It’s around noon on Saturday, Nov. 2. I’m in Brooklyn at my usual weekend diner, catching up on my friend’s YouTube channel while sipping on water and eating pumpkin pancakes. I could probably convince you that it could be any old Saturday right now, but it’s not.
I just finished an easy, three-mile shakeout run and did a couple of fast strides—my last, little, final prep before tomorrow’s New York City Marathon.
I’m no stranger to the marathon world, as tomorrow will be my ninth marathon and second NYC Marathon. I’ve traveled all over the world to run marathons, and, in fact, I hold the world record for the youngest, fastest woman to run all six World Marathon Majors. Because I’m typically traveling for a race, no Saturday before a marathon is ever the same, which is why I’m taking extreme comfort in the fact that I’m at home today—in my home city, at my home diner, after sleeping in my own bed last night.
As I continued about my Saturday, taking my traditional pre-race “everything” shower and shaving my legs, painting my nails, drinking all the electrolytes, stretching and foam rolling, setting out my race kit, warmup sweats, and the gels I’ll be taking during the race, I remained pretty calm, but it’s inevitable that the excited nervousness, or nervous excitement, builds as the hours tick on, closer and closer to race day. By the time I met up with my extremely supportive parents (they lovingly call themselves my assistant coaches) who flew in from Milwaukee for the race and one of my closest friends for dinner (it always has to be what I call PR pasta, short for pre-race pasta AND personal record pasta), I was buzzing with excited nerves for tomorrow. After dinner, I gave them all hugs, hopped in an Uber, and went home to bed.
Now if you sleep well the night before a marathon, I want to know who you are, because I always wake up at least five times to go the bathroom (at this point, you should be a hydrated queen) and shoot up out of bed before my alarm, no matter how early that alarm is set for. While I did get to wake up in my own bed, which is not typical for me before a marathon, Sunday, Nov. 3 was no different in terms of waking up before my alarm—smiling, nervously twitching a little, but ready to roll. Since I had to be on a bus leaving from the Upper West Side at 5:30 a.m., my wakeup call in Brooklyn was 3:45 a.m., so I really did appreciate the extra hour of sleep from daylight savings time.
The best part about leaving for the race from my apartment was that my neighbors were able to yell out affirmations to me like “Bless you, child!” and “I’m wishing you well!” (don’t ask me what they were doing outside at 4 a.m.—welcome to Bed-Stuy), as I hopped into an Uber with my teammate/training partner, headed to Manhattan.
The good vibes continued once we got on the bus with a bunch of usual faces—our other teammates. I ate my typical race morning peanut butter bagel and banana and consumed my salt water concoctions (key before a marathon if you’re a heavy, salty sweater like me). As we inch closer to the starting line, driving over the Verrazano Bridge, looking back at the big, beautiful concrete jungle across the water, an indescribable feeling rushes over me, getting me absolutely hyped out of my mind for what’s soon to come.
I don’t take it for granted that I’m part of an elite group of runners who get to travel to the start in a warm coach bus and be indoors before the race—with our own bathrooms, coffee, food, hydration, and places to put our feet up—because most people have to just sit on the grass outside. We’re the first group to go off behind the professional field, at 9:10am, and we have our own National Guard escort (they all link arms, which is super cool) to the starting line. The National Anthem is sung, the race director introduces the professional field and makes his final remarks, I fist-bump and hug my teammates and competitors for the last of the best wishes on a great race, and before I know it, the starting canon (yes, you heard me right, a canon!) goes off, Frank Sinatra is singing “I want to be a part of it, New York, New York,” over the loud speakers, and in this magical moment, we’re off to the races up the very same, very large bridge we just drove over a few hours earlier.
What makes running the NYC Marathon so special and unlike any other marathon in the world is that you get to run through all five boroughs of the city, starting in Staten Island, going over the Verrazano Bridge to Brooklyn, the Pulaski Bridge to Queens, the Queensboro Bridge to Manhattan, and the Willis Avenue Bridge to the Bronx, before heading back into Manhattan to finish in THE Central Park. Name a more iconic race course (I’ll wait). The crowd support and energy of the NYC Marathon is unmatched, where the only time you won’t have 100,000 fans cheering you on is when you’re passing over any of the bridges.
Although I always carefully study a marathon course before race day, it can’t compare to the way you know the ins and outs of your home course, the streets you run every day. It sounds cliché, but I’m not kidding when I say the miles flew by.
I always knew what the next mile was, what would be around every turn, and which one of my friends or family members was going to be coming up next. I was able to see almost everybody I knew in every spot they were cheering and greet them with a wave, peace sign, or rock on symbol.
