxing opponent. It was fun to people watch and listen in on other runners’ conversations about how many marathons they’d done and how excited they were for this one. Looking around at the people of all shapes, sizes and ages gave me confidence that as a 31 year old in good shape, I could do this. I got the chance to see a few friends briefly before I kicked off the race which also eased my nerves.

The weather was perfect — we’d reach the low 60’s with sun and not much humidity. As we were ushered into our corral 30 minutes before the start, I got a quick warmup in and one last trip to the porta potty. Then, it was showtime.

We were ushered onto the Verrazzano Bridge to start the race off. I received multiple “congratulations” from fellow runners after they saw my Livestrong survivor bib on my back. One aspect of marathon village I particularly enjoyed was seeing the causes other runners were supporting — whether that was running to raise money to support a sick relative, or running in memory of a friend who passed friends who passed, seeing the breadth and severity of peoples’ causes certainly put the run we were going on into perspective. After the singing of America the Beautiful, the starting gun sounded, and New York, New York blasted out of the speakers… we were off to the races.

My strategy was to start slow and conserve energy. The first ~10 or so miles I did just that, cruising at roughly an 11 minute pace. I felt great, running light and easy. Brooklyn was a total party — Williamsburg might have been my favorite part of the race. I was feeling good, getting into the groove, and Bedford Ave was absolutely wild. I even took some opportunities to pump up the crowd and high-five some spectators. This marathon thing felt like a breeze!

As I got closer to the halfway point, my quads started to feel incredibly tight in a way they hadn’t before. I think I was either not as warmed up as I thought I was, or just not prepared for the hills I faced in Brooklyn (the easiest of the course). This nerved me up and I started to try to slow down even more to conserve energy and strength for the challenges I knew lied ahead. Everything I had been told by coaches and past runners signaled that the true marathon starts when you enter Manhattan around mile 16.

As I approached the end of Queens, I was definitely not cruising like I had been earlier. In fact, I almost felt like I was running in a way that I never had before because my quads were truly on fire. I stopped once and walked a couple of times briefly but overall kept pushing myself to not slow down and let up.

The Queensboro Bridge was my first major challenge. Everyone talked about how hard it was, so I knew what was coming. You leave the crowds completely and enter dead silence. This was the first time I threw on my headphones to get a little boost, but I knew I’d get an even bigger boost with my family waiting for me at the other end of that bridge. My body was hurting. I was nervous about the remainder of the race, knowing I was already in such pain.

Coming off of the Queensboro Bridge was a feeling unlike one I could ever do justice in writing. I put my music away, and as I descended down the bridge, I started to hear the roar of the Manhattan crowd. Finally, I turned the corner off the bridge, and I felt like I was running through the tunnel of a stadium as a professional athlete taking the field. I’d never experienced anything like it. About 200 yards after I exited the bridge, I found my family, and got a much needed boost from the entire section around them chanting “Evan! Evan!”. I ran harder than I had been and picked up my form because I didn’t want them to see me struggling that early and worry… but I was definitely struggling more than I thought I would be. And the funny thing was, it wasn’t even the muscles I had injured during my training. There’s a life metaphor in there about what happens when you have a great plan and then get punched in the face.

Then came First Avenue… the next major hurdle of the race. From 59th street all the way to 125th street, you’re climbing one long, daunting hill. The good thing for me was that most of my friends were scattered throughout this section of the race, so I got some much needed boosts here. I put on a strong face and kept my feet moving but I was having a hard time. I had never felt my quads this tight. I almost felt like I was running straight-legged. How could I not run more hills during training? Should I have placed more of an emphasis on lifting? All of the questions and doubts started to wash over me at this point in the race. I’d see a friend, put on a strong face and pace, then when I had a moment slow down and try to shake out my legs. I definitely had to stop and walk a few times, but I’d give myself 20 steps before I had to keep running again. Starting and stopping was almost harder than the pain of just continuing to run.

The Bronx was where things started to get ugly. Heading up the Willis Avenue Bridge, you start to see bodies — runners laying on the side of the road, hobbling, sitting, or even heading to the medical tents from dehydration and cramping. This is where I told myself to focus on the people who were still moving and not those on the sidelines, because I was a few steps away from being in that position myself (or so I thought). It was a short but painful stint in the Bronx before I re-entered Manhattan.

This is where the cruelest part of the entire race came into play — miles 23–24.5. It’s arguably the toughest uphill of the course on 5th Avenue, and I was in uncharted territory given the longest I’d ever run was 18 miles on relatively flat terrain. At this point, I found myself talking out loud to myself to push myself to continue. I’d run a few blocks, stop for a second, then force myself to run another few blocks. Dark thoughts flooded my brain and I thought about what excuses I’d have if I were to call it quits. Despite my spiraling thoughts, the crowd was truly unbelievable and willed me to get to Central Park. During this point of the race I went through pretty much every emotion, from fear of failing, to anger for not training more effectively, to being on the verge of tears from the amount of pain I was in. Self-talk kept me off the ledge, and the crowd kept bringing me back to the moment. It was here where I had to continue to remind myself why I was running this race in the first place — I had to dig deep to keep pushing.

Finally, I got to Central Park. I still felt absolutely terrible, but I was relieved knowing I made it this far. It felt familiar, and for what felt like the first time in almost 7 miles, I wasn’t going straight uphill. Seeing a bunch of friendly faces in the park also gave me some much-needed adrenaline to keep going. It’s a beautiful, winding finish. You’re guided to the finish line by banners on both sides of the course of all of the Hall of Fame runners who did this same course in the past. It was emotional. I could not believe I had finally made it here. I was among them. All of the training, the injuries, the sleepless nights worrying whether or not I’d actually be able to finish… I made it.

Crossing the finish line felt like I shed that 50-pound gorilla on my back. Looking around at the other runners, that feeling seemed to be pretty consistent. Tears were as common as sweat. Even those who had done it before were jubilant. The feeling of accomplishment when the medal was placed around my neck was worth every ounce of pain and suffering I endured in the five hours prior.

I learned some key lessons along those 26.2 miles that I will be taking with me for the rest of my life.

• Run your own race — you can’t waste time and energy focusing on what everyone else is doing… otherwise you’ll overwhelm yourself never get anywhere. Stay in your lane and focus on the race you want to run, because no two races are identical.
• You need your team — I couldn’t have made it much further than mile 16 if I hadn’t gotten the boost from my family. That’s not just true of the race… they supported me throughout the training and were with me every step of the way.
• Can’t fake preparation — it’s clear on race day who put in the work and who didn’t. No matter how good you feel that day, the people who do well are the ones who put in the work for four months, not for four hours.
• Control what you can control — there are so many elements of this race that are out of your hands. Focus on the things that you can have an impact on and don’t worry about the rest.
• Mind over matter — regardless of how hard you trained, there is no doubt this race will have moments of pain, uncertainty and doubt. The human mind is more powerful than we give it credit for — put it to work in life’s darkest moments and let it get you back on course.

If it doesn’t challenge you, it won’t change you. I will be forever changed by the New York City Marathon.