Men's Health Urbanathlon, #789

I've never seen Central Park in such a fog. It was almost 7am, almost race time, and I was almost at the start line, but not quite. I observed the quietness of the park at that hour. The only audible sounds were the pounding feet of the regular morning runners making their rounds around the main loop. I start seeing people who were there for the same purpose as me and I follow them. I'm more nervous than I was right before I went skydiving. Is it strange that I was more afraid of this than falling out of an airplane?

I find D and we head to the start line JUST as the race was about to begin. We've got our respective ipods strapped in, give each other a high five, and get to work. It was certainly surreal jogging across 72nd street at 7am with 1500 other people under this immense fog. I wonder if any of the people sleeping cozily in the nearby buildings are aware of this mass of runners just beneath them. We decide to split as we get on the path along the Hudson. I notice that I can't even really see New Jersey just across the river. I look ahead of me. I look to the side. I try to focus on the carefully curated playlist I'd tweaked the night before in preparation. My feet are already wet and the unseemly thought of blisters pops into my head. Will I have to abort the race because of blisters? Luckily D told me he was going to get dri fit socks the night before and I made a hasty stop at Paragon to pick up socks and a longish pair of chocolate running shorts.

I stay at my own pace and run to my own beat, after all, my goal was to finish without stopping. This was not a race of speed but rather a challenge of the mind and body. Could I do this? I notice runners with "Go Army" tees pass me and I realize that I'm going up against people who run drills like this regularly at work, who've likely seen war, and who will leave me in the dust. But no matter, this is not a race. I see the first obstacle and think, "Here we go Barb." I see D exit the obstacle as I approach it. I jump and crawl my way through it easily. "That wasn't so bad, I hope they're all like this," I think. I left a piece of skin behind while crawling through one of the tubes. I'm bleeding. Great. I skip the water stop and head on. No stopping. No stopping.

I jog along, past the 34th street heliport and see a couple about to split. "Go on," she motions. As he pulls ahead of her. I end up in line with him, running at an awkwardly similar pace right next to each other, one of us hoping to pull ahead and leave the other behind for solitude. He pulls ahead of me. I see two cars of people pull up near 14th street with signs looking for the runners they came to support. "Cute," I think. Onward. I see the pier where the second set of obstacles are sure to be. I crawl. I wipe by hands on my shirt before gripping the monkey bars, sure that I will fall off before reaching the other side. Did I train for this? "If you fall off, you'll have to backtrack a lap and try again," I hear. I miraculously get across in one shot. Pain sears trough my shoulders and traps. "How the hell did I just do that?" I see the marine hurdles which might as well be walls. The logjam leading up to it served as a nice break. "How am I gonna do this?" I turn around and ask the guy behind me, "Will you boost me if I need it?"

"Sure, no problem."

There were probably 5 hurdles, #367 boosted me on each one. I could feel the bruises on my knees each time I hoisted myself over the wood.

"I got you hon, don't worry."

I finish the hurdles, "I owe you big time, #367." I high-fived him and went on.

Onward.

I jog past city streets and think about people I know comfortably sleeping in their beds nearby, dreaming away. "Why the hell am I doing this?"

Fatigue starts to set in near Canal St and I marvel that I've made it this far. "Just gotta get to 7 World Trade Barb, that's all you gotta do."

I see people careening out of the building as I approach. I jog through a small group of supporters, past relayers waiting on teammates, and into the escape stairwell. The air is thick, ventilation is limited, and the sweat on the rails reminds me not to touch my face directly with my hands from here on out. I hear someone say, "this is the real death march," and I think of the other 'death marches' I've been on consisting mainly of endless walking around new cities. I suddenly have a refined definition. Big strapping men wearing boot camp tees are stopping on the landings. Young volunteers appear on every other landing offering support, "only 40 more flights to go!"

One woman says, "I don't think I can make it." "Yes you can!" I say "You're almost there." Onward.

I get to the 52nd FL. I hear, "Rest this way, otherwise this way to head back down."

I head right back down. Legs are wobbly. I take it slowly. I feel my 17th wind and speed up. Round and round. I look up for a second, get dizzy, look back down.

I exit 7 World Trade, grab a big jug of water and pour it into where I last remembered my mouth should be. I run on.

