My face hurt by the time we arrived at Central Park. I scrunched my nose and opened my mouth wide to ensure that the muscles in my face still worked. A plume of grey condensation floated out of my mouth when I exhaled, though it quickly disappeared with the sudden gust of chilled air. Small streams of other runners and spectators coalesced near 72nd Street and, all bundled in many layers, we made our way to the bandshell.

The circumstances were entirely novel to me. I had never run at midnight before. Running around Central Park in the dark is not considered a prudent choice. Though I had run in suboptimal weather conditions before, I had never run when the temperature was 18 degrees, or 4 degrees with windchill. Perhaps most significantly, I have never run in a four-mile race on New Year’s Eve.

On the way to the park, some revelers, dressed in party finery, greeted us: “Go runners!” Some of their greetings betrayed their incredulousness (read: they were thinking, “What is wrong with them???”); some of them seemed genuinely enthusiastic (or maybe simply intoxicated). A doorman on 72nd Street smiled and cheered, “Four miles, right? Have fun!”

About 5,000 people were lined up for the race at midnight and we all counted down together as the clock approached the start of the new year. The fire department set off a firework a bit too early and, a few seconds later, the race started!

… for the people in front. For those of us in the middle to the back, there was a sudden lurch forward… and then everyone stopped again. Six minutes passed before I crossed the starting line. However, that gave me six minutes to admire the fireworks exploding overhead. Birds flew out of the barren trees as the fireworks boomed across the park and people cheered as the colorful sparks tumbled out of the clear, cold sky.

A variety of people were plodding (and, really, we were all plodding during that first mile) along in the race. My guess is that most of them had some running experience, though there were some walkers in attendance. A man was dressed as Bugs Bunny. A pair was dressed as Domo-kun. We also passed a pair of penguins. Most people were bundled up in layers of running clothes; some had accoutrements around their heads and bodies to celebrate the beginning of 2009. People shouted “HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!” to spectators and cheered.

There was a young lady who was dressed in all white, though, upon closer inspection, she was wearing black running tights underneath her pinned white gown. She wore a wig of long, white hair that was adorned with iridescent stars. The long-sleeve bodice of her dress fitted her well and revealed her svelte, petite figure. The skirt was nearly floor-length and had a few large pleats in the back (I’m sure they’re not called pleats, but I don’t know what the technical term is: ruched?). She smiled broadly and ran with ease while her dress billowed slightly behind her. She looked magical; the men who gawked at her would easily agree.

I sailed down the hills on the West side of the park and, about a hundred yards from the finish line, the fire department lit off a few more fireworks. We had all assumed that the fireworks were over—the grand finale occurred behind us as we plodded towards 103rd Street—and were pleasantly surprised to see the sky light up with color as we approached the finish line.

Though I knew that a larger party was happening in Times Square and had never felt as simultaneously overheated and cold as I did while running, I felt gratitude to spend the first moments of 2009 running in Central Park. The run symbolized my hope for a healthy, invigorating, and exciting new year and the wish for a quiet, calm confidence to help me gracefully overcome what challenges await—like running four miles when it’s frickin’ cold out.

The image of the pretty fairy in white stays in my mind. May I feel and display that kind of magic and mirth this year, too.