On Sunday, Nov. 2, my mother, Maryann Morgan, ran in the New York City Marathon. I come from a family of runners, my grandfather was a college athlete running track, and my brother and I raced all 4 years of high school. My mother is no different, an avid runner who supported and encouraged us as we got older and faster. The marathon has been a long-term goal for her for years, running for practice when she didn’t have a class to teach. After her 52nd birthday, she decided she was finally going to do it.
Her training began in March 2025, on top of the typical 5ks she began going on longer runs more regularly, stretching into 5-, 7-, and 10-mile runs. Over the summer, she raced in every race she could find on Long Island, not for time, but running each of them at a marathon pace. Leaves turned brown and training amped up, 12-mile runs were a regular, and she began doing occasional 18-mile jogs to get closer to the endurance needed.
My siblings and I all came back home on November 1st in order to see her before the race. My twin sister came back by greyhound bus from Bethlehem PA, my older sister rode Amtrak from Narragansett RI, and I took the Metro North and transferred to LIRR at Grand Central Terminal. We all got back around 4pm, and at 6pm she left to spend the night in a hotel downtown for some peace and quiet, and an early rise to catch the Staten Island Ferry.
The NYC Marathon begins in Staten Island, where you immediately leave across the Verrazzano Bridge, then north through Brooklyn and Queens, across the 59th street bridge into Manhattan, north along first avenue, a small portion through the Bronx, and south along fifth avenue, finishing in Central Park.
Our family devised a plan to catch her 3 times along the route. First, I would take LIRR into Atlantic Terminal, catching her along the 8-mile mark. My father and sisters would be at Pulaski Bridge as she entered Queens, and we’d reunite a mile from the finish at Columbus Circle.
My mother’s scheduled start time was at 11:35, but with the large swaths of people walking to the starting line, she didn’t actually leave till a bit later. I arrived at Atlantic Terminal around 12, and found a set of stands to wait in. I hadn’t realized the actual 8 mile mark was further down the road. After appearing in the background of an ABC news broadcast and assisting a couple from Boston find their daughter on the official marathon app, I missed my mom as she zoomed past. Then it hit me. There’s no mark! I had to sprint 3 blocks, reaching the orange arrow right as she was looking for me. We took pictures, I gave her a charger, and she went back on track with 18 miles remaining.
I looked at some timetables, and my mom was ahead of schedule! I realized, I could take the G-train up
to Long Island City where my dad and sisters were waiting and make it up in time to see her again on the route. I hustled past fellow spectators and canvassers for the mayor’s election to the Fulton street subway. Evidently, I wasn’t the only one catching a runner at Long Island City. There was a line just to get into the station! Filing behind a Yankees fan and a Police officer, the single turnstile at Fulton Street delayed everybody, I missed a train just from waiting. A packed platform awaited me past the metal bars, a bad omen for things to come.
After a 10-minute headway, the G train arrived. There was no room on this train. None. Packed like Sardines. It was practically a human crush. Nonetheless, I had to get on. Car 1 was impenetrable, I feared I might not even make it on, till I saw a gap in between a man in a Dodgers jersey and the door. I shoved my way in, while he tried to shove me out. I made it on. In a French accent I heard him mumble “Bro. Is not game.” But I did not care at all, I thought about a song I’d been loving by New York band Geese, “Long Island City, Here I Come”.
10 more stops of nothing but compression, as few left and more entered, I finally got off at 21st street, and walked down Jackson Avenue where thankfully, my family was on the same side of the street. Just in time, our mom came around a few minutes later, 1 more train, and I’d have missed her entirely. Spectating phase 2 was complete.
After a bumper-to-bumper ride into midtown, we rested at a cafe aroma on 7th Avenue. My sister had another bus to catch and left before phase 3 at Columbus Circle. Hours had passed, but my mom had stood strong, keeping pace as she passed us on 59th street. She finished with a final time of 6 hours, 5 minutes and 53 seconds.
It was chaos to find her after she finished; every runner was given an orange coat upon completion and were let out at various points along Columbus Avenue. After half an hour of searching, we finally met her at 72nd Street. After another sardine like subway to 50th street, we ate dinner in Rockefeller center.
After running 26.2 miles, my mom was still able to get up and go to work today. While I never gave it much thought before, I’ve been inspired by my mom, and now will make the marathon a long-term goal for myself.
