Buck Hales

The January 1993 issue of Runner's World arrived and I began to pour over the marathon preview section. There it was, the Gatorade ad showing the Verrazano Bridge at the start of the NYC marathon. November 14 target date. I received the instructions on applying for the marathon within a week of writing tothe NYRRC. It is an elaborate process with precise instructions, not unlike obtaining mail order Grateful Dead tickets. One has to send for an application at midnight on May 18th. An earlier postmark disqualifies you. Then the NYRRC sends out applications in a first come first served order. They in turn process the actual applications in the order they are received. Some allowance is made for out of state locations. They accepted the first 12,000 in order, then the next 8,000 slots were by lottery, with 5,000 reserved for foreign applicants. The instructions said that first round notification would be by July, and if you made it in the lottery that you would be notified by mid August. If you were wait listed you would know by the end of August with final notice by Sept. 30. I scrupulously followed the instructions, mailed off my pre application and anxiously awaited the arrival of the official application. It came with 2 days to spare and I sent it off hoping there was a chance for getting in.

Arrangements were made for a visit to Rockefeller in November to give a seminar at the Population Council, yet I still hadn't heard if I was in. As August dwindled I started to realize that I really might not get in. Then it came. "UNFORTUNATELY..." you didn't get in, "HOWEVER..." you are on the waiting list and have an excellent chance of still being accepted. I re-examined my fall running plan and targeted myself for the Chicago marathon which was scheduled two weeks ahead of NYC.

I realized that I was going to NYC regardless of getting in to the marathon. Our good friend Jim Dezazzo lives in Huntington on Long Island near Cold Spring Harbor where he works. Jim and I have traveled to many a Dead show together our floors were always available to each other for overnight guests. This seminar and marathon tour seemed to be taking on many of the characteristics of traveling to a Dead show. Jim e-mailed me in Sept.: Jerry Garcia at Madison Square Garden, Nov. 12th, and we have tickets! What a bonus, being able to see Jerry Garcia in the Garden, see the marathon and give a talk at Rockefeller University. Plans were in place, I was getting psyched up for running Chicago and contacted all concerned to tell them I would probably be watching with them not running it. Then, Sept. 27th I got the word: CONGRATULATIONS! I was the 22, 475 runner accepted.

Being stricken with the Beijing Flu sure didn't help my marathon training. In fact, just 5 days before the marathon I had a relapse and seemingly an eye infection which caused me great anxiety. How could I wear my contacts for 6 hours with my eyes like this? I just hoped it would be warm so I could wear my sun glasses instead. What prophecy! I traveled to NY bearing an entire suitcase filled with different running outfits to accommodate all possible weather conditions. I could have just brought a singlet and shorts as it turned out to be very warm indeed.

On Thursday night Jim picked me up at Laguardia and we stayed up until after 2 A.M. having some beers and eating slices. Slices are the major form of sustenance for New Yorkers. The next morning we went out to Fire Island and went for a short run on the beach. It was a gorgeous blustery day on the beach with pounding surf and a beautiful blue sky. We never quite got breakfast before we headed off on the Long Island Rail Road to the city. A one hour ride on the north edge of the island culminating in Penn Station. We emerged from the train station at 7th Ave and 31st Street and there it was NYC! There were thousands of people rushing every which way. NYC is turned up about 2 notches relative to Chicago. We headed up 7th and soon found ourselves in Times Square in the worlds largest smut market. We quickly circumnavigated the area because we were on a mission, we had to make it to the marathon expo on 52nd Street before heding back to Madison Square Garden at Penn Station.

