North Brooklyn Runners: A Community Running Group Serving Williamsburg, Greenpoint, Bushwick, and Beyond!

The first time I ran a timed mile, I was in third grade. It was part of the President’s Challenge Physical Fitness Test, and the course was four times around the block our school was on, which was the same block my family lived on.

The first time around the block, I remember running by my house and thinking, “That’s my house. I can go in and get a cup of Kool-Aid if I want, I know where the pitcher is. That’s my house.” The idea of being able to slip off and go into my kitchen, in the middle of the school day, with no teachers or my mom around, was novel. Running equaled freedom, already.

The second time around the block, the family cat was in the driveway. The day before, my sister had used her Hello Kitty scissors to cut off the cat’s whiskers. So in addition to being royally bored by this tumbling parade of eight-year-olds, the cat was mad, probably at children everywhere. I remember thinking to myself, “That’s my cat. I can leave this run and go pet her if I want, that’s my cat. My sister can’t pet her.” My sister’s punishment for cutting the cat’s whiskers was that she couldn’t touch the cat for two weeks. Note to parents everywhere: This is a highly unenforceable punishment. But I held it over my sister.

The third time around the block, I remember pushing up my long sleeves and thinking, “I’m tired. I’m hot.”

And the fourth time around, at the last corner, by that one house with the tiger lilies planted outside, I remember looking down at my legs. I was wearing turquoise corduroys (elastic waistband) and a white shirt with pale yellow and lavender bows printed on it. I remember looking down at my pumping bright blue quads and thinking, “Hey neat. These are my legs.” It was a moment of startling awareness of my body, of my legs moving me forward when running, and I will never forget the awe of realizing I was making myself go. I harnessed that new awareness and tightened my little fists and stuck my tongue to the side and sprinted to the finish. I crossed in 7:37, which I thought was neat because I had just learned about palindromes. My friend Raoul was right behind me, and my sweaty corduroys clung to my legs. My blonde ponytail stuck to my neck.

Around mile 22 of the 2012 Philadelphia Marathon, 28 years later, I was looking for a distraction. I was tired and falling into a lull, and I needed something to jar my body, hit all its reset buttons, renew my strength for the last push. I had already tried the usual distractions: Sprinting for 10-20 steps, to shake up my body; saying something silly to someone next to me; eating another chew; singing inside. I had already instituted the Coke Per Mile Program: For every mile after 20 that I completed, I gave myself a swig of Coke. Flat Coke I had carried since the start. The CPM Program was effective, but at that point in the race I needed even more distraction. I looked up; I looked at my arms. And then I looked down at my legs.

“Hey neat. These are my legs.”

I realized suddenly, after miles of being in my head, that I was making my legs move. I had a body and I was controlling it. It seems, it sounds, so simple, but it was as startling to me in 2012 as it was in 1984. Wow, neat. My legs.

It was the jolt I needed, just like it was in third grade.

This was after the ups of the marathon: Mile 5, when someone was blasting The Strokes and I was, for about a mile, fueled by the music and running slightly ahead of the 3:00 pace group. Mile 8, in a short tunnel, when Mishka jubilantly screamed. Mile 12, when our group of runners joked about Rosie Ruiz and whether we could, today, pull off a similar false finish of the course. How much easier that would be, to just hop on the subway and be done. Ha ha, whether we should just follow the Philly half marathoners when the course split near their finish, and screw this whole 26-mile thing.

More ups: Mile 13, when Emma, Kurt and Ben appeared, Ben’s voice a perfected cannon of encouragement. I felt like a cannonball, propelled. Mile 16, running with a woman I didn’t know, working together in that beautiful unspoken way. She pulled ahead gracefully at the bridge. Mile 18, when my friend Dan floated in the forest at the side, hands coolly in pockets, smiling and nodding. Mile 21, when I thought about my mom and how fun it would be to tell her I’d gone sub-3, if I could just keep it together.

The dark moments: The what-felt-like-mountains between miles 8-10. I thought about dropping behind the pace group as the leader charged up the hills, but I said, “No, stay.” And then repeated, “No, stay. No. Stay. No. Stay. No. Stay!” Mile 13, when I did think about peeling off for the half and just calling it a day. Mile 19, when I started to get those clouds of light around my eyes that usually mean I’m dehydrated or deficient in fuel. I’d missed getting water at the past two stations because they were crowded, and after the second miss I’d asked a woman next to me, who had gotten water, if I could have anything she had left. She tossed the almost-full cup to the side; she was wearing headphones and hadn’t heard me. Torture! Mile 26, when the announcer shouted there was one minute to make sub-3. Directing my legs to stay calm and focused through the gentle uphill finish, which felt anything but gentle at that point.

