Sunday Morning

Over the past two years, I have written a number of pieces which I've never published.  I'm going to use this forum for distributing these works.  I wrote this piece in early November, 2010.

Enjoy!

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Three-fifteen AM my alarm clock sounded.  I smashed it off as fast as I could and pretended that I was not going to get up. 

"Forget it.  I'm sleeping in this year.  They can do it without me," I mumbled to my husband. 

But I knew that was a joke as did he.  I tossed for about ten minutes before the guilt got me up.  I'm a person of my word.  What would people say if I didn't show up at 4:00 AM like I said I would?  I threw on a pair of jeans, a long sleeve running shirt, and a bright orange winter running jacket.  No make-up.  I grabbed my gloves and ear warmers then headed for the lobby.  My night doorman just smiled.

"I knew I'd see you,"  he said

"If you hear any screaming, it is just me running from a pack of rats." 

He laughed as I peered down the street.  The coast was clear.   I ran to the Dunkin Donuts as fast as I could. 

"What are you doing here at this time?" the night manager asked.

He handed me my usual medium cream and sugar, which he usually gives me four hours later each day.  I managed a half asleep thank you as I headed back outside.  Two huge rats were right by front door on the sidewalk, but jumped into a garbage can when they saw me.  They were only a few feet away, but I steeled myself and ran for it, again. 

I hate rats.  Rats are my biggest issue with being out on the streets of New York by myself in the early morning hours.  I walked towards Broadway where I hoped I could catch a cab to the Staten Island Ferry Terminal.  It is only about a mile, but I didn't want to run into any more rats.  As I waited for a cab, I saw an older women, with short grey hair and a bright yellow running jacket walking briskly down the street. 

"Excuse me.  Are you going to volunteer for the marathon at Staten Island Ferry Terminal?" 

"Yes I am." 

"Do you mind if I join you?  The rats freak me out." 

We walked and talked without ever seeing another person or rat the entire way.  We arrived at 4:05 AM.  The terminal was already full of people, mostly late night partiers, volunteers, and a few poor Canadian runners who didn't realize we had a time change the night before.  I know that nervous feeling of marathon morning.  The last thing a runner needs is a time change providing another hour to toss and turn in bed. 

The volunteer coordinator handed me a t-shirt to wear over my coat, and a bright orange vest to wear over the t-shirt.  I now looked as if I weighted more than two Kenyan marathoners combined, or about 10lbs heavier than my normal weight.  Not the look I'm try to project to the world, but who really cares at 4:00 AM on a Sunday morning. 

"Ok, you're going to Staten Island," the coordinator told me.

I wanted to stay in Manhattan in the terminal.  I liked it there.  It was warm,
there were plenty of bathrooms and free food for the volunteers.  Plus I would get home around 8:30 AM in plenty of time to watch the start of the race.  On Staten Island, I could be freezing in the dark, plus I have to take the ferry home, causing me to miss the start.  I wasn't happy, but I wasn't going back home.

My assignment was not hard.  I stood with an orange arrow sign pointing people to the direction of the shuttle buses which would take them to the start.  I also had a box of plastic bags in case a runner's gear check bag broke, and an informational booklet for last minute questions.  Sounded easy.  It would have been it if  wasn't for the people of Staten Island.  I'm not sure where they were off to, but non-marathoners kept running into me, on purpose.  One woman even grabbed my arm and bent it around my back, as she disappeared into the crowd.  It happened so fast that I didn't have a chance to react. 

Every year I've volunteered, I've had locals abuse me.  The runners are great.  The locals hate the inconvenience of closed roads, or maybe even extremely fit and motivated people entering their worlds reminding them that they are not.  I don't think of myself as a sensitive person, but it does get to me. 

I volunteer because I could not have run my 30 marathons if others hadn't made the sacrifice to get up at 3:15 AM or earlier in some cases to be there for me.  Approximately 36,000 of the 47,000 New York City Marathoners came through Staten Island that morning, most of them stopping to use the ten flush toilets that were behind where I was standing.  I hope that I at least helped a few of them have a better race than if I had just stayed in bed.