Metropolitan Diary
Marathon Day
Dear Diary:
I could hardly believe I was about to run the New York City Marathon. It was 2011, and I had come to the city from Wisconsin, where I was living then.
As we waited to cross the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge, the loudspeakers began to blast Frank Sinatra’s version of “New York, New York.” Tears filled my eyes.
Then the starting gun went off. The race was on. Hours later, after 26.2 miles, I crossed the finish line in Central Park. It was dark and cold, and the crowds had thinned.
It took forever to shuffle through the finish chute and out of the park. There were no cabs anywhere; the streets were still closed for blocks.
I walked and walked, shivering and starving, my post-race euphoria fading fast. Out of pure desperation, I ducked into TGI Fridays on Fifth Avenue. Wrapped in my silver space blanket with my medal around my neck, I must have looked ridiculous.
The bartender looked up.
“Did you just run the marathon?”
I nodded.
“Hey, everyone,” he called out. “This lady just ran the New York City Marathon!”
The whole bar cheered.
The bartender grinned.
“Beer’s on the house,” he said.
Just like that, I wasn’t cold anymore.
— Joan Kappes
https://www.nytimes.com/2025/11/02/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html
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