Running on Empty (29 page)

In the van, I was so excited about being close to the finish and able to take full strides that I laughed out loud. I actually stood a chance of running into New York City. Who would have thought so just an hour before?

At about 7:45 in the morning, Mace and I headed east on Highway 46. Running! I couldn't help grinning as I thought about how blessed I was, not only to be moving again, but also to have all these friends along the way who'd helped me, and to have Mace by my side right then. Nothing ever felt too serious or insurmountable when we were together. Two of his favorite sayings, when things get really tough, are “It's all just a test,” and “Calm down, calm down, calm down,” comforting words to hear when things are in the toilet. Thank God he didn't have to say them anymore today.

As we loped down the road, my friend Sister Mary Elizabeth Lloyd, who lives in Morristown, New Jersey, appeared up ahead. I'd known she might come out, but it was a real pleasure to see her, and I felt honored that she'd take the time to stop by; her presence brought peace, joy, elation. She rambled along beside us for a while, her black habit flapping in the cold air, and we talked about the long journey behind me and what lay ahead. I told her about the near miss with the two cars, and how we'd doused my leg with holy water right before it all happened. We chatted, as we always do, about her life's work, the women and children she serves. Over the years, I've raised money for her order of sisters, the Religious Teachers Filippini, whose motto is simply “Go and teach,” but who are in constant motion, doing the real work of peace and justice. Sister Mary Beth has also gained some acclaim for being “The Running Nun,” since she uses the sport, completing marathons and fifty-mile races, always wearing her habit, to raise awareness for their causes. We stayed together for about a mile, and then she went her own way. We wished her well, and Mace and I headed through a small town.

The traffic on the streets was getting heavier, so Elaine, Therese, and a friend of hers were scouting the road ahead, while Heather, Taylor, and Brian stayed close in the van. This was exciting! The increase in traffic told us we were getting closer to the Big Apple. But we were hardly all business. Spotting a toilet someone had left on the sidewalk to be picked up by sanitation workers, Mace and I stopped dead in our tracks and, like a pair of teenagers, had to play around with it. He sat down and posed as
The Thinker
, and Taylor snapped a photo while I stood by and laughed my head off.

On we went. It was warmer now, in the mid-sixties, and I was wearing shorts and my Capilene shirt. We had to dodge cars at intersections, and we ran around people, laughing at things that normally wouldn't be funny at all. Listening to Mace's commentary along the way was all the entertainment I needed to keep me in high spirits. I was floating on air.

Somewhere along the line, I'd gotten word that the production crew had decided to stay on without pay to see me finish. Now, how fantastic is that? This day was turning out to be better than good. Great things were lining up like cattle in a chute.

Around noon, I stopped to ice my foot and take a short nap. Ever since I'd first injured myself, we'd stopped multiple times a day for this routine of icing and rest. Today was no different, despite the intoxicating feeling of being near the finish, as the pain had crept up in intensity, as usual, and the swelling intensified. My foot injuries, I thought, had a silver lining: They reminded me that, no matter how tough or impervious I may imagine myself to be, I am imperfect, fragile, scared, and vulnerable, just like every other person on this planet. No matter how unique any of us wants to believe we are, all of us hurt, suffer, and feel sadness. Some of us are just better at covering it up.

We moved through small towns and seedy neighborhoods in New Jersey, crossing confusing intersections without missing a beat, mainly because the crew was on top of the route. Therese's friend, not a runner herself, jogged ahead of us to show us the way up a ramp that crossed over a busy highway. Elaine, waiting at another intersection to point the way, grabbed my shirtsleeve just as I stepped out into the road and pulled me back, and
whoosh!
A car whizzed by right in front of me—another close call, and if Elaine and Mace hadn't been there with me, I would have walked right in front of the car. It felt safe with the people I loved around me; they were protecting me, had been protecting me for a long time.

As we approached Fort Lee and the George Washington Bridge, suddenly there was Rick with that big camera on his shoulder. New York City was still out of view, so it surprised me to see him there, but he guided us through a few tricky turns and up onto the bridge, running the whole way with that heavy HD video camera; that thing weighed about seven pounds, so it was as if he was running sprints with dumbbells, but Rick was in good shape and up to the challenge.

Mace stayed back to let me trot alone across this bridge over the wide Hudson River, and I savored the experience. Within minutes of setting foot on the trestles, I saw Manhattan for the first time, off in the distance.
Unbelievable!
The great buildings jutted up into the horizon, a postcard's skyline. Goose bumps broke out on my skin, and warmth flooded my entire body. It all seemed terribly far away, but when I considered how far I'd come, suddenly it felt as if I could reach out and lay my hand against the cool walls of the Empire State Building.
I'm here!
Rick sprinted ahead for a shot and filmed me as I passed him, then repeated the process many times. It reminded me of my footsteps all across the United States, one after the other, over and over again. Just a few more hours and who knew exactly how many more of those footsteps, and I could stop. I COULD STOP. So close to the end now, I was happy to be running, and gratitude swept over me, an amplified echo of my feelings atop many of the mountains I've climbed.

