[dude]

5.15h: daheim

“Moin. Kaffee?”
“Uh.”

6.30h: 54th and 6th – Elitebusse

“What’s the plan Jake? Nervous?”
“No. It’s not a PR course. Just want to have a good race. It’s my…I don’t even know, 10th?, NYC.”
Schlaeft ein.
Hinter uns brabbeln sich zwei Italiener einen Wolf.

7.30h Verrazano Bridge Ende, Staten Island, noch im Bus

„Refugee camp!“

8.00h Staten Island, Elitezelt

„Mate, how are you?“
“Uuuuliee!”
“Thanks for the jacket!”
“Yeah!”
Hendrick tanzt vor mir in seiner gelb-gruenen South Africa Jacke.
„Actually, the bridge race is on. I’ll kick your ass.”
“Oooohhh, not sure if I can handle dis. I am scared!”
Lacht sich schlapp und stellt sich hinter Paula Radcliffe in die Dixieschlange.

8.30h Staten Island, Waldweg, fuenf Minuten Warmjoggen

„[…] I kept saying 2:30 but in my mind I had 2:25. You don’t tell everyone!”
“Thom, that’s not me. If I say 2:32, I mean 2:32.”
“Anyway, I am really stoked that I have you out there.”
“Mate, I ain’t run no 2:25.”
“Me neither! I shoot for 2:30/32!”
“Yeah, right…”
“Seriously. Usually I go crash and burn strategy but this year I want to roll through half way in 1:15. And I am just not that fit.”
“Ok.”
“I just want to run 5:40s at the beginning.”
“Cool.”
“I don’t cry if I see 5:30s.”
“Ugh.”

Kwambai ueberholt uns recht flott.

„Will he win?“
„No.“
„So who?”
“Lel.”
“He doesn’t even run.”
“What do I know?”
Abdi kommt uns entgegen, sieht genervt aus. Makau dahinter ohne jeglichen Ausdruck.

9.00h Staten Island, Elitezelt, Beutelabgabe und Sammeln zum gemeinsamen Marsch zum Start.

„See that old, fat dude with „MORGAN“ printed on his bib from NYAC. WTF?”
Thom: “Dude, we get the worst treatment of all NYC clubs.”

9.05h Staten Island, Marsch vorbei an den eingesperrten Massen

Thom: „This is the best part of the whole race.“
Die Eingesperrten Klatschen und Jubeln.
Ich: „Whoahh, I just corrected my goal by five minutes.“
Thom faehrt sich durch den Bart: “God I’m handsome! … Did I just say that loud?
[...]
Hey, lets get a fence picture!”



9.20h Staten Island, Warmlaufen vor der Startlinie die Bruecke hoch. Hinter uns eingepfercht das Volk.
Simo, Italokumpel aus Dublin, winkt mich zu sich.

Thom taucht auf, zieht mich von den eingepferchten Laeufern weg, ruft „No autographs, no interviews!“

Zu mir: „Enough alright!“

9.45h Verrazano Bridge

“Gooo Hendrick!!!”

9.55h Brooklyn

Thom “Last one was 5:42. Shall we move to these guys?” (Zeigt nach vorne.)
“I’m sitting here for now.”

10.01h Brooklyn

"What was the last?"
Ich zeige auf meinen nackten Arm. "Oldschool."

10.38h Williamsburg

‘Shit. Er laesst nach. Loch nach vorne zu der Siebenergruppe zumachen? Ok.’

10.40h Williamsburg

Michael Cassidy zieht zum zweiten Mal von hinten vorbei. Ein paar Jungs aus der Gruppe gehen mit.
„Don’t go with this guy. Noooooo!”
Gruppe zerfaellt.

11.00h Manhattan, Ende Queensborough Bridge, voellig alleine

Hebe den rechten Arm. Ohrenbetaeubender Laerm. Geil.

In der Folge…

„Go Central Park!“



„Lauf Uli, Laaaauf!“



„Go Uuuulllieee!“



“Keep moving Uuuulllieee!”
"CENTRAL PARK!!!“
“Aaaahhhhh!!!”



12.24h Central Park, km 42,196

“Are you ok?”
“…”
“Do you know your name?”
“hmpf”
“Do you know your name?”
“yes”
“At five we get you up. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5!”



*Mutterichmussbrechen*

12.30h Central Park, Elitezelt

“Hey mate! How did it go?”
“Ah. So-so. 6th. 2:12 something. Strange race. Wery slow. Weeery windy.”
“Uh. So you’re free for a beer tonight?”
“I see you at the press conference.”
“Where?”
“Mandarin Hotel.”