The first half of the marathon expo was in the Hilton where you picked up your number. The expo consisted of some 20 booths representing different marathons around the world: Paris, Berlin, Stockholm, Milan, Barbados, the Bahamas and Disneyland. The 1994 Chciago marathon was represented in last booth in the row and there sat Carey Pinkowski. He was glad to see some Chicagoans and gave Jim and me each a 1994 marathon T-shirt. We gleaned a few goodies but the expo was very limited. The Chicago marathon expo is a far greater spectacle than what we saw in NY. Our next stop was at the Sheraton 2 blocks away where we went to pick up my race packet, T-shirt, disco dance and pasta dinner tickets. The line was over a block long and an estimated 35 minute wait. I met people from New Jersey, London, and NYC. All but one of them were running their first marathon. The predominant goal of the majority of people I met was to break 5 hours. In Chicago people want to break 4 hours for their first marathon. The expectation predicted the outcome. Part two of the expo was comprised of packet and T-shirt pickup and the NYRRC gift shop. The only vendor was the club itself and they sold 100's of items. I collected my packet and Jim and I walked back south to the Garden. We finally got a quick bite at a Falafel stand (thank goodness!) and then saw a tremendous concert. It was a very Dead crowd but this concert was pure Garcia. He had two female vocal backups, horn, bass, keyboard and drum. It was a very hot show, he played energetically in perfect voice and took it up, brought it down, went all out with it and also played very sweet and quiet. It was fabulous, especially "Lay Down Sally" and "Tangled Up In Blue". But no encore. There was still a long night ahead what with it being Friday at midnight in the city. After the long train ride home I was in bed by 3 AM.

The next day, Saturday before the Marathon, Jim, Tree and I traveled into the city and I checked into my room at Rockefeller University. A very convenient arrangement, courtesy of the Population Council, which placed me less than one mile from the departure point for the bus ride to the start. I ascertained that I would have to check out before the marathon, but that they would secure my luggage for me. Then we walked across Manhattan to the Upper West Side to rendezvous with Joan, George and Brian Osborn. Joan came to the city with four runners from Fast Tracks, the women's running club she started in Philly. The six of us headed up Columbus past the Museum of Natural history to a fine restaurant where we met up with the Philly contingent. We dined on pasta and were allowed one beer. The Osborns headed off the Brian's place and Jim, Tree and I hopped on the subway and headed off to Greenwich Village. Saturday night in the village, a cosmopolitan and energetic swarm of interesting peoples. We cruised the streets for about an hour experiencing the scene. As it neared 11 P.M. I decided that I should perhaps get some sleep as I was running in a marathon the next day. We hopped on the subway together. Jim and Tree got off at Penn Station and I braved the subway system alone trying to find my way from the blue line to the green line for the ride uptown. When I was traveling in the tunnel from Times Square station to the S connector that took me to Grand Central Station I found myself on the platform waiting for the train with 20 or 30 other people. Suddenly there was a commotion. A drunken man fell off the platform face first onto the tracks. The train was coming and he was unconscious. Two New Yorkers leapt into action. One jumped off the platform and straightened him up while his partner hoisted the man onto the platform. The drunk emerged with a bloodied face and staggered between his two rescuers as they escorted him to the police stand. A genuine act of heroism and people say that New Yorkers refuse to get involved!

I made it to my room without further incident. Despite the lateness of the hour and the fact that I had just walked several miles, I was wide awake. I prepared all of my clothing and gear for the run, packed my bags and watched the 79 channels of cable TV until about 1:30 AM until I finally fell into a fitful sleep. 5:30 came all to soon. I prepared coffee with my portable maker, ate a power bar, drank two quarts of Gatorade and headed off. I checked my bag, hail a taxicab and was delivered to 5th Avenue and 42nd Street by 6:30. All I had was a $20 bill in my shoe wallet and the cabby had no change. Good luck was all he could say.

The efficiency of bus loaded and transportation to the race site was impressive. The thousands of us who were arriving at the same time were herded into lines, our numbers checked and we lined up for the buses. One whole city block of buses would load with 50 to 60 people at once, then all would depart together. The task of transporting 25,000 people to Staten Island was a tactical marvel and we arrived by 7 AM. When we got off the bus there were dozens of volunteers lined up cheering for us directing us to the staging area. Our numbers were checked and we were directed through the chutes into the secured area where we were video taped and our numbers were manually recorded. This was the first of the several check points to ensure that finishers ran the entire race.

The staging area was like a cross between a bovine feed lot and a military compound. We had to wait for nearly 4 hours before the race started. The grassy area was muddy and it was a nice warm day so waiting in the tents was out. I wandered around for a while, took coffee and a bite of a bagel (they had coffee-- black, with cream, with sugar, with both, hot chocolate or tea) served off of flat bed trailers by the American Red Cross. And there was a ton of bagels and donuts. The hottest commodity was water and they PA kept encouraging us to drink up. I found a kindly gentleman with two garbage bags spread on the ground who invited me to share one with him. He was a clergy man from Baltimore whose goal it was to run a marathon in all 50 states. What a great idea! Of course he was just a few years older than me and this was his 40th. He said finding a marathon in Wyoming seemed to be the biggest challenge.

