I stare at my computer screen, shake my head slightly, blink my eyes and look again.
Hi
You are accepted in the 2014 TCS New York City Marathon. This entry can be found on your mynyrr profile under the REGISTRATION/ RACES tab.
take care,
janet
Uh-oh.
Dear Janet, (if this a real person, why didn’t she capitalize her name?)
Dear Janet,
Thank you for your email.
(No, wait a minute. I’m not certain I am thankful.)
Dear Janet,
Really?
I turn away from my computer and casually say to my husband: I think I’ve registered for the New York marathon.
“What? Seriously?”
“Uhm, yeah.”
“I thought you’re injured?”
“I am.”
And so with a click of a button, and the slightest movement of my index finger, I’m committed to months of what I expect to be slightly insane training, replacing gin-and-tonics with Gatorade and regular sessions with the assorted health professionals who will help take me from zero to 26.2 miles.
As a steady recreational runner, I originally applied to the celebrated event‘s lottery entrance in 2010, not intending to actually run the torturously long race but to keep my future options open. Under the rules then, since changed, if you apply three consecutive years and don’t get picked (paying the application fee each time), you get a guaranteed entry.
In 2013, 50,266 people finished the New York marathon. Every year, more than 100,000 apply through a random draw to participate - the draw accounts for up to 17% of the entire field. Other ways to get entry include charity and international travel programs and having run a number of qualified races.
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So each year, I kept applying while my body rebelled from the impacts of training for half-marathons because, quite honestly, our bodies and mine especially, are not meant to run long distances.
Last spring, I got a guaranteed entry for 2013 but it was a fleeting few weeks of jubilation and training before admitting there was no frickin’ way my body would endure the necessary long runs.
I deferred my entry but when I checked in late winter with race officials it appeared they didn’t have a record of it. So that was that. Not meant to be. Who’d want to undertake all the sacrifice to run one stupid race in New York anyhow?
It is almost an afterthought on the last day of the 2014 entrance lottery that I find myself at the race registration page an hour before the lottery closes.
One click. One email response. One charge to my Visa of $400. One deep breath. Here I come, ready or not.
