The marathon redefines "sneaker network". Every runner had a sensor chip tied to his or her shoes (or wheelchair). When running over mats placed at various checkpoints, the runner's time was noted, posted to the marathon race tracking website, and if desired, an email was sent to anyone the runner had registered on an interest list. For some runners, just crossing the starting line took nearly 10 minutes, a time bias that was netted out at the finish time to provide actual course times.
The entry field represents approximately the population of our town. Whether you sort on age, gender, race, or occupation, you get a fairly accurate sampling of your neighbors, modulo a few elite runners and overall physical fitness. Every runner has a goal: to set a personal best, to qualify for the Boston Marathon, to finish the race. Two million people - approximately the population of a major American city - line the course to cheer on family members, pace fellow running club entrants, or watch the cross-section of life go by.
My job for this perfect Sunday was simple: track a runner via the web and email, all the while extrapolating from 10 kilometer and half-marathon time and distance to the corner of 72nd street and 1st avenue. The sneaker sensors generated an SMS message (sent via a bulk emailer) to my cell phone, arriving only 2-3 minutes after our marathon man cross the checkpoint. MM's sometimes trainer and full-time cheerleader joined him at mile 17, and according to cell phone reports from the field, he looked dehydrated and tired. Of course, I'd look worse if I had just run up and over the 59th street bridge into Manhattan, fuggedabout the more than 16 miles of coursework beforehand. There's no "Feeling Groovy" at this point. MM sometimes slowed to a walk, but gradually got his rhythm back, and picked up the pace again as he crossed into the Bronx and came into full view of Yankee Stadium. This year, the winners were on the outside of famed facade.
The spectacle of a marathon produces Olympian efforts. By mile 20, my back
of the take-out menu calculations placed MM finishing around five and a half
hours, just 30 minutes over his goal -- and only a 10% variation if you're
a stat-head. At this point, many runners hit a wall and cannot finish.
Even though the finish line is a 3/4-circumnavigation of Central Park away, it's
still more than six miles by land. And this is where the generalizations and
statistical comparisons melt away. Every runner has an intense -- and personal --
motivation to finish. Our MM simply asked "Is there anyone behind me? I don't
want to be last". Pace runner confirmed people as far as the eye could see,
in either direction, much like summer traffic on the Garden State Parkway (but
moving at a better clip).
A little over one hour later, I got the final text synopsis of the day -- runner #21120 had crossed the finish line in 5:40, time adjusted to 5:34, making him just about the 30,000th person to complete the race today. He's been training for several years for this. He's fought off stress fractures, shin splints, and gnarly neighborhood dogs to get to that finish line. His pace runner and trainer -- my sister -- is thrilled. From waving a sign at 72nd Street to crossing the sea of people in Central Park, my mom was there for support. I, of course, could not be more proud, for the man with the finisher's medal is my father. Is there anyone behind you? You bet. All of us -- every day.