Meg's New York City Traditions

In the past two years, I've come up with a few New York annual traditions. The first, is of course, NOT to go to Times Square on New Years Eve. The second is to spend at least one, if not more, Summer Friday at a dark, dim and air conditioned-to-be-winter bar getting drunk at 2pm in the afternoon when it's brilliantly sunny and warm outside. And I always get wasted the night before Thanksgiving and then eat mail-ordered turkey the next day (that's one tradition).

And, no matter what, I'm a cheering spectator at the New York City Marathon. If you look at the post from last year, you know that the Marathon is significant because Todd has run it the past two years. A year ago today, I abandoned Chris and hunted Todd down. Today, I didn't see him.

I thought about Todd the entire time I was there (and this year, I was alone). I wasn't sure how I'd handle seeing him, if I would cheer or just watch him go by--would he smile, or--God forbid--stop? But I didn't have to answer those questions. I saw my co-worker run by, but not him. I watched for nearly two hours on Cat Hill in the park---but I also didn't see Mr. Lance Armstrong (who I actually did kind of want to see.)

But, all in all, it was a good experience to watch the race. As it always is, it's a sheer mass of humanity (see below) and I love getting behind random people, shouting out "Good Job Katie!" to women I don't know who are running past me.

I think the marathon means more to me than it does to most people. Maybe I'm wrong, but to me it's an example of normal people doing impossible things just by thinking they can. And one day, I'm going to attempt to run it, even though four blocks makes me huff and puff now. I've never really been a runner, but I've spent my entire life proving people wrong, whether I knew it or not. And I'd like to have a goal, like moving to New York was, that I can fantasize and work toward at the very same time.

Doctors told my parents that because of low postural tone, I'd never have good balance or coordination, soI would never be able to ride a bike, snap my fingers, or have normal athletic ability. But at 25 (partially because my parents never told me about this until I was in junior high), I can not only ride a bike but I can rollerblade twenty miles, walk six or seven miles in less than two hours, and am in the best shape of my friends. Mind you, I can't snap my fingers but I think that quirk, among others, makes me unique.

So, to make a long winded, tangent-filled blog entry a bit shorter, the marathon reminds me to look back at everything I've accomplished. All I wanted to do today was go to the race, maybe see Todd, definitely yell for Clancy and walk out of the park, not stop to look for T, and get on the train home. I accomplished that today.

It took a long time, but I have separated Todd from every other guy in my heart. Although I still love Todd and think of him everyday, he's in a portion deep down that I imagine is like a locked box. On Marathon Day, I open that box and take a peek and allow myself to wonder "what if". And then I get back on the train, and go back to reality.

Clapping alongside the runners on Marathon Day represents all the gratitude and pride I feel for what I've accomplished and signifies what challenges I (or anyone) can take on and make happen in the future. All it takes to make it is faith and determination. I have faith, I have determination. And one day, that will be me running, with random people yelling "Go Meg" as I stumble by.

Besides, where else can you feel like the Pied Piper, leading a bunch of Gucci-clad women who are arguing about whether or not to follow you through the twisty, turny paths of The Ramble (taking longer, of course, to get out of Central Park than it would to watch the entire marathon on TV). This is why I love New York.

Postscript: While I was waiting for this post to upload, I went online to see what Clancy and Todd' s times were. It appears that Todd didn't run the marathon at all. I'm not really sure what to think about that. Maybe it's a sign that I will never see him again--but does it matter? Probably not. I'll leave my questions in that box.