Sigh. Two NYC Marathons under my belt. And as I sit here typing, two trains of thought run simultaneously along the tracks of my mind:

1) What an awesome day that was!
2) I am never doing that shit again!

I’m told I made that same vow after the last one, though I don’t really remember that now. It’s not hard to believe though, for that seems to be a common refrain heard at marathon finish lines the world over: “Never again!”

And yet, somehow, something always seems to draw runners back to this cruel beast. My mom likens it to childbirth. Somehow, sometime, the pain is eventually forgotten. And it may not be next year, or even the year after that, but chances are that somewhere down the line, you will once again heed the siren’s call.

But for now, I’m sticking to my pledge of, “Over my dead body!” Which at certain choice moments of the race felt particularly likely, let me tell you. But somehow those moments were always overcome. And though I’d like to think that’s due entirely to my own personal strength and fortitude, that would be doing a huge disservice to all of the other runners, the race organizers, and to New York City itself.

A marathon is a shared community experience, and New York is a really special community. Much has been said already about how amazing the crowds are, but it really is true. So much of the 26.2 miles are flanked by cheering spectators, that the few quiet, crowd-free stretches are incredibly conspicuous. But that’s ok, because it just makes the crowded stretches that much more special when you head into one.

One of the most legendary spots on the route is one of the most difficult to put into words: coming down off the Queensboro Bridge and heading down the ramp and around the street towards First Avenue. The first time I ran New York, this bridge was one of the moments whose difficulty took me most by surprise. I wasn’t prepared for how dark, dank, quiet, long, arduous, and depressing this 2+ miles of the course is (much of it uphill). But when you finally, FINALLY head down the other side and around the ramp towards the street, the sudden presence of a huge and cheering crowd is completely overwhelming. All of the boroughs are great, but man, no one gives a welcome like Manhattan. A glance around you will always reveal numerous fellow runners trying to keep it together.

The final two miles toward the finish line are like that, too. I can’t imagine what it would be like without those enthusiastic throngs. Everyone has their own mental games, their own ways of dealing with all the things the body and mind are going through at that point. In my case, when I hit my own wall this time around, I estimated that at my current pace I had about thirty minutes of the race left ahead of me, and my mantra became, “I can do anything for thirty minutes. I can do anything for thirty minutes…” And then, when that thirty minutes dwindled to a mere ten or fifteen remaining, and I felt like my legs were just going to give out from under me, what was effective suddenly morphed into, “The faster you run, the faster this will be over.”

And while I may have doubted my ability to convince myself of such things, the crowds surrounding me cheering my name, yelling, “You can do it!” seemed to convince me otherwise. And before I knew it, I was rounding Columbus Circle and entering Central Park one last time, for that final, glorious stretch to the finish line. And as I crossed it for the second time in my life, all I can remember thinking is, “Thank god that’s over.”

And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The NYC Marathon is a phenomenal event put on by phenomenal organizers in a phenomenal city. If you’re a runner and haven’t run it, well, you should. And if you’re not a runner, there are plenty of ways to experience it, whether through spectating, volunteering, or supporting someone you know who’s running.

Thanks NYC!