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On the Streets

Mark Podgainy (left), Gouzal Akhnmadoullina (center) and Rick Lipsey ran the NYC Marathon in 5 1/2 hours. CNN/SI

Sports Illustrated writer-reporters Brian Cazeneuve and Rick Lipsey ran the New York City Marathon as guides for the Achilles Track Club, which helps athletes with many different kinds of disabilities compete in long-distance races. Cazeneuve and Lipsey filed reports to CNNSI.com throughout the day.

Finish

Rick Lipsey, 4:55 p.m.: We found out that because of injury Gouzal hadn't run more than 10 miles at a time since in 1997. We ran the last two miles, and the crowd was great coming up to Central Park. They really did carry her. The last 100 yards or so she started crying. When we crossed the finish line in 5:36.24 we were hugging each together. We hadn't been able to communicate with her very well all day, and we really wanted to express the emotions we were feeling then. Gouzal said her favorite part was the Tele-tubbies and the kids. She wants to come back next year.

Brian Cazeneuve, 3:05 p.m.: Donald and Mack crossed the line together in 6:57.21, holding each others' arms in the air. Donald said, "We did it, we did it. The three of us -- you, me and Poochie. We did it."

Donald and Mack arrived at the Achilles family reunion area about a half-mile past the finish line to a swarm of elated family members. Two people I had never met before embraced me even though I had 26.2 miles worth of sweat and stink on me. As the Achilles athletes were lying on cots waiting for massages, one man wrapped in a blanket was asked, "Do your legs need help?" He answered "Got no legs, it's my back that's hurting."

"There were sometimes out there that I felt like I wasn't going to make it," Donald said. "People on the course were wonderful. I think I had that extra spirit with me. This is the greatest thing in world."

Mile 20

Rick Lipsey, 2:50 p.m.: People and bands lined the streets on 1st Avenue. Firefighters had their ladders stretched out over the street. They seem to be the biggest supporters of the race. The cops were also cheering the runners as we got over the bridge.

Twenty miles is supposedly the wall. People are taking breaks, and the pace has gone down to a snail's crawl. There are a lot of struggling people out here. We're hoping to finish in about 5 1/2 hours. Gouzal's left heel is really hurting her, but she keeps going. As you get into Harlem and the Bronx, our fifth borough, it gets a lot quieter. I walked over to a policeman as we were crossing the bridge and said, "It's nice to be in the Bronx." He said, "Watch out for your wallets."

Brian Cazeneuve, 1:25 p.m.: The 16th mile of this race is especially difficult. It's a mile-long hike up and down the Queensborough Bridge that connects Queens and Manhattan. You run along the left half of the bridge's underpass, with exhaust from cars coming at you from the right half. The terrain is unpadded, and the thunder of pounding feet seem to ricochet off the bridge's overpass and into your skull. The next two miles are the payoff. As the bridge empties on to 1st Avenue, the first street inside Manhattan, spectators line the course from the police barricade that extend past the edges of sidewalk all the way back to the doors of storefronts.

"I love this," Donald says, noticeable picking up his arm carriage -- the way you would in the home stretch of the race. "It's just keeps you going," he says. "I think I even lost track of a mile somewhere." At 19 miles, a woman yells, "Go heart transplant. I saw you on TV. You are the best." We remind Donald to keep drinking water as more and more runners pull off to the side to stretch, catch their wind, get Vaseline or a Band-Aid at an aid station or just find an excuse to tie their shoes. It is more important than ever to refuel and finish strong. The finish is just six miles away.

Mile 15

Rick Lipsey, 1:50 p.m.: We were passed by a group of Tele-Tubbies and a big lion. The pace is significantly slowing down. People are walking and stopping. But it's fun back here. It's a loose atmosphere. People are talking to each other, sharing food. It's like the blue seats at Madison Square Garden or the bleachers at Yankee Stadium.

Gouzal's left leg is hurting her, but she still smiling and still going. When you get to the Queensborough bridge, you wonder what you're doing out here. You feel like you been out here for a long time. It's like you've been on vacation, and you really don't know what's going on in the rest of the world.