Inching ever closer to the skyscrapers ahead, I moved forward in amazement. Had I really come all the way from coast to coast, from “sea to shining sea”? Had we finally run out of land? It didn't seem possible to me now. I had been running for such a long time that it just didn't seem conceivable that it would
ever
end.

Down a corkscrewlike walkway, we came into Manhattan and Riverside Park. The crew greeted me, and it felt as if I'd just stepped onto another continent. The green grass, the trees' leaves exploding with color, and the sounds and smells of the city filled my senses.
I'm here, now, and life is good.

Only thirteen miles to go.

 

A group of more than half a dozen runners joined me around Ninety-ninth Street. They seemed as elated as I was, and they ran with me along the path in the park, listening to some of the stories I had to tell. And yes, it was Election Day, November 4, 2008. We hadn't planned to finish on such a historic date, but it looked like that's what would happen.

A jog over to Seventy-ninth Street and onto Broadway would take us into Times Square. Now, when I say “onto Broadway,” I mean I ran down the middle lane of Broadway, behind a procession of vehicles with Kate leading the way. The producers had set this up, anticipating a great shot, and they got it. With the city all around me and the traffic parting like the Red Sea for Moses, I don't think my smile could have been any bigger or my steps any lighter, or my head held any higher. For me, this part of the run was the most exhilarating experience I've ever had in my life, even more than summiting Mount Everest, as this had been a longer, tougher journey, by far.

In Times Square, the election returns blared on the CNN jumbo screen. People were shouting and dancing and generally carrying on, as the first states were called for Barack Obama. A few onlookers had also heard about what we were up to, so I was cheered on, too.

“Right on!”

“You go, dude!”

“Holy shit! Look at that guy running down the middle of the road!”

Every now and then, people had rooted for me like this in some of the towns we'd passed through, all across the country. I'd talked to truckers, tree trimmers, college kids, shop owners, people from all walks of life.

“Ain't that the damnedest thing?!” Yes, yes it was.

At one light, a black Escalade pulled up beside me, and the driver leaned out the window, smoking a cigar.

“I heard what you're doing.” He grinned at me.

I stepped closer to the car and asked him, “Can I have a puff?”

He handed it over, and I took a couple of draws, trying to blow smoke rings in the air while we waited for the light to change. We both laughed and we bumped fists as I handed back his cigar. The light turned green, and we took off together, him driving and me running, which struck us both as funny as hell.

It was fabulous. I felt no pain.

Before reaching Times Square, Tom had pointed out the tremendous Chrysler Building towering in the east, lighting the upper regions of the sky. Our final destination, City Hall, was beyond, way downtown toward the tip of Manhattan.

“That's where we're headed! City Hall is right down there.”

Only a few miles to go.

It was magnificent. I'd wave at people who were calling to me from the sidewalks and occasionally give a thumbs-up. My smile widened as we got closer and closer to City Hall, and I knew then that I was being rewarded for my struggle and my perseverance. These moments would be forever frozen in my mind.

When we arrived at the tall iron gates of City Hall, we had to stop for a security check with metal detectors. Heather, Elaine, and Taylor would accompany me the rest of the way to reach my younger daughter, Ali, along with other family members, friends, and the rest of the production crew, all waiting on the steps of City Hall. Mace and I would wear special T-shirts a friend had made for us, emblazoned with our accomplishment and honoring its inspiration:

Among the people on the steps of City Hall was Frank Giannino. Twenty-eight years earlier, he had made this very same journey and set a world record that would remain intact despite my best efforts. Frank and I are nearly the same age, and he'd been hoping I might be the one to outrun his time. Now at the end of my road, I was amazed at how fast he'd completed this course.

In the end, we broke the grand masters and masters records, the latter by almost twelve hours and on a longer course. But Frank's finish remained the all-time best, the one to beat.

Not for me. I was done running.

Heather and I climbed, alone, to the top landing at New York City Hall. It was 7:10 p.m. We hugged, laughed, and cried all at the same time. I raised my arms to the sky and basked in the moment.

When I looked down, there in front of me was that small group of people who had made all this possible. Everyone was euphoric, and that feeling was starting to mushroom throughout the city, not because of what I'd done, but because of what the country had done. The future of our nation had been at stake, and the voters were in the process of choosing a candidate who represented positive change and social progress.

Hope
. We were all living it, celebrating it, praying it would mean something different for our collective future.