To prepare for the marathon, I have done most of my training runs in Central Park. On weekdays, I am usually in the park before 6:00am. Let me tell you about the other people who are in the park at that hour.

Most of the runners are Caucasian. We non-white people are definitely in the minority. Of these non-white people, here are a few of the regulars:

Latino woman who averts her eyes. She usually wears clothes that are too large for her short frame, but that doesn’t stop her from pumping her arms vigorously while she moves in a fashion that is more like speedwalking than running. Rarely does she look up; her eyes are seemingly fixed on a point on the ground that is about three feet in front of her. Over the months, she has lost weight. I have wondered why she runs—fitness? health concerns? the pleasure of running? (Though, honestly, she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying herself at all. Then again, very few of us look like we’re enjoying ourselves when we’re out there.)

Dark man who says “Good morning!” It may not be politically correct to label him as a dark man, but I am not sure if he is African-American, African, Dominican, Jamaican, or Haitian. This fellow usually wears a headband and light socks that are nearly knee high. A few months ago, he and I were running in opposite directions and, upon passing each other, I heard him say something. His voice jolted me out of my reverie (what a romantic term for an unromantic moment) and I abruptly looked over my shoulder, as if I could see what he had said to me. Since then, I have learned that he is actually greeting me with a breathy “Good morning!” Most mornings, when I’m not lost in my reverie, I respond in kind.

Petite Asian woman with the speedy dog. She’s small, she’s fast, and she runs with a dog that looks like a miniature wolf. I hear the dog chain jangling behind me and then they both pass me easily. She wears earbuds in her ears. I don’t like it when women wear earbuds when they’re running alone (or with only a dog) that early in the morning. Sure, nothing will probably happen, but when they’re blaring music through the earbuds, they can’t hear what’s going on around them. Maybe I’m just paranoid.

As for the white people? Most of them are on the young side and there seems to be an equal number of men and women out there. The women tend to run in groups; the men tend to run alone.

Here are a few notable white people:

The elderly man with a movement disorder. He looks like he’s in his 70s and he is thin. He is usually holding his left hand with his right hand. If he lets go, his left arm will involuntarily fling out—not too violently—from the shoulder (possibly hemiballismus?). He doesn’t exactly run—he may not have the motor capabilities to do so—but he is consistently out there, moving as fast as he comfortably can. Sometimes another elderly man joins him and, wonderfully, his arm doesn’t fling out nearly as often or with as much amplitude when he has company. He is sufficiently distracted.

The young man without an arm. He is tall and trim… and his arm stops around the elbow. I’ve actually only seen him in long-sleeved shirts. He tucks in the sleeve on the armless side. His other arm swing is graceful and fluid, in stark contrast to the amputated arm. The pendulum swing just isn’t as full.

Two men with varying degrees of hemiparesis. And by “hemiparesis“, I mean “weakness on one side of the body”. Both of them are fairly young (the older one is probably only in his late 40s) and both move as if they have experienced strokes. They don’t run; they walk as fast as they can. They, too, avert their eyes, though I think it’s fantastic that they’re out there, doing what they can.

The man who runs really, really fast. I thought he was younger than me, though he is now growing in some facial hair and looks older. And, really, he runs much, much faster than me and usually in the same direction… so I only catch a glimpse of his face. His form is remarkable because he holds his arms like a limp puppet, but his hands are balled into fists. For all I know, he may be an elite runner. If he runs the marathon, he’ll likely finish it around the 3-hour mark.

The woman who yells at her dog. Honestly, I feel sorry for the dog. She has not used learning theory properly in training this dog. They’ll be out there, trotting along, and the dog will begin to wander, slow down, or do something that she doesn’t want the dog to do. She will then screech to a halt, yank of the leash, and yell, “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? YOU’RE SLOWING ME DOWN!” Then she might bitterly mutter something about how she is trying to stay in shape or run faster. The dog looks away. Then they start up again. It makes me wonder how she treats her dog when they’re not running.

How about the non-runners?

The cyclists. The hard-core cyclists with their tight spandex, aerodynamic helmets, and blinking tail lights are out there in packs in the morning. They’re shouting at each other; sometimes they’re discussing racing strategy; sometimes they’re talking about the most recent baseball game; sometimes they’re yelling at police officers.

A police car was rolling through the park and, for whatever reason, one of the cops in the car turned on the loudspeaker and sourly commented, “There’s a bike lane. Try using it.”

The park is not open to cars at that hour and the cyclists routinely use the vehicle lanes for their training. Along the same lines, the runners use both the running lane and marked bike lane at that hour.

The police car rolled past and the cyclists, angered, began to chase the police car. Shouting followed: “CARS AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE PARK RIGHT NOW! WE’RE FREE TO USE THIS LANE AT THIS HOUR! YOU’RE JUST ASKING FOR TROUBLE!”

There’s a certain level of disrespect for the law that happens here in New York.

The rollerbladers. There are at least two of them who are physicians. They wear helmets, knee pads around loose pants, and wrist guards. I’m guessing that they don’t have a lot of experience using rollerblades, since they are skating from their legs, versus from their abdomen (I hope you know what I mean by that—they’re not using their whole body to move). They’ve discussed radiology films, scheduling problems, and things related to cardiology.

Bike commuters. These can be classified into two groups: Those with the foldable bikes and those without foldable bikes. The ones with foldable bikes are invariably wearing white dress shirts and slacks. Big backpacks are on their shoulders. They wear bike helmets. They’re white.

The ones without foldable bikes are wearing jeans, tee shirts, and hoodies. They don’t wear helmets. Their bikes are somewhat beat up. They’re not white.

The walkers. One woman wears an orange reflective vest and looks up periodically at star-speckled sky (yes, you can see stars in New York City). A few other solitary individuals stroll past, their hands stuffed into their pockets as they contemplate apparently serious things.

Raccoons. These creatures have no fear. They waddle about and look completely non-plussed with all the humans moving past. They do not hesitate to step into the road, even though a mob of cyclists are careening down the street. Their little raccoon kids look up innocently as I stride past, wondering what I am and if I have any food.

I do run alone and, for the most part, prefer it that way. I’ve extolled the virtues of running in the past as a time of moving therapy… and, not to sound too woo-woo about it, I do have company: my breath.

One of the things I have learned over the past 18 weeks is that the breath always stays with you. Other things that seem more compelling—you know, thoughts like, “I hate running,” “There are so many other things I could be doing right now,” “Why am I doing this again?”, or emotions like frustration and anger—actually pass. They may not pass as quickly as you would like them to; they may not even pass for the duration of the entire run. And they may not even pass when you try to make them go away. But, breathe in, breathe out, left foot, right foot… all that stuff comes, and then it goes. The breath—whether it is light, heavy, heaving, or wheezing—stays.

And that’s useful. The breath serves as an anchor and helps focus on what you are doing at that moment… instead of all the other things that you might be doing. But are not.

So perhaps it is not accurate to state that I run alone. My breath has been my training partner and will provide full support on marathon day.