Brian Cazeneuve, noon: The main pack has caught up. There was a roar as the lead wheelchairs went by us. With more spectators out on the course, Donald is responding to the cheers of "Go Achilles" every block or so. The sound of local bands are being drowned out at each water station by the clatter of feet crushing empty cups of water and Gatorade. It's still a good assortment of tunes this year. So far we've passed an accordion player, rap group, two bagpipe players and band playing version of "Rocky," the "Final Countdown," and "New York, New York."

The mayor's motorcade went by and Donald got a thumbs-up from Rudy Giuliani, sporting a cap to support his other sporting passion -- the New York Yankees. "This is a beautiful day in New York," says Donald, who is enjoying every minute of this physically demanding journey. As he taps chest he quietly says "Get ready." We are approaching 1st Avenue. It's unlike anything this or any other race has to offer.

Mile 10

Rick Lipsey, 12:40 p.m.: Gouzal is slowing down -- she's walking and running. She said she would rather go slow and enjoy it, than go hard and be dead tired when she's finished. She's loosening up, high-fiving kids and stopping for babies. The noise and the pace gets progressively slower as we go. You see some runners stopping to stretch on the side. We just passed a quadriplegic, who can only push himself with his chin. A few years ago, they wouldn't let people with motor-powered wheelchairs in the race because they said it wasn't really competing. But the Achilles Track Club convinced them that the people are doing as much as they are capable of.

Mark is trying to read the Russian dictionary as we go. He's been able to communicate a few words with Gouzal. People keep asking him why he's reading a book during the race.

Brian Cazeneuve, 10:40 a.m.: Donald spotted a man with one leg whom he has seen walking in Central Park many times. The man is using springy crutches in both hands to move along briskly, and Donald is after him. "That's when I knew I was first getting competitive " Donald says. "When I started seeing this guy in the park and I started passing him." Almost on ceremony Donald marches past the man again. He is grinning from ear to ear.

Donald stops once along the bridge, pulls Mack over, lifts up his shirt and puts Mack's hand over his heart. "That's your brother, Donald tells Mack. Can you feel him?" Mack, a 15-year veteran of the U.S. army, is about to melt.

Cast of characters Brian Cazeneuve, 33, has run every New York City Marathon since 1990, and completed last year's race in 3:59. This is his first year running as an Achilles volunteer. Joining Cazeneuve is Donald Arthur, 55. Three years ago Arthur, a bookkeeper from Harlem, suffered from cardiomyopathy and was often too tired to chew food. On Aug. 3, 1996, a 25-year-old man named Fitzgerald Gittens was shot and killed while sitting in a friend's car in the Bronx. Arthur, weeks from death, received Gittens heart. Later that year, Arthur began walking as part of his physical therapy. Fifteen months after his transplant, Arthur walked the New York City Marathon in 6:32, talking quietly to his heart throughout the race. This year Gittens' brother, Mack, will accompany Arthur on his third journey through New York's five boroughs. "Each day is a new gift I probably don't deserve," says Arthur. "Every single step is a gift from God and from my donor." Rick Lipsey, 32, has run one marathon on his own, in 1991 in New York in a time of 3:40. He has volunteered with Achilles since 1991, and has completed the past three New York marathons as a runner's guide. Running with Lipsey is Gouzal Akhnmadoullina, 52, from Moscow. She has had several heart operations for various ailments. This is her second New York marathon. In 1997 she ran 4:27 and finished first in the 50-54 age class for all Achilles runners.

Mile 5

Rick Lipsey, 11:45 a.m.: I think we have "hello" down in Russian. That's one word every five miles. Everyone goes to bathroom right before the race, but on the bridge there were about 30 women squatting. You usually see men out there, but not women. On the bridge everyone starts shedding their clothes and then they give them to charity. Gouzal indicated that people could use them in Russian. The view from the bridge is spectacular. You usually drive across it, and don't notice the view or the fact that the bridge bounces up and down. You can see the World Trade Center and whole Manhattan skyline. There are boats in the harbor that are shooting up red, white and blue water. There's the joke that New York doesn't usually doesn't get along with Staten Island. But those of us running appreciate the view once a year.