When I crossed the finish, 2:59:21, my first sub-3, I took a few long, slow, last steps and started walking. I felt like I was on giant bubbles. I cried a little, I usually do. This was my eighth marathon, and I felt like I had finally, blissfully, internalized some of the mistakes of the previous seven. I got my Philadelphia medal, my water, my heat sheet, and then I looked around for the group of runners I’d been with for 26 miles. Because at the end of the mile in third grade, at the end of our communal sweaty running experience, we all went back to the classroom together. Stuck pencils in each other’s ears and called each other craphead and talked about which lap around the block was hardest. I wanted this same experience with my marathon comrades. I wanted to huddle with our arms around each other’s backs and review the race mile by mile, a unit. I wanted to call them craphead and punch their shoulders.

I realized, after a few moments of wandering, that Philly wasn’t going to be like third grade. I wasn’t going to see these runners on the playground later. The marathoners dispersed, went to their bags or their friends or their private moments on the curb. I didn’t see anyone I’d ran or finished with, and I wouldn’t again. There was a real wistfulness in this for me.

Luckily, there is NBR. I found Tom and we walked to the warm hotel, and then I fell quickly and happily into the arms of brunch and friends. Instead of clinking milk cartons, like in third grade, we toasted IPAs and stouts. And toward the end of the meal, when I spilled goat cheese from my omelet onto my jeans, I dabbed my napkin on my lap and I looked at my legs. I smoothed my hands on my quads, grateful, and then we rested our forks and talked about where we were going next.

-Miriam Beyer

Our final 2012 Team Spot Check-in is volunteer extraordinaire and Saturday morning bridge run regular Mike Darmetko.

NBR: Generally, how is your marathon training going? Any good long run stories? Any ugly long run stories?

Mike: Training is going well. In the past I’ve struggled with some injuries when increasing my weekly mileage. This time around I adapted a “slow and steady” approach and was able to build up to some respectable training volume without falling apart. The highlight of my long runs was a 20 miler I did in Warsaw, Poland where Michelle O. and I arrived the day after she ran the Berlin Marathon. I think we checked into our hotel around 2pm and by 3:30 I was out on the road in a strange city running 20 miles on a gloomy, drizzly afternoon. The drizzle pretty quickly turned into actual rain and I got lost a couple of times, but the paper map I had stuffed in a ziploc bag got me back on track. Despite the difficulties, in the end it turned out to be one of my strongest long runs and I got to see quite a bit of the city.

NBR: What NBR runs have you been attending regularly to prep for the marathon? Have any NBR members really been inspiring you to train hard(er?)

Mike: I’ve been especially inspired by all our NBR Berlin Marathon runners. I was lucky to be able to be there in person and witness their accomplishments, some running their best marathons yet (Mishka, Michelle Okeon), and others who completed the race despite struggling with injuries (Katie Murphy, Charles Atherton). Great job everyone!

NBR: Is this your first marathon? What does running a marathon mean to you?
Mike: This will be my third marathon, but first New York. I had mediocre success in the first, and even more mediocre success in the second, so I have plenty of room for improvement. I’m definitely shooting for a PR. There was a time when running a marathon wasn’t even on my radar, but now that I’m in it, each one is part of the process of getting better and closer to realizing my potential as a runner.

NBR: How does it feel to be asked to represent NBR as a team spot awardee?

Mike: It feels great! New York is special, everyone knows that. With all the hassle of travelling to the start at dawn, waiting around for hours, then running 26.2 miles to be herded like cattle at the end, there are still thousands of people who would kill for my spot. I’m grateful to NBR for this opportunity and will do my best to give back to the team in the future.

NBR: If you were to run the marathon in a costume, what would it be and why?

Mike: Don’t know. In my mind “costume” sounds a lot like “chafing”. Maybe Jessica
, I like her attitude.

NBR: Thanks Mike, keep up the good work.  We are rooting for you, all of our Team Spot Recipients, and all our NYC Marathoners.  Good Luck All!  See you on the Road and hug you at the after party!