In the end, it was everything I had hoped it would be. It was one of those days when it all went right — one of those days that will stay with me for the rest of my life. From hearing the blast of the Staten Island Ferry foghorn to feeling the medal being draped around my neck, every moment, every sensation, is etched into my memory.
OK. I’ll be the first to admit that, at 4:02:17, I wasn’t A-number-one.
At 2:10:53, that honor went to Geoffrey Kamworor.
You couldn’t even call me king of the hill. On the day, those honors really went to Shalane Flanagan, the queen of the hill and the first American woman to win the women’s division in forty years, and to the undisputed king, Meb Keflezighi, who finished his last ever professional marathon — his eleventh New York City Marathon — in eleventh place.
All of them were showered and well into their burgers and beers (or the professional equivalent thereof) by the time I wobbled across the finish line.
But I got to follow in their footsteps. Literally. As far as I am concerned, that meant my day, the whole experience, was the top of the heap.