The New York Marathon takes place on the first Sunday of November.
I live on East 79th Street, between York and First. The Marathon runs right by. It's an impressive, energetic race, through all five boroughs of the city.
My busy two-way street is closed to traffic, starting around 8am —that's long before any runners are even in sight. That means that I cannot cross First Avenue. And just about anything I would do would require that. This is non-negotiable. The police guard has their rules and won't budge.
But there is an upside. Because this usually-trafficked street is closed, kids can now play on it without fear of cars, reckless bikers or careless delivery vehicles.
In 2018 I was working at Saks and almost didn't make it in. I couldn't cross the street to get to any subway or bus. And I wasn't about to walk as the job required me to be on my feet for 8 hours. That year I was lucky enough to flag down a police car and get a ride in the back seat, behind the bars.
This year I know better.
Zelia is coming over to watch a movie, but not until late afternoon. First Avenue should be crossable by then.
Except it's not.
She calls me at 4. The best we can do is wave to each other.
But the cop standing next to me looks friendly. I tell him my friend is across the street. He says, "Okay. Call her and tell her she can cross. And act like you don't know me."
I call Zelia, and she complies. She weaves through the race and quickly makes it over.
The movie we watch (Park Avenue) is awful, and we quit halfway through. But I do appreciate Z's effort to get here.
