I Am Not Afraid

The wind is whipping from all directions as Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York” blares from the speakers at the base of the Verrazano–Narrows Bridge.  In about two minutes, my wave will make its way to the official starting line and I’ll be running my second NYC Marathon.  I really need to get moving. I’m shivering, although I’m not entirely sure whether it’s nerves or the wind swirling in off the harbor. This is my first marathon since the horrific events of the 2013 Boston Marathon and the impact of that senseless violence is everywhere I turn. I realize now that I no longer believe in the freedom of the run.

Along with the freedom of the run, two terrorists stole lives and limbs and love ones.  Because of two terrorists, thousands of officers from the NYPD are positioned at the entrance to Port Wadsworth in Staten Island where 50,000 runners will wait, warm up, and meditate for hours before their wave start. Marathoners and organizers call this Athlete’s Village.  But on this day, I don’t feel that comforting and familiar sense of athletic camaraderie that makes the marathon so exceptional.  We are no longer one. As stoic officers scrutinized our bags and watched us like hawks, I felt an uncomfortable sense of distrust among us.  The feelings were magnified as we each entered the metal detectors that were temporarily erected in a suburban neighborhood I can imagine is usually quiet and half-asleep at this time on any other Sunday.

I’m jogging in place waiting for the runners in front of me to start moving forward and I feel the charm on my silver chain bounce up and down.  I touch it and mouth the words that are etched on the front and back.  “I am not afraid.  I was born to do this.”  I bought the charm when I learned that Kara Goucher, one of my American long-distance running idols, had the same charm and repeated this mantra when she raced.  I’ve worn the necklace on some of my hardest training runs and found myself quietly repeating the words over and over when my physical strength needed a boost that it could only get from my heart.  I believe heart is what you run on when your legs have nothing left.

Medal and Mantra

But I’ve learned that running in fear is worse than having never trained at all. It’s crippling. “I am not afraid. I am not afraid,” I whisper.   And then, I am shaken and startled by the explosion – like the first explosion in Boston it is a force that shakes me from the ground up.  I audibly gasp but realize within an instant that it’s merely the starting cannon.  I look around quickly to see if I am the only one shaken by this harsh reminder.  I cannot understand why anyone in the NYC Marathon organization would approve a cannon’s explosion as the official race start of a race riddled with high security and painful memories.

Finally, I’m running.  The rattled nerves and anxiety start to leave my body and I breathe in deeply.  I try to smile and almost giggle as I fall into step with thousands of other runners working our way up the awe-inspiring double-decked suspension bridge that connects the boroughs of Staten Island and Brooklyn.  I look to my left and there is an NYPD helicopter watching over us and runners are stopping, waving and taking pictures.  I wave too and smile – really smile.  I feel thankful that I’m here and that our country is strong and resilient and brave.  I am proud of myself and the other 50,000 runners who trained for this to prove that no one can steal our freedom from us – even if it’s just a 26.2 mile run through the five boroughs of NYC.

There is a special place in my heart for the entire NYPD, the countless volunteers and medics, and the thousands of spectators who turned this race into something much more. For me, they made this my freedom run.  And, I am no longer afraid.  I was born to do this.