WHO SAID GETTING THERE WAS HALF THE FUN
A week’s worth of sleepless nights, phantom muscle aches and stomach somersaults was finally yesterday’s news.
It was Sunday, race day, I was running in the 2019 United Airlines NYC Half, 13.1 miles through some of the city’s most iconic landmarks, from Prospect Park to Central Park. I may have rolled out of bed feeling drained, exhausted and outta gas but I was still revving to go. And I wasn’t the only runner excited about getting there. The trains were standing room only.
Every square inch of my subway car was occupied, we were packed solid, I couldn’t move an inch. I found it difficult to breath, which was strange, usually crowded trains don’t bother me. Suddenly I started to notice the tug-and-pull of the subway car, the motion of the train was preoccupying my every thought. Something was wrong. Seconds later I became nauseous and started to sweat. Quickly I counted stops. One. Two. Three. Four. Five stops left. I told myself I could hang on for five short stops, and I almost convinced myself, almost, that was before my vision began to fade. I was in big trouble.