As one often hears from women who just gave birth, the pain of labor is all worth it in the end when the baby is born, and the same sentiment is true of the marathon. The numerous months of grueling training, the sore muscles, the blisters, the runs done in the dark after a long day at the office, the skipping of social events to get in a long run, the heat stroke, the blackened toenails, and the time suck—my God, the time suck—all suddenly seem worth it.

Running across the Verrazano Bridge as the race begins with throngs of other runners, hearing boats in the harbor tooting their horns is very exciting. This year, however, there is a new challenge—the wind. With gusts of forty miles per hour, it feels like running in a wind tunnel. I actually have an image of a Sesame Street episode where all the characters were trying to walk against a head wind. Going over the bridge my fellow runners fling aside their garments, which take flight and smack others in the face before flying off the bridge into the water far below. I’m blown around like a rag doll for the first mile. Trying to draft off of others, I finally make it to Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.