I did all the things a runner should not do. I ate steak the night before. I barely slept long enough to be awake for the race, and went alone.

Yet the sun shone as I jogged over to the Newark light rail on Lock Street. Birds chirped somewhat happily, and I felt good. I tried to take in all that I could during the trip: I’d never taken the subway in this direction before. I started to recognize the streets that I once ran across to get to a Sovereign Bank.

“Racers, all racers proceed to the starting line!” The megaphone died off at the last words, but the first were the most memorable. We are no longer runners, we are racers. It doesn’t matter that the fastest man in the world can only top out at 20 mph. All that matters is who crosses the finish line.

A thousand people of all shapes and sizes, races and abilities, classes and strengths gathered before the white line. A banner flew overhead, slightly snapping in the crisp breeze. The sun finally makes its full debut, and I regret bringing the fleece my grandfather gave me. Its too warm for it, but I don’t have anyone to leave it with. There’s a man far thinner than me… I thought seeing ribs was bad, but I could see the full outline of his shoulder blades. I wonder how they don’t cut his skin.

I try to gauge where I am in the field, who is good and who is better. I don’t want to start out slow, but then the announcer steps up. A man from Horizon Blue Cross Blue Shield steps up and is barely heard. The crowd cheers because they want to race. There is so much pent up energy. We want to go. We want to start. When can we start? Can we start yet?

The horn blares and a thousand men and women begin to run.

It takes a minute to get up to full speed. There are too many people in the way, and I’m thinking more about how to get past them all more than I should be. I should be concentrating on running. Its annoying. I get annoyed enough to start putting some real energy into my steps, and soon enough I’m bounding past everyone. Not one of them is running with me, I’m passing them all. Not one is a challenger, just a runner with a pace they’ve set in stone because they’re too afraid to go further. A man with short shorts on. A woman with a bright blue shirt. A man who I saw at the start that looked to be strong enough to compete with. A man who was at the front and is now lagging. All of them, passed. Gone, out of vision. I can’t even hear their footsteps behind me. Just the general sound of shoes hitting the pavement, all around…

The field thins out to 2-3 runners per 50 feet. Now I’m passing them 1-2 at a time. It starts getting harder to keep passing them all, but I know there’s so much further to go. We’re approaching 3 miles when it starts to get rough. I’m pushing 20 minutes and my side aches. I saw the 3 lead men, only a quarter mile in front. I suddenly wish I’d been running 6 miles all this semester, but wishing doesn’t do much, so I keep running. First 1, then 3, then 10 pass me. I’m slowing down. I can’t help it. 4 miles and I think 15 have passed me, but I’m starting to get disappointed with myself. I can run farther than this. I’ve got 110 miles under my belt in just this year, 6 is nothing. 6 is syrup on the pancakes, 6 is just a bit of pavement beneath my shoes.

“Give me goodness, and I’ll give you greatness.”

That’s the deal I made. I break into a grin and start running faster.

5 miles and I feel like we should be done already, but I know its not so we keep going. I’m maintaining my place, but its hard now. I’m out of breath. I’m sweating. Damn fleece.

The 6th mile took forever… but I can see it now! The bridge we passed under to start the race is just up ahead, and I can hope that sprinting now won’t tire me out before I get to the finish line. But it only really started when I passed under its shadow, and I could hear the cheers. The endless cheers that lasted forever, the cheers of a thousand people who weren’t there. The cheers I would never hear, the cheers I would always remember, and the one that made all the difference.

I RAN. I broke out of the shadows and launched into the light. Every step I stretched out and pulled myself forward and leaped forward. I wish I’d been running this fast the whole time, and why not? It was so easy now! How I wish I’d sprinted from the start. THIS IS WHY I RUN. For this feeling of emptiness, this exhausted state where I can run without holding anything back. There is nothing left to hold back. I don’t have anything left, but I’m still going fast. This is who I am.

I can see it now, even though I can’t: the finish line. I can feel it, it has a certain presence. There are always a lot of people around it… they try to get as close to it as they can, like they’re closing it off, but instead it acts as a pull… as if every waving hand was grabbing us and helping us forward. Almost there, and I feel everything starting to fail, but the adrenaline is holding me together. My right arm shakes. I almost miss a step, but correct it. I passed 20 people in that last stretch. The feeling was glorious.