(Part I is here.)

I’m guessing that “The Sick Sensation” is the same thing as “The Wall”. No one ever told me what exactly “The Wall” is; they only told me the etiology of “The Wall”:

Your body generally only has enough glycogen stores for about twenty miles. Glycogen is readily available. Once that’s gone, your body starts pulling energy from fat. And your body can’t burn that as quickly as glycogen. Hence “The Wall”.

I saw all the colorful flags on First Avenue marking the location of the Power Gel station. This was my opportunity to grab one of those gooey gel things to supply my body with some “immediate” energy to power me through the last few miles of the marathon.

Inertia had taken over. My body was unwilling to adjust and steer me towards the station to take a gel. Furthermore, I had squirted the contents of a gel (tangerine flavor) into my mouth shortly after I passed Mile 13. The gel was unnaturally sweet, thick and heavy, and left my mouth feeling parched.

Basically, it was gross.

My body was also unwilling to steer me towards the station because it was no longer feeling functional. And when I say “my body”, I mean “my entire body”. The Sick Sensation was growing.

I considered my options:

1. Maybe I’ll feel better if I lay down. I can’t lay down right now.
2. Maybe I should pee. That’ll help. But I don’t think I need to. And I worry that I won’t be able to get up once I sit down. How I envy those men who can pee while standing up.
3. Maybe I should throw up. My stomach doesn’t feel too good and maybe I just need to vomit. But I don’t feel nauseated.
4. Maybe I should drink water. Maybe I’m just dehydrated. (I did start to drink water regularly thereafter, though the water did nothing to relieve my ill-defined symptoms.)
5. Maybe I need to drink more Gatorade. Maybe my electrolytes are completely out of whack. (I also started to drink Gatorade regularly thereafter, though that only seemed to make me more thirsty.)

Maybe if I keep going, then The Sick Sensation will go away.

My pace slowed significantly as I neared the bridge that would lead me into the Bronx. A friend had told me that she would be cheering for me on the bridge. My bleary eyes, which had focused primarily on the ground three feet in front of me while I was on First Avenue, finally looked up to carefully scan the crowd for her face. I didn’t see her.

The bridge to the Bronx is a metal grate. A spongy, yellow carpet was placed on the grate to provide a smoother surface for the runners. A woman veered off the carpet and she then began screaming. She had looked down and saw the water below. Something about that sight caught her off guard. A male runner firmly grasped her arm and pulled her back onto the carpet.

Few of us were thinking optimally at this point.

I passed the sign that marked Mile 20. The Sick Sensation was stronger now. I felt ill and weak. My efforts to physically soothe myself were unsuccessful. The only way I would feel better, I speculated, was if I stopped running.

Most of my fellow runners were passing me now.

There are only six miles left, I said to myself. You just ran twenty consecutive miles. You’ve never done that before—you’ve always taken a break in there somewhere. This alone is a reason to congratulate yourself.

My head felt like it was wobbling on my neck. My gut was churning in my body. My left arm was aching and my thoughts felt like sludge as they travelled through my head. My breathing was unlabored, but I didn’t feel like the air was actually filling my lungs.

To my left was a group of Asian people beating large drums. The rhythmic beats filled the air and the syncopations encouraged haste. I saw their hands rise and fall on the taut, leathery skins.

I really didn’t want to, but The Sick Sensation made me do it: I slowed down even more… and began to walk.

The drumming reverberated in my ears. I felt warm blood flood my legs and cool sweat trickle down my neck. My gut continued to churn. The aching spread from my legs into my torso, then into my shoulders and arms.

You can walk the last six miles, I reasoned with myself. There’s no shame in doing that.

Runners passed me on both sides. I tried to move to one side as quickly as I could; I even tried to jog to get out of the way. My legs rebelled and would not move faster.

All of these people who passed me—they were running! Their heels kicked up behind them! There was bounce in their steps, energy in their strides! They were not afflicted with The Sick Sensation!

Realizing that I was distracted and only contributing to further demoralization, I finally focused my attention on my companion, my breath. As I inhaled the cool autumn air, my breath reminded me of something I had seen earlier:

Around Mile 7, a thin man had passed me. He had attached a small yellow sign to his back. It read: “Nobody quits today.”

Nobody quits today, I wondered. That’s right. Nobody quits today.

I looked up and saw dozens of runners pass around me. They were running. Their heels were kicking up behind them; they were bouncing along; they had energy. They were also hunching their shoulders, grunting loudly, wiping sweat from their brows, and scuffling their feet. Most of them, like me, were not feeling comfortable.

I fished the second gel from my shorts. The flavor was chocolate. The foil packaging was salty from sitting so close to my skin; the contents were warm and almost liquid. The thin sludge, too sweet and tasting minimally like chocolate, coated my tongue and slid down my throat.

I could walk the last six miles, I reasoned with myself, but you can also try to run again.

My eyes looked up at the sign that pointed the way to 5th Avenue in Manhattan.

Manhattan! I was just there.

And Central Park is in Manhattan.

And the finish line was in Central Park.

The Sick Sensation had somewhat diminished. I licked my lips and tasted the salt that my sweat had left behind. I savored those last steps I took while walking—

—and, with a deep breath, began to run again.