Word: marathoned
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...many images race through my mind as I recall the New York City Marathon. Crossing the bridge into Brooklyn, a firefighter ran with us, dressed in his heavy boots, flame-retardant coat and pants and signature black helmet. One runner beside me wore a singlet with “For My Buddies” written across the shoulders, and seven names listed down the back. Another woman I passed had pinned a picture of her late brother to the back of her T-shirt. Some ran with American flag capes fluttering behind them, and scores of others had adorned their...
Some time between turning off the bridge to face the vibrant crowds along First Avenue, and grasping my mother’s hand for a fleeting moment just before mile 18, I changed my mind. I decided that a marathon is about defying expectations and challenging the limits of human achievement. I run in defiance of the voice inside me that says I cannot, and my success reaffirms a deep confidence I have in the human ability to dream the impossible, and to realize such wild dreams. Tragically, I feel that the World Trade Center disaster is testimony...
...runners beat like the throbbing pulse of our metropolis, swaying the bridges and drumming down the avenues, the runners and the vibrant throngs that peopled the sidelines were like the lifeblood of a city, beginning to flow once again through its great arteries. Yes, I felt that the marathon was really about a city coming back to life. And as I crossed the finish line in Central Park, the immortal words of a certain song playing nearby convinced me that this must be true: “I’ll make a brand new start of it?...
This past Sunday was the annual New York City Marathon. As helicopters flew overhead and police barricaded street corners, painful reminders of a city under siege, runners clad in starred and striped shorts and T-shirts turned 26 miles of raw endurance into a communal exercise of grief. Firefighters ran for lost brothers, husbands for lost wives, friends for lost friends. The marathon’s motto, “United We Run,” captured the spirit of the event. Never, perhaps, has the image of 30,000—Canadians, Ethiopians, and New Yorkers among them?...
...terms of the Sbarro’s that we ate at during a recent visit, or the concerts that we saw on the plaza, as the setting of individual memories. And I think it was not in shock or in anger that so many turned their heads downtown on marathon Sunday, but in remembrance. In grieving for lost buildings, we grieve for ourselves...