Today marked one of New York’s most famous annual events, an event of which I will never be a part: the New York City Marathon.

The route goes through each borough, from Staten Island, through Williamsburg, Brooklyn, into Long Island City, Queens, into Harlem, touching the Bronx, and finally finishing in Central Park. A good way to tour the city, I suppose. Though watching the faces of those running, I’m not sure they were really able to take in the sights.

I went to watch for the first time last year, having two good friends running the race. We watched from the Queensboro bridge and from mile 24 in Central Park. I caught a bit of it again this year, watching from the Upper East Side. Both years, the runners ranged from 25-year-olds to 80-year-olds. Some people on wheel-chairs, some even in costume. I watched some of the tail-end of the runners, going along 1st Ave. Even those, or maybe especially those, people who were walking the race, impressed me greatly. I find it an awesome undertaking.

Supporters crowded the sidelines, some family members, some just come to watch. Some folks joined friends or family in the race, running alongside them for several miles. Some runners stopped to give their spouses kisses, their child a squeeze, or their dog a pat.

Many runners had their names written on their shirts and, knowing how much the cheering helps them, I screamed for everyone whose name I could pronounce. My voice was sore at the end of the race. And my feet were a bit tired from standing for so long. I felt a surge of pride for my friends who had ran it, alongside a reaffirmation of the knowledge that I will never do what they did.

Related posts:

1. Into Running?
2. Run, New York, Run
3. Metblogs NYC Advent Calendar. (Day 22)
4. Thoughts of terror turn to frozen treats.
5. Why I love NY