8 Weeks to the New York Marathon
Eight weeks from today, I’ll be crossing the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge out of Staten Island, headed for Manhattan. The New York Marathon will be my first marathon. My first at age 68. And one that’s been a long time coming. I first got the idea in November 2023, then an accident knocked me sideways. But better late than never, right?
It’s my misogi for 2025. Traditionally, misogi is a Shinto ritual of purification—usually cold water, which I hate. The modern take is simpler: pick one brutally hard challenge with only a 50/50 chance of success, and see what’s left of you on the other side. That’s exactly how New York feels to me.
I’ve got the mental toughness to finish, no question. The real obstacle is my body: two battered knees, a rebellious hip, and a lower back that sometimes feels like it’s stabbing me in the dark. On some training runs, I can cruise through 20km. On others, my body just shuts down. Not my head. Not my spirit. Just the machinery. On 2 November, I’ll find out which version of me shows up.
The Numbers
I don’t usually go in for lists, but some of the numbers have surprised me:
• 721 km run so far (89 hours, 50 minutes on my feet—yes, I’m slow).
• 1,040 km by race day, if the plan holds.
• 33 gym sessions logged.
• Three pairs of ASICS Gel Kayanos worn down.
• 12.5 kg lost since starting out.
• Top 1% in my age group for mileage, according to Garmin.
• Lung capacity 24% higher than the expected max for my age.
• Physiological age 31, if you believe HRV trackers.
• Best fitness score since 2016 (TrainingPeaks).
If you’d told me those stats back in late 2023, I’d have laughed you out of the room.
Life Changes
This New York Marathon tilt is part of a wider shift. After a life-threatening accident in 2023, I stepped back from full-time work. I dabbled with the idea of “what’s next,” grieved a bit for the career I’d left behind, and eventually found a new rhythm: some advisory work, some coaching, a bit of bass guitar, and—somehow—a 70,000-word draft of a novel.
The body keeps the score, and mine has responded well. Cortisol levels are down from dangerous levels. Sleep up. Health metrics all flashing green. I’m not pretending I’ve got the answers, but I do know this: life is shorter than we think, and there’s more to it than just work.
Let’s see if I cross the Central Park finish line at New York Marathon. If I do, brilliant. If not, I’ll set another target and crack on. Decline isn’t in my vocabulary, though denial isn’t either. Father Time wins in the end, but the human spirit gets its say along the way.
There’ll be another misogi in 2026. There’ll be a published novel by the end of that year, even if I have to self-publish. And there’ll be time and energy given to helping the next generation chase their own ambitions. That’s the deal I’ve made with myself.
The Main Thing
But let me stop drifting into philosophy. The main thing is that the main thing is the main thing: New York Marathon. Eight weeks out. Hopefully, 5 hours and 45 minutes of truth.
I’ve trained. I’ve lifted. I’ve stretched. I’ve experimented with nutrition, supplements, osteopathy, and recovery. I’ll show up in New York knowing I left no stone unturned.
What I can’t control—the injuries, the colds, the weather, the random shutdowns—I’ll just have to face. Who wants a risk-free life anyway? Not me.