This past Sunday was the annual NYC Marathon, and being that the marathon route passes about 2 blocks from our apartment, Meeks and I decided to hop on the G train and travel south to Bed-stuy to watch it there. To our credit, we were enticed out of our comfort zone by our friends Tim & Jen, who promised us homemade breakfast and bloody marys. They didn't dissapoint either - they even met us at the subway with fresh-from-the-oven cranberry walnut scones.
We got a good spot for viewing the runners, just about at the 15K marker, right where all of the runners make a turn onto Bedford Avenue.
Watching this stuff always makes me want to run the marathon too. But then I remember that I actually don't want to run a marathon at all. I just want to watch other people run one, while talking loudly to anybody who will listen about how much I want to run a marathon.
Mike doesn't really want to run one either. Do you know what the hardest part about the marathon is? Clapping. Seriously. I clapped, cheered, and threw two-handed waves for about an hour straight. My arms were like dead weights by the end of it.
You can't see it well, but down the street on the left side is the coffee shop that we desperately wanted to get coffee from. Unfortunately, none of us wanted to risk being stampeded to death. Especially not with the race being televised. How embarrassing would that be?
We did end up seeing the Chilean miner guy go by, but that was the only pseudo-celebrity we saw. We also saw a Superman, a rhino, an orange spandex guy, and a giant banana. The stars of the show though, apparantly, were the NYFD. They had parked their big truck thingy at the end of the street right in front of where the marathon route turned north, and so many of the runners would pause and take pictures of them, or wave at them or salute or whatnot. It was very curious.
No comments:
Post a Comment