"More stairs!???" I hear someone exclaim.

It was the overpass back to the river side of the highway.

My final mile to the finish was a slow slow jog. "Don't stop Barb, don't stop you're almost there."

I'm reminded of an airport arrivals area as I enter Battery Park and pass through throngs of well-wishers.

I see people slide across the taxis. I see the wall. The very. Big. Wall. With just a rope. What I have is beyond fatigue but the finish line is just on the other side of this wall. Just. I lock eyes with a man who was waiting at the base offering boosts. You ready? Yeah, I guess. I get up and barely peek over the wall. I see the finish but my muscles are not helping me get anything more than my eyeballs over this wall. "Are you okay?" I hear. I feel the wood burning marks into my skin. "Just a little bit more!" I say. I contemplate stepping on his shoulder and head to give me that extra boost. Somehow we get me up and over. I steady myself on the platform before heading onward to cross the finish. "Barb!" I hear. I look over and see D. Euphoria sets in. We high five each other. "Oh my god I'm so proud of us" we both say repeatedly. Euphoria, adrenaline, whatever it is causes us to babble on for a minute or so until I realize I need water. "Lets get some water."

I feel a tap on my shoulder, "Congrats." It was the woman in the stairwell who 'couldn't' go on. I say "yes, you too."

I'm #789 and it's almost 9am.

Party for a cause!

Here's some stuff:

1. Support BARACK OBAMA at this special event!

Featuring DJ ?uestlove on the ones and twos


Thursday, September 11th, 2008
Sutra, 16 First Ave., bet 1st and 2nd streets
$10 suggested donations at the door. ALL PROCEEDS go directly to the Obama '08 campaign.
On site voter registration!
Doors at 9:00pm
www.okayplayer.com



2. 'From: Not the Desmonds
Date: Tue, Sep 9, 2008 at 11:00 PM
Subject: NTD Benefit Showcase for Gifted Hands - 9/21
To: notthedesmonds@gmail.com


Friends of Not The D.,

We're sending out a save the date for a very fun and important Benefit
Showcase that we're hosting.

On September 21st, three bands will play the Living Room in the Lower East Side:

7:00 p.m. The Peel School
8:00 p.m. Not The Desmonds
9:00 p.m. Scott's Roger

First, let me start by saying that the members of The Peel School (the
new name of Mike Kleba's band) and Scott's Roger are not only all
fantastic people and great friends of mine, they're also writing and
performing some truly astounding music. No joke - you will laugh, cry
and do all those other cliche things we all do when we hear music
that's life changing. If you don't know their music, this gig is a
perfect opportunity for you to get acquainted with them. If you
do...well, you already know what I'm talking about.

Second, 100% of the $10 cover (for all three bands) will go to Gifted
Hands, an art therapy agency and community of volunteers based in the
Lower East Side who have a passion to help improve the lives of their
neighbors in New York City. For over 15 years, Gifted Hands has been
reaching out to "the least and the last" in the city, helping them to
see value in themselves through discovering they have the power to
create. Serving neighbors through art, music, dance, spiritual
support, design and other programs, Gifted Hands helps men and women
in shelters, recovery programs, crisis pregnancy centers, HIV/AIDS
residences, elder care residencies, youth-at-risk centers, foster care
group homes, churches, and people living on the streets.

Gifted Hands has started over 50 art programs around NYC and abroad
teaching jewelry, art and craft projects, stained glass, wood working,
sculpture, painting, decoupage, pen and ink drawing, and poetry
writing...hundreds of our city's least fortunate find satisfaction and
hope just by picking up a paintbrush, molding a piece of clay or
singing music they could never have imagined even hearing.
Friends, this is what being an artist is all about - making the world
a better place. We hope to see you on Sunday the 21st to celebrate
and contribute to this organization. Here are a few additional
details:
The Living Room
154 Ludlow Street btw. Stanton and Rivington
www.livingroomny.com
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Show starts at 7 p.m. sharp! Don't be late!!

Gifted Hands: http://giftedhandsnyc.com

The Peel School: www.myspace.com/thepeelschool

Scott's Roger: www.myspace.com/scottsroger

See you there.

Michael E.
Not a Desmonds
www.myspace.com/notthedesmonds'