I implore every New Yorker to attempt this race at least once in his/her life. You can choose to run or walk, it is only a 5k, (or 3.1 miles in non-runner lingo). I have had many out of towners ask me what this race was all about, so please excuse me if you already know. This race retraces the final steps that off duty NYFD firefighter Stephen Siller took before he died, along with 343 other firefighters, responding to the call of duty on 9/11.
The race began around 9:30am in Brooklyn. Runners and walkers anxiously swelled the empty streets on the Gowanus approach to the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel. The course leads you through the tunnel, north onto West Street, left on Liberty Street, to Battery Park Esplanade, then right on North Esplanade, right onto West Street and finishing at West & Vesey Streets, a stone's throw from where the new building are being resurrected in the mighty twin towers place.
Not many things in life have moved me the way being a participant in this race has. Multiple times you will tear, if not cry. I convinced my mother and brother to run, but I decided to walk with my mom, (even though not running was killing me, I wanted to experience this race by her side and not by a stranger's). I told her this was something she needed to feel, and in the end she wholeheartedly agreed. Over 30,000 people ran or walked. You saw firefighting squads representing different countries running as a team, in full fledged uniform complete with those heavy oxygen tanks. You saw military men and ROTC enrollees, people carrying 8 poles with American flags waving. Seeing all of these people unite for a common cause, to remember the good that was done by our fallen heroes on that fateful day, gave me chills.
Before the race bell tolled the national anthem was sung. Imagine 30,000 voices all clammering and laughing. Then all at once nothing. You could have heard a pin drop, so much so that all I heard was the hum of the NYPD helicopter overhead. The silence was deafening. To see throngs of people show such deference for the nation we live in, and for all those who have died defending its honor, is truly a magnificent thing to behold. As we edged closer to the start line I see runners to the side of me begin to part. It's Rudy Giuliani just casually walking past the crowd. The starting gun sounds, and we're off!
Various high school cheerleading teams flank the sidelines encouraging runners on. Colleges and universities enter whole sports teams to run, (I saw multiple lacrosse, soccer and basketball teams running in uniform). My mother and I struck up a nice little chat with an older gentlemen from New Mexico, who was just in town to participate in this event, and who happened to be perfectly in tune with our turtlesque pace.
Right before you enter the tunnel police officers solemnly guard a piece of twisted steel, no doubt a beam from one of the towers that fell on that fateful day. Runners reach out to touch it, and I do the same. How crazy is it that this inanimate, ugly object can generate a tear in even the strongest of eyes?
The tunnel air is thick and humid. Polluted from millions of commutes that pass each day, this probably is not the best place to be running but it definitely is a trip. Then, to foster even more of an adrenaline rush, speakers that are strategically placed throughout the tunnel come to life. I hear a familiar song, played by one of my favorite rock groups, the DropKick Murphy's, blare loud and clear, (shoving off to Boston was the song, if it's slightly familiar to you it's because you remember it from Leonardo DiCaprio's car chase scene in the movie "The Departed"). At points when the music dies down, a chant erupts throughout the moving mass, all at once soft, but then louder and louder till it's a deafening scream, u.s.a., u.s.a., U.S.A, U.S.A.!!!
Finally, there's the light at the end of the tunnel. When you exit the tunnel onto West Street, hundreds of volunteers are there handing out water and spectators are present goading you on. 343 firefighters carry banners depicting the faces of the dead around their necks. You pass all of the eyes of our fallen heroes; it is a sombering moment as you see the youth in many of their faces, and their names. What their families have lost, what legacies they left behind. These thoughts spiral through your head and you can't believe how many there are, you keep going and going and still there's more. For God to have taken so many angels you pray that it makes sense in the intricate web of life.
As you approach the finish line, and the beautiful red, white and blue balloon banner that stretches in an arch across the street, you become overwhelmed by emotion. All of your love, all of your pride, everything you've ever pushed out of your mind concerning 9/11 because it was just to painful to really sit and mull over, pours out of you as you cross the finish. I have never been prouder to be an American.
The after party is chock filled with freebies, hamburgers, hot dogs, water and beer, (although how anyone can reach for a beer after depleting your body like that is beyond my comprehension). A concert stage is set up, bagpipes, (my FAVORITE instrument, they give off the most bad-ass, ready to go to war sound) local politicians and various family members of Stephen Siller come on stage to thank everyone for a successful race.
As the merry goers slowly depart, I too must catch the next ferry, (I had a 3pm soccer game on East 6th Street). This race, it represents something so much bigger than who you are, it represents the spirit and the resiliency of the American people. The ability to do good when the world seems to be crumbling all around. This race isn't for a PR, or to stay in shape. This race is in memory of all those that have died saving us in the past, and for all those that will die saving us in the future.
