They run with mothers and fathers, with brothers and sisters, with husbands and wives, or they run with their memories.  They come to outrun their demons and their diagnoses.  They run with members of a team, sometimes tethered to a blind runner by a shoestring.  They race on wheels if they cannot run.  They run to check it off the life list.  They run to eat cake or to chase vanity.  They run to suffer so others will not.  They run because they cannot stop running.  They run to win.  And at the end of the day, at the end of five bridges an five boroughs and 26.2 miles, they will have run because it is New York and they are not alone.

Liz Robbins, A Race Like No Other

     The time had come.  After four months of training, of life centering around this one event, the New York Marathon was upon me.  My Mom had flown in the Thursday before.  We adventured around the city, not really resting so much, because when Mama is in town there is shopping to be done.  Having her near me was everything.  My nerves were out of control and my emotions even more so.  I don’t say it enough.  I love my Mom.  She’s my home, and my biggest fan.  The whole world could be crumbling around me, but her love will keep me together.  She’s probably the biggest reason why I am able to do the things that I do – why I could travel the world alone at 19, move to New York with $2k to my name, and run three New York Marathons.  My Mom has never let me quit anything.  When I called her from Athens, Greece after just one week, crying that I wanted to come home, she wouldn’t allow it.  She asked me if I knew what kind of opportunity I had been given, and if I was aware of how many people would never receive that kind of gift.  She made me stay on one more week, and if after that I still wanted to leave, I could.  Her plan totally backfired, because not only did I fall madly in love with Greece, and travel, and solo exploration, but I never wanted to stop.  And so that fall I would withdraw from college to pursue these gypsy dreams of mine.  I thank my lucky stars for her relentless encouragement and her unshakeable love and support.

     I woke up the morning of the marathon about a half hour late with a weird feeling that something wasn’t going to go quite right.  Anxiety.  At 5:30am while I was getting ready quietly in the dark, my dog suddenly just peed my bed.  He has never done that before!  Even Mr. Jones was nervous!  I quickly got my stuff together, made my bagel, and packed my bag.  I arranged my Uber to take me to the Staten Island Ferry where I was scheduled to take the last, 7:30a ferry to Staten Island where I would then board a bus that would transport me to the runners’ village, where they kept us until it was go time.  I jumped in my car, confirmed the destination, and shut my eyes to try and calm my nerves, breathe, and think positive thoughts.

     After about twenty minutes I opened my eyes to unrecognizable scenery.  Where the hell was I, I thought. “Sir, um, where exactly are you taking me?”  “To Staten Island Ferry,” he answered.

      “Staten Island Ferry in Manhattan right?”  I asked nervously.  “No, to the ferry station in Staten Island,” he replied.

      Now, I live in Clinton Hill, that is in central Brooklyn, which is pretty much directly across from lower Manhattan.  “Sir, why would I take an Uber to Staten Island to catch a ferry that would take me to Manhattan?!”  Panic.  “I have to be on the 7:30 ferry!  I am running the marathon!  Can you even get to Staten Island by car today?”  I started to lose it just as we came to a stop on a ramp that merged onto a freeway leading to S.I..  Holy sh*#!   “Man you have no idea of the kind of social media campaign I have going!  People are counting on me!”  Traffic was totally stopped.  I wanted him to turn around on the ramp.  “I cannot miss this race sir, I just can’t,” I pleaded with tears welling up in my eyes.

      “Miss, I will get you to your race,” he promised.  Just then we started moving.  I looked at my watch – 6:45am.  Then I thought of something – buses!  Some runners took buses all the way to the village!  And there they came, outside my window, as far as you could see – buses.  Okay, I thought, if the buses can get there, we can.  Fifteen minutes later we were stopped again just before the toll booths allowing entrance to Staten Island.  They had all cars stopped as they allowed the buses, carrying runners, through.  Couldn’t I just jump out there and tap on the bus’s door, hold my number up, and board, I contemplated.  I could see runners disembarking  and entering the village just up ahead – it was right there!  I could hop the guardrail and be in line!   The driver wouldn’t have it.  He played by the rules.  He insisted we wait to talk to a cop.  I waved one over.  She wasn’t having it either.  She ordered us to pass through the toll booth and take the first exit, which I could see was completely backed up with traffic.  The village was right there!  So, I allowed the driver to pass through the booth, and as soon as he did and came to a stop, I said “I gotta go now, okay, thank you!”  And with that I jumped out, ran across a couple of lanes, ducked between two parked buses, and jumped the guardrail into line with my fellow runners.  No cops were chasing me.  I was good.  I was in.  I was not going to miss the marathon.  All this and I hadn’t even had my coffee yet!