As time wore on and the water went through, I made several trips to the world longest urinal. It was literally over 100 yards long and constructed of plastic pipe cut in half and duct taped together. Thousands of men were lined up at it and it was a river of urine. What an incredible volume flowed through the kidneys of the 20,000 male participants. I was quick to notice that one should avoid standing near the taped junctions which leaked precipitously. There were some 350 port-o-pots which were doing a swift trade as well. The powerbar, coffee and bagel manifest themselves in that venue at least twice before race time as well.

Back on the garbage bag I observed the swelling crowd. The Brazilian contingent were beating a drum and dancing in their bare feet on the asphalt for the entire time. There was a group exercise session to warm up. I wandered over and observed several thousand people doing "lite aerobics" while famous aerobic dancers lead the group from the stage. The aerobic area was a sea of churned up mud by the time the exercises were in full bloom. The largest segment of foreign runners are the French. I heard that the NYC marathon is the second largest French marathon, second only to Paris. There were many Germans, Dutch, Swedish, Belgium, Spanish, and Italian groups clustered together. I felt a part of a great international smorgasbord. Mayor Dinkens made a speech. There were religious services for Christians, then Jews. The PA kept intoning us to drink water. The urinal flowed. Excitement mounted. I ventured to the gear check buses. There were some 200 of them all lined up. I found the "Ha" bus and ditched my bag. A salty old gent told me "see that bag here. It will be at the finish. If you want your stuff back you have to finish too. Kept that in mind..." At mile 9 into the race I actually recalled his advice.

We were called to the staging areas. There were three starts. Blue and Green (all men) and Red, where all the women and many men, including myself, started. We began to jam forward. The PA announced "do not throw your clothes into the trees, hand them to volunteers" with each announcement, dozens of sweat pants and jackets flew in the air on to the burdened branches of the few thin trees. As I inched forward there was a commotion. The Brazilian women were coming through. About 10 or twelve of them had hooked arms together and were pushing through the crowd. I followed them all the way on to the Verrazano bridge. I pushed ahead and finally stopped at the 3 to 3:30 hour sign. I was about 300 yards from the start. I looked back and the crowd stretched out for at least a mile. What an incredible crowd. I looked around and much to my surprise two people over was Susie from track practice. Incredible. The gun went off and in 30 seconds we moved forward. We shuffled for about the first quarter mile, then jogged slowly for another quarter. It took me over 22 minutes to cover the first two miles. On my way over the bridge I could see the feet of the Statue of Liberty, her head shrouded in the mist. There was a fire boat in the Narrows spewing columns of red, white and blue water.

My first impression of Brooklyn as we headed up 4th Avenue was that it was incredibly hot. They said it was only 70 degrees but it was humid, crowded, sunny and the air was very still. I tried to maneuver my way into a better position as I was pinned in by the huge number of bodies. I couldn't even swing my arms it was so crowded. Finally when we got onto 4th it opened up slightly and I fell into a bit of a rhythm. We were nose to back almost the whole race. The crowd in Brooklyn was great. There were grunge bands blaring out load rock and roll about ever two blocks. The fire stations had their hook and ladders up with the names of the firemen from that station who were running. In the median there were squads of high school cheerleaders. I took Joan's advice and had someone letter "BUCK" onto the front of my shirt. As I plodded along many spectators would shout "go Buck go!" I was all the way to mile 5 before I got a good split, 8:30 pace. OK, I thought, on target. Knowing I had PRed at every distance this season, I decided I should PR at NY. This, of course, was a foolish notion. Many people had told me not to even think about it. By mile 8 I decided to forget it. At each water stop I drank two cups and felt a wave of nausea. By the time the next water stop came I was fighting a head ache due to dehydration. It was so hot and I began to struggle early. By mile 9 I felt dreadful.

I passed the site of the famous runner's wedding but there was no evidence of it by the time I got there. We rounded past the Williams Burg Savings Bank and onto Lafayette Ave. A brief respite from the sun as the avenue was tree lined. While I plodded along unable to purge those negative thoughts I was having, I kept hearing my name called. Joan was right, it was so encouraging to hear people cheer for me. Then I heard this guy compose a rap song just for me:

"here come Buck/ he don't give a F___/ the Buck stops here/ but Buck ain't gonna stop/ Go Buck Go!" What an uplift I got.

