Pain, pride and passion at the finish of the Long Island Marathon

On Sunday, as thousands of exhausted runners finish the annual Long Island Marathon, the half-marathon and the 10-kilometer races, I expect that mine will be the first face many will see. I’ll be standing at the finish line at Eisenhower Park in East Meadow to put finishers’ medals around their necks.

I’ve been a runner for many years, and have run marathons in Paris and New York. But for several years, I’ve witnessed the experience as one of the volunteers with the privilege of honoring the nearly 5,000 participants.

Running a long distance requires mental focus, but you also feel a variety of emotions. There can be apprehension at the starting line, gratitude for the cheering crowd, frustration when there isn’t a water stop near enough, inspiration when a wheelchair racer passes you, elation when you pass someone or disappointment when someone passes you. There’s anxiety when you fear you might not complete the race, but joy when you finally spot the finish line and hear the announcer call out your name.

As runners poured across the finish line last year, some hugged me. Others blurted out, “Thank you! Oh, thank you!” Some said, “I didn’t think I could do it.”

They were exhausted, panting and often stumbling. More than a few told me, “I’ve been waiting to see your face for over five hours.”

One runner did a somersault, another did 26 push-ups on the spot. Some pairs, hands clasped high, finished together. An engaged couple wore a bridal veil and a tuxedo T-shirt.

There were fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, sisters and brothers. There were many runners who were strangers at the start but, after finishing the last miles together, had become comrades.

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One woman said she signed up for the half-marathon but realized that her friend needed help, so she did the full marathon with her. Now that’s a friend!

There were high-fives and hugs. There were shirts stained with salty sweat. There were chafed thighs and cramps that required ice or massage at the medical tent. None of that diminished the exuberance of the participants.

There were all types of people, all races, ages, sizes. The ones with the runner’s bodies and the ones with beer bellies. A heavy teenage girl told me, “I did it! I lost 50 pounds already, and I did it, and I’m gonna keep doing it.”

A few runners put their hands together in the “wai” greeting of Thailand, bowing deeply to receive their medals.

There were people in costumes: a clown, a man in a business suit, a waiter holding a tray of drinks, the Incredible Hulk. Teams finished in unison: the New York Road Runners, Black Girls Run, We Are Athletes, Fred’s Team, Friends of Karen. Many ran to raise money for charities, some just for fun.

From behind temporary wooden fences, friends and relatives held signs, screamed names and applauded. Some dads passed babies over the fence so moms could carry their kids across the line.

If I hung a medal and didn’t hear a thank you, sometimes it was because the runner was crying — men and women both. Those were the tears of joy we see at weddings, births and graduations, and when we see soldiers return home. They were deep emotional tears, the kind that connect us to our loved ones and to those who shared the experience. “I’m OK,” many said, and by the time they met their families, their equilibrium was restored.

Many still wore the shiny thermal blankets we also hand out at the finish. The silver capes made them all look like the superheroes they are.

Reader Eileen Melia Hession lives in Long Beach.