    The village is something else.  50,000 runners from all over the world.  Bodies were everywhere.  Taking up every square inch of grass with their blankets, coffee and bagels.  Some were sleeping, some stretching, and some reading the paper.  I’d seen it all before.  I knew how it all worked.  I was assigned the orange village, so I followed my signs and desperately searched for the coffee spot, which was a twenty minute, crowded line, where once you made it to the front you were rewarded with a shot-sized cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee (anyone who knows me knows how I loathe DD coffee).  I took three and found my plot of land.

     The weather was perfect.  Warm even.  The sun was shining and we runners were smiling.  I befriended a group next to me.  Runners are my people.  They were so warm and welcoming that by the end I totally felt like part of their circle.  We bonded over bananas, telling our stories, and using a lot of humor to hide our nerves.  We were all in the same wave, but different stalls, so we made our way together once the announcement was delivered for us to head to the start gates.  We each said our goodbyes and good lucks as we found our separate groups.  My heart was pounding as they opened our gate.  As we all began walking in the direction of the start I realized that this year, unlike the two before, I would be starting on the top of the Verrazano!  Yes!  Tears slowly started running down my cheeks, as Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born to Run’ played over the loud speakers, and we ascended the ramp.  Once we were stopped with ten minutes to start, I thought of all of the events that had led up to this moment.  I thought of my cause – of EB, and sent a silent prayer to all of the warriors out there battling it.  I sent another prayer to all of the beautiful souls whom donated to this cause.  I thought of my friends.  I thought of my family.  I thought about how extremely blessed I was.  I thought of little Lane, our butterfly baby.  “Every step I take, little guy, every single step,” I prayed aloud.  And then it was time.  The National Anthem was over, and the gun had sounded, and Frank Sinatra’s ‘New York, New York’ sent us on our way – our journey had begun.

     As I began putting one foot in front of the other fast, I remembered what a friend had told me prior to the race; “Enjoy every mile,” he said, “because before you know it, it will all be over.”  He was right.  And so, I took it all in as slowly as I could in my mind while my feet kept covering mile after mile.  I felt good.  Like, really good.  I looked down at my watch around the 3 mile marker to see that I was averaging 7:40s, which is way too fast for me.  I tried to slow down a little, but I just felt so good, and not at all like I was going too fast.  So I adopted a new strategy.  Instead of starting out slow and reserving some speed for the second half, lets try going strong for as long as we can, because honestly ain’t nobody but the professionals picking up speed after 15 miles anyway.  Let’s just go for it.  Oh how we live and learn.

     Sadly, I missed all of my friends that were scattered about the route.  The tracking app was a bit slow, and well, I was going a bit fast.  It didn’t matter.  I could feel them.  I was loving every single second of my being a total rock-star for a day.  When again will there be 26.2 miles of people, yelling my name, cheering me on?  It’s really freaking magical.  I mean the world’s largest annual tailgate party that not even college football, the NFL, or NASCAR can top is cheering…for ME!  I always say that running the New York City Marathon is the best day of my life thus far.

     It was in Long Island City where things started to get real.  The pain is inevitable.  It is only a matter of time, and your only hope is that it starts as late as possible in the race.  And then it is just trying to keep it at bay for as long as humanly possible before the wheels really start to fall off.  Well, it was just after the Queensboro Bridge for me.  Mile 16.  With ten more miles to go, I was starting to come unraveled.  That is early folks.  Now I knew why you started out slowly – it wasn’t that you went any faster, it was that you starting hurting a lot later.  I was hurting – badly.  I actually did run into a friend at mile 18 – a fellow runner. Her sister had to drop out of the race due to injury, and although my friend thought that I looked great, she told me later that her sister could tell I was battling.  Boy was I.  You know ‘the wall’ they talk about in a marathon.  Yeah, I had hit that wall way before the usual 20 mile marker.