I would like to thank the Stephen Siller Foundation for stirring emotions inside of me that I did not think possible. From such ashes rises such inspirations. In keeping theme with the organization's motto,
"Let Us Do Good"
The race began around 9:30am in Brooklyn. Runners and walkers anxiously swelled the empty streets on the Gowanus approach to the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel. The course leads you through the tunnel, north onto West Street, left on Liberty Street, to Battery Park Esplanade, then right on North Esplanade, right onto West Street and finishing at West & Vesey Streets, a stone's throw from where the new building are being resurrected in the mighty twin towers place.
Not many things in life have moved me the way being a participant in this race has. Multiple times you will tear, if not cry. I convinced my mother and brother to run, but I decided to walk with my mom, (even though not running was killing me, I wanted to experience this race by her side and not by a stranger's). I told her this was something she needed to feel, and in the end she wholeheartedly agreed. Over 30,000 people ran or walked. You saw firefighting squads representing different countries running as a team, in full fledged uniform complete with those heavy oxygen tanks. You saw military men and ROTC enrollees, people carrying 8 poles with American flags waving. Seeing all of these people unite for a common cause, to remember the good that was done by our fallen heroes on that fateful day, gave me chills.
Before the race bell tolled the national anthem was sung. Imagine 30,000 voices all clammering and laughing. Then all at once nothing. You could have heard a pin drop, so much so that all I heard was the hum of the NYPD helicopter overhead. The silence was deafening. To see throngs of people show such deference for the nation we live in, and for all those who have died defending its honor, is truly a magnificent thing to behold. As we edged closer to the start line I see runners to the side of me begin to part. It's Rudy Giuliani just casually walking past the crowd. The starting gun sounds, and we're off!
Various high school cheerleading teams flank the sidelines encouraging runners on. Colleges and universities enter whole sports teams to run, (I saw multiple lacrosse, soccer and basketball teams running in uniform). My mother and I struck up a nice little chat with an older gentlemen from New Mexico, who was just in town to participate in this event, and who happened to be perfectly in tune with our turtlesque pace.
Right before you enter the tunnel police officers solemnly guard a piece of twisted steel, no doubt a beam from one of the towers that fell on that fateful day. Runners reach out to touch it, and I do the same. How crazy is it that this inanimate, ugly object can generate a tear in even the strongest of eyes?
The tunnel air is thick and humid. Polluted from millions of commutes that pass each day, this probably is not the best place to be running but it definitely is a trip. Then, to foster even more of an adrenaline rush, speakers that are strategically placed throughout the tunnel come to life. I hear a familiar song, played by one of my favorite rock groups, the DropKick Murphy's, blare loud and clear, (shoving off to Boston was the song, if it's slightly familiar to you it's because you remember it from Leonardo DiCaprio's car chase scene in the movie "The Departed"). At points when the music dies down, a chant erupts throughout the moving mass, all at once soft, but then louder and louder till it's a deafening scream, u.s.a., u.s.a., U.S.A, U.S.A.!!!
Finally, there's the light at the end of the tunnel. When you exit the tunnel onto West Street, hundreds of volunteers are there handing out water and spectators are present goading you on. 343 firefighters carry banners depicting the faces of the dead around their necks. You pass all of the eyes of our fallen heroes; it is a sombering moment as you see the youth in many of their faces, and their names. What their families have lost, what legacies they left behind. These thoughts spiral through your head and you can't believe how many there are, you keep going and going and still there's more. For God to have taken so many angels you pray that it makes sense in the intricate web of life.
As you approach the finish line, and the beautiful red, white and blue balloon banner that stretches in an arch across the street, you become overwhelmed by emotion. All of your love, all of your pride, everything you've ever pushed out of your mind concerning 9/11 because it was just to painful to really sit and mull over, pours out of you as you cross the finish. I have never been prouder to be an American.
The after party is chock filled with freebies, hamburgers, hot dogs, water and beer, (although how anyone can reach for a beer after depleting your body like that is beyond my comprehension). A concert stage is set up, bagpipes, (my FAVORITE instrument, they give off the most bad-ass, ready to go to war sound) local politicians and various family members of Stephen Siller come on stage to thank everyone for a successful race.
As the merry goers slowly depart, I too must catch the next ferry, (I had a 3pm soccer game on East 6th Street). This race, it represents something so much bigger than who you are, it represents the spirit and the resiliency of the American people. The ability to do good when the world seems to be crumbling all around. This race isn't for a PR, or to stay in shape. This race is in memory of all those that have died saving us in the past, and for all those that will die saving us in the future.
I would like to thank the Stephen Siller Foundation for stirring emotions inside of me that I did not think possible. From such ashes rises such inspirations. In keeping theme with the organization's motto,
"Let Us Do Good"
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