The adrenaline drained quickly and the nausea subsided as the head ache returned. I pondered my training, should I have raced so much, should I have partied so much in the last two days... as mile 10 approached I looked forward to water-- but they were out! Too many thirsty runners. A big psycho down turn as we entered Crown Heights. The crowd gave way to the Hassidic Jews all dressed in their black frocks, wool or fur hats, long sideburns and tasseled belts. They lined the sidewalks but stood in absolute silence staring out at us. It became so quiet. All you could hear was the sound of thousands of feet hitting the sidewalk in a sad and forlorn cadence. This was the absolute bottom of the race for me. And we were only at mile 11!

At last I got some water and traded the head ache back for the nausea. When we passed the half way point in Queens a drunk came out of a bar and shouted "you can stop now, there's already been a winner" I checked the time, it was just over 2:10. I thought that whoever won must be used to running in the heat, and that I had a whole second half of the race to do yet. As I ran onto the Queensboro Bridge I felt a cooling breeze for the first time. I realized I was experiencing neither nausea nor a headache for the first time in 10 miles and began to anticipate Manhattan. I picked up the pace and began to pace a few people. I heard my name called and found myself running with Joan and Andrea, one of her runners. Joan was keeping up a steady chat which, combined with the nice breeze, really lifted my spirits. We descended the bridge together and came onto 1st Avenue. The sound of the crowd was deafening. There were a million spectators lined up 8 people deep on both sides of the street as far as the eye could see. What an incredible thrill it was! The run up 1st Ave was great! Miles 16 to 18 breezed by. I saw George, Brian, Tree and Jim at 82nd street, exchanged high fives and plodded on.

The crowd of runners thinned for the first time at about mile 18. We entered Harlem and the sidewalks were mostly vacant. As we neared the 20 mile mark there was a garage band set up on the corner blaring the immortal Jimmy Hendrix tune "Purple Haze" at 150 decibels. At mile 20 we crossed the Willis Ave bridge into the Bronx. There were so many people on the carpet walking that I had to run on the metal. The studs on the bridge were like needles poking into my sore feet. I knew my feet were shot. Even at mile 7 or 8 my toes were so sore I knew I must have lost a few toenails already. The studs on the bridge didn't help. The tour of the Bronx was ever so brief and we were soon back in Manhattan. By mile 21 I felt great. At mile 22 I thought about picking it up but told myself to save it for the finish. So many people were walking then I must have passed 5000 people in the last few miles. It got thick with runners again and people were stopping to walk abruptly. It is difficult to maneuver around so many walkers at that point in the race. I passed the guy wearing the Gumby costume. His face was purple from the heat and the green felt material looked saturated with sweat as it hung down around his knees. No wonder he was walking.

It was up hill all the way to Harlem. Now we were going generally down hill. We entered Central park at mile 22 or so and began to run over the dreaded hills. I found little difficulty going up these gently rolling hills and accelerated on the down side. The crowd of spectators was intense. It seemed that some of the most beautiful women in the world were cheering for me personally, calling my name as I ran by. Mile 25 onto Central Park South, nearly to the end. I was so tired, my feet were screaming, my legs quivering, my vision had tunneled out. I wanted to stop, to be done, and the last mile seemed to go on forever. At last we rounded the last turn into the finish area. I crossed the finish line doing my best possible kick, arms held over head, triumphant. 4:20! About 30 minutes slower than I expected, but I was so happy to have finished. A volunteer wrapped a silver blanket around me and hung a medal around my neck. I cried with joy.

The silver people shuffle wound its way for about a mile to the gear check buses. Everyone was so happy then. I talked to a Brit with rabbit ears on his hat as we found the Ha bus again. The goodie bag had an apple, a banana and a snickers bar in it. I shuffled to the family reunion area and meet up with the Osborns and Jim and Tree. We tried to catch a taxi, fat chance, so we walked from Park Avenue to York. I was wearing my medal and limping on my sore blistered feet. Dozens of New Yorkers came up to me, slapped my back, shook my hand and congratulated me. I was cheering for you, they would say. I felt like a hero! What an experience! When I finally removed my shoes I came up three toe nails short and had a sausage sized blister on my second toe. That was the worst of it. Who needs toe nails anyway.

December 15, 1993