     It is difficult to describe the wall.  I’ve always explained that it is as though everything in your body has caught fire.  And it must be like childbirth in that you totally forget how tremendous the pain was after you’ve crossed the finish line, or given birth, because you find yourself years later actually running another marathon or having another baby!  Mile 22, Harlem.  I had been climbing my wall for a good six miles.  I wasn’t sure how anything was working.  Honestly, I didn’t think that I was going to make it.  I didn’t know how I possibly could.  Mom.  My mom.  She was waiting for me at mile 24.  All I had to do was get there and I could do it.  I would make it, just two more miles, and she will hug me and  I will make it to that finish.  I remember reading a sign a person was holding that read “Adult words are totally acceptable at this point!”  It is true, this is when you really start to talk to yourself like a total crazy person.  And funnily enough the guy next to me was battling too as I heard him rambling curse words under his breath.  Yeah, he was in it too.  We all were.  You could look around at other runners and see their agony, their fight.  You knew that they were feeling the same pain that you were and it was only by a miracle that you were all still moving forward.  “This is where your true marathon begins,” I said out loud to myself.  “This is what separates you from the rest of the world, right here.”  “Go hug your Mama and remember why you are here, what it is all for, all of the people that supported you, all of the pain those babies battle daily, don’t you forget that they are why you will cross that finish line.”  You see, finishing a marathon is a war with your Self.  You have to decide to be stronger than the pain.  It is a battle with your own head.  You must believe the impossible and that you are capable of it, otherwise that’s it, you’re done – you will crumble.  It is crazy and unlike anything.  You see your edge – your very edge.  You stare it straight in the eyes and deny its power.  Instead you shake hands with it, embrace it even, and then leap over it.

    I saw the cane waving in the air with the blue butterfly wings on top – my mom.  Tears again welled in my eyes.  I had made it.  We hugged and in her arms the pain melted away.  Little Jackson, one of my team member’s son, whom suffers from EB, was yelling “GO COCO!”  He gave me a high five, and my team gave me my butterfly wings, and I was off – I was indeed, flying.  I didn’t feel anything.  This, my friends, is what they call the runner’s high.  You have completely detached from your body.  There is no pain, there is only euphoria.  It is at this very moment that you become completely certain that there is nothing in life that you are not capable of.  You will rise up.  You will move mountains.  Despite the pain, despite the roadblocks, despite the doubt – you will triumph.  And that ladies and gentlemen, is the reason why I choose running.

     I crossed that finish line.  My official time was 4 hours 6 minutes.  That is 9 minutes faster than both marathons that I ran four and five years ago.  Out of 50,235 people I placed 14,472nd.  Out of 7,849 runners in my age group, I placed 730th.  These are numbers that I am surely proud of.  But the number I am most proud of is $3,886 – the amount my supporters donated to EB.  That combined with the $2,570 raised running the Half-Marathon means that in 2015 a total of $6,456 was donated by my friends and family to aid in finding a cure for Epidermolysis Bullosa.  My team raised a total of $63,328, combined with the Half- Marathon, our team raised just over $115,ooo for research.

     My experience of running the 2015 New York City Marathon was beyond magic.  I want to sincerely thank all of you, from the bottom of my grateful heart, for journeying along with me.  I have the best friends in the world and without them, none of this would be possible.  I love you all with everything I have.

I hope that you have enjoyed my journey.  Thank you for letting me share it with you.  What is the meaning of everything in this beautiful life if not shared, right?

Cheers,

Vino Bambina

“Marathoners push themselves to the edge of insanity and exhaustion, because when they look back on those 26.2 miles, the view is profoundly satisfying.  They see where they have been and what they have become.  Distance running is a pastime uniquely suited to introspection.  To run is to question why.  To run the New York City Marathon is to discover the answer.”

Liz Robbins, A Race Like No Other