Page 583 - WhyAsInY

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could do little. I slowed and then had to do something that I had stead- fastly refused to do. I walked, trying to regain my strength. Danny stayed with me and encouraged me. I knew that experienced runners were falling by the wayside, but that was not a source of solace.
Then my will took over. I reminded myself that, if I could just get it together, I could make it close enough to the end so that pure adrenaline would get me home. I also reminded myself that, when I had discovered that the course was hilly, I had also found out that the last four or five miles had a slight, but meaningful, downhill grade. A lot of experienced runners hate downhills—they’re very tough on the quads. But not me: luckily, I lacked experience. There had been a time when the idea of running five miles was preposterous, but now I was shooting just to get within five miles of the finish line. Piece of cake! Desire, Danny, the idea that we were on the last leg, the idea that I had worked so hard and had actually run twenty-two miles once, and the idea that I would have to explain a lot to myself if I quit combined to push me during the miles leading up to the downhill zone. Danny and I finished together, and I don’t remember being prouder. I might have drunk about two gallons of Gatorade at the end, then showered, got on a plane, hiccoughed uncon- trollably all the way home, dove into the pool with most of my clothes on, and emerged with one of the biggest smiles that I’ve ever had.
Having somehow obtained a highly sought-after entry in the New York City Marathon, which was coming up in November, I started train- ing all over again in early August—and felt a twinge in my right leg as I was climbing a small hill near Fenimore Road. After yet another arthros- copy, I faced facts and had my right knee replaced at Beth Israel North, formerly Doctor’s Hospital, where this story started. Thus, I ended my running career and started my battle with the waistline all over again, where it continues far away from both the sixth grade and 16 Church Lane South. But a side benefit: when asked how my knee was, I could now blithely reply, “I don’t know; it’s in a jar somewhere at Doctor’s Hospital.” (Unfortunately, Doctor’s was subsequently sold and leveled to make way for condos, somewhat ruining the joke.)
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