Flashes of Panic

With the New York City Marathon coming up next Sunday, the NYT has been treating us to a series of good, relatively thoughtful marathon-focused articles by some very good reporters. Today, for example, an article about the geographic breakdown of the field and how many New Yorkers feel like it’s too hard to get in to their hometown marathon, by Jere Longman, who I consider one of the best sportswriters on the “Olympic Sports” beat.

Full disclosure: I’ve had freelance assignments from the NYRR, the organization which puts on the NYCM, and I expect to be working for them in the press room on Sunday.

To summarize, the marathon has roughly 36,000 entrants, and the NYRR tries to break that into thirds: 12,000 international (non-US) runners, 12,000 in-US runners, and 12,000 New York runners. The marathon regularly turns away as many entrants as it accepts. (And, I might add, the NYRR is very specific about that number being entrants: their permits for the starting area limit them to some number significantly less than that, so they’re understandably cagey about whether or not they judge the no-show percentage correctly every year.)

And now there are New York runners who think that’s not enough: “It’s not the New York City Marathon; it’s only held here,” griped one. They think that since their taxes support the city services used by the marathon, they should have an easier time getting in.

Bah. And humbug. As the article notes, there are three different ways to enter without going through the lottery process: run a qualifying time at another marathon or half-marathon (I’m a long way from the marathon standard, but I think I could hit the half-marathon mark pretty easily,) run some number (eight or nine) of other NYRR races, which is actually pretty easy if you live in the city (I almost did it one year before I moved from Pennsylvania up to Massachusetts,) or just “lose” the lottery three years in a row. Any one of those gets you a guaranteed entry in the next NYCM.

“The qualifying times are too hard.” Sure. 3:00 for a marathon (for men) is not a piece of cake, and it’s ten minutes faster than Boston. 1:26 for a half, however, is a much easier hurdle; the only halves I’ve run slower were at altitude, or deliberately run as workouts.

“The races are too expensive.” You’re wanting entry to a marathon with an $80 entry fee, and you’re complaining about spending $20 once a month over a year as you get ready? I’m not sure I have much sympathy.

After all, there’s always that third option, the “three strikes and you’re in” rule. It’s like that baseball league when I was eight, where once you’d swung and missed at three pitches they brought out the tee so everyone got a “hit.” They’re really bending over backwards to let in the people who want in, and the people who are active in the local running community.

This really feels like typical aggrieved New Yorkness. They get so used to having things available, waiting outside their door or down the block, that something requiring some work, skill, or luck is something they need to whine about. They feel entitled to 24-hour availability, a baseball team in the World Series, and bib numbers for the local marathon. I am not impressed.

See, I grew up with the Boston Marathon, such an institution it practically has ivy growing on it. Boston has qualifying times. You run the times, you earn the privilege of coughing up $100 to run the race. I had to try three times to get my first Boston qualifier. I got my second on the first try, but the qualifier itself left me too wrecked to use it. I still haven’t finished the damn marathon.

I should add that Boston doesn’t have the circus atmosphere of New York. “This is not a jogging race,” the entry used to warn when the qualifying times were new. The appropriately-named Tim McLune (McLoon?) does not run Boston with a microphone, interviewing five-hour marathoners along the way. Everyone in the Boston marathon has the air of having passed the audition, made the cut, aced the test, even if they got a “club number” or a charity entry. They did the work; they earned it.

Could I work connections, and talk my way into Boston without a qualifier? Probably. Do I feel entitled to run Boston? Hell, no.

Grow up, New York. Put in the work. You can’t buy every World Series, and you can’t buy every number for the NYCM.

Now Playing: Deep End from School Of Fish by School Of Fish