I thought it was just because I work at PWR LIFT that I was seeing our tents and signs all over in all five boroughs, but my other friends running the marathon told me later that they saw us everywhere too and appreciated the hydration PWR UP along the course. I know our funny signs made people laugh and motivated them to keep moving forward. Add my coworkers to the list of people cheering for me on marathon day.
Brooklyn hit different, my home borough, and all of my friends were out in their respective neighborhoods cheering for me, from south Brooklyn all the way up to Greenpoint. Queens brought the energy too, but my favorite part was seeing my friend’s new little baby (future runner!) out there cheering. Once you come off the Queensboro Bridge, the toughest bridge of the course (and there are many tough bridges!) that lasts over a mile, you are greeted with a wave of cheers on First Avenue.
Of all the boroughs, though, the Bronx probably gets the loudest, even though it’s the shortest stretch of the course besides Staten Island. When you come back through Harlem, different speakers are blasting a new tune every other block, and you can definitely hit a poster or two with a target on it that says “power up.” Going up Fifth Avenue into Central Park, you reach a wall of cheering spectators, where my teammates and coaches always line up to scream at us, in the nicest way possible, to keep going, because at that point you’re in the home stretch with two and a half miles to go.
What made this marathon so special is that I ran 22 miles with my training partner right by my side. We don’t plan to run a whole marathon together necessarily because if one of us is having an exceptional day we'd want that person to go ahead, but it just happened on that day that we were locked in, stride for stride, as we had been for the entirety of our training cycle. Both of us had never felt so comfortable for that long in a marathon, chatting often, passing each other waters, staying very relaxed hitting 6:25-6:30 miles.
We went through the half marathon exactly as fast as we wanted to, right at 1:25, because our plan was to pick it up just a smidge in the second half and see if we could dip under 2:50 for the first time in both of our marathon careers. I guess I forgot to respect the course, though. Even if you know NYC is a hilly course, you don’t remember exactly HOW hilly it is until you’re running it, especially right at the end around 22 miles when any marathon, even on a flat course, gets tough.
We never really fell off pace. We just slipped up a couple seconds per mile, and we never really gained it back.
Going up Fifth Avenue entering Central Park, the race got really hard really quickly. I grabbed a Gatorade from a water station, out of character for me because I never really drink Gatorade in training due to how sensitive my stomach gets when I’m running, and almost immediately after I got a deep, sharp side cramp right under my rib cage that I couldn’t really shake for a mile.
During that time, I’ll never forget hearing bellowing, loud cheers of “Go Ally Spiroff!!!” echoing across the east side of Central Park, the voices of two long-time runners in the city I grew up in, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, whose daughter was also running the marathon that day. For a second, it brought me back to my high school running days, where my love for the sport started, and it took me all the way through my college cross country and track career, finally to the era I’m in now as I’m chasing my post-collegiate marathon dreams. It reminded me that people from all walks of my running career are here in NYC today to cheer me on, in a city that I’ve spent over five years building a life for myself in, a place that’s become another home I love so much.
In that moment, how could you not dig deep, with everything that you have left?
I deep-breathed through the pain, and with a little less than a mile to go, the side cramp went away, but at that point, I was pretty much out of gas and fighting for my life to get to the finish line, with no sort of kick remaining. My training partner pulled ahead of me a bit during my cramping saga, but I met her at the finish line just a minute after she had finished with a huge hug. I covered her and myself in heatsheets, those shiny reflective capes they give out to runners at the end of every marathon, and we slowly but triumphantly limped out of the finish area, greeting all of the runners who finished around us during those 26.2 miles with conversation and congratulations.
My time, 2:55 flat (ugh, just a few seconds close enough to 2:54 to annoy me because I’m so competitive with myself), was very solid and a course personal best. It wasn’t an overall personal best (mine is 2:53:11 from a much faster course), but for my training partner and me, the 2024 NYC Marathon felt like a huge breakthrough. To feel that good that late in the race, run together almost the whole way like we did, fuel properly (an aspect of the marathon that we consistently have struggled with), and almost feel like we could actually race the last portion of the course bodes so well for our next goal of breaking 2:50 on a flatter course and eventually qualifying for the Olympic Trials.
This year, the NYC Marathon was a race of deep gratitude for me, dedicated to the unmatched NYC running community, the city where I live, all the cities I’ve come from, all the people I love, some of the best teammates and coaches in the world here I’m lucky enough to have in my corner, my training partner who’s been through it all with me, where I’ve been, and where I want to go. Watching over 50,000 other runners around you, some completing their very first marathon (what an incredible first marathon experience!), accomplishing goals beyond their wildest dreams, while you’re alongside them accomplishing your own goals, is enough to bring you to tears. For me, whether I’m running in it or cheering on my people, the NYC Marathon will always be a citywide, maybe even international holiday.
I finished my Sunday, Nov. 3 off the only way I know how to after a marathon: with a burger, onion rings, a milkshake, and a beer.