There seem a lot more women running than last year. The firefighters are out with their ladders, and we saw one guy dressed up as Christmas in November. One guy in a wheelchair pushes and pulls with his feet the whole way -- sometimes going backwards and sometimes forward. By mile 5, everyone starts to get a little quieter. But the crowds are really cheering for the Achilles runners. We give the kids along the race high-fives. And other kids from different ethnic groups are together giving out water. We can smell Kentucky Fried Chicken. I'd like to have some of that right now.

It's great to be out here. When we crossed the bridge Mark and I were thinking how great it was to be running. It's kind of a sappy feeling, but this is one of those emotional events. It's a great family day for New York. The city comes together. New York gets such a bad rap, but for one day a year everyone gets along.

Brian Cazeneuve, 9:20 a.m.: Mack is admiring Donald's form. His arms are pumping rhythmically and his feet are straight in front of him. There is very little extra knee and elbow motion. As I see him I'm thinking Curt Clausin, our national race walk champion, would be proud. The swirling crosswinds along 4th Avenue in Brooklyn, the main thoroughfare in the early part of the race, can't slow him down.

Volunteers are still setting up for the main pack. It's interesting to see the race setup as opposed to running it in the frantic mass of mid-pack. The water cups were still empty as we passed the 3-mile mark, and we had to pause twice briefly for traffic that hadn't yet been diverted from the main pack. "This is why there's a lawsuit in the works for wheelchair athletes in the race," Donald says. "Sometimes we are second-class citizens." Donald's effort is first-class so far. After five miles, he is just off his personal best of 6 hours and 32 minutes.

Staging area

Rick Lipsey, 9:50 a.m.: Between Mark and me and Gouzal it's been like a Russian 101 class. We've learned how to say "hello" and "bridge." We have a Russian dictionary, but we don't really need it -- you can communicate with smiles and hand signals. We found out that in 1980, Gouzal ran a big marathon in Moscow in 2 hours and 47 minutes.

Our bus driver got lost, and I had to direct him back to Verrazano Narrows Bridge. On the bus there were people from South Africa, Mongolia, Laos, Ghana and a large group of Algerians. There's a couple from North Holland, a husband and wife, who are doing their first marathon.

At the starting line, people are basically running around looking for something to do. It's a very festive atmosphere. But people are kind of anxious and nervous as they wait to start. You know you are going to finish, but then again you don't know you are going to finish. There is still that element of doubt. The longest training most people do is 20 miles, but you are supposed to hit a wall those six extra miles. Most people have been training for months, so the hard part is really done if you've made it here. Now you just try to have fun and enjoy it.

Brian Cazeneuve, 7:50 a.m.: The Fort Wadsworth staging area smells like a Bengay factory. I'm walking among bagel crumbs, PowerBar wrappers and empty water bottles. Thirty thousand runners are filing into the main staging area. Some are stretching, others are partaking in non-denominational religious services, others are doing aerobics with the Knicks City Dancers. Still others are taking advantage of what marathon organizers are claiming to be the world's longest urinal.

I'm in a separate staging area for members of the Achilles Track Club and their volunteer guides. Over three hundred athletes, including blind runner, amputees, wheelchair athletes and survivors of life-threatening illnesses will brave forty-degree temperatures along the course today. For the elite, who will compete the race in well under 3 hours, the conditions are ideal. Even those of us in the Achilles area, who expect to have between 6 to 10 hours of the cold, are not that different. "As along as there is no head wind this will help me do a PR," a man with one leg tells me. My partner Donald is ready to go. He loaded up on pasta last night at a party for race walkers. He worries about Mack, whose brother gave him his heart. Mack is the third man in our party. "He has no idea what he is in for," Donald says. Our early start, three hours before the main start, is minutes away.

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