Soon after Hurricane Sandy hit, I knew there was no way I was running the New York City Marathon. I could never have taken resources and attention away from those many, many people in need. I canceled my entry Thursday night and woke up Friday with an even greater sense of loss than I'd been feeling that tragic week. So many lives ruined, so much pain, and now, for my small part, I had lost the opportunity to use 20 weeks of hard training and all those little sacrifices that make running a marathon so satisfying. In the face of so much destruction, it felt so trivial, yet somehow so monumental, that one of the world's most enduring marathons was probably not happening, and that I and so many others wouldnt be able to complete what we had worked so hard for. But, then...

...I got the call Friday afternoon that the fine people behind the Hambletonian Marathon would be hosting a run for us displaced marathoners. I was anxious - I'd run two marathons before, both of which were in big cities with tens of thousands of participants and throngs of cheering spectators. Now, I was forced to let go of all my expectations of how a marathon should be. I would show up at the start and hope for the best. As it turns out, I could never have imagined how good the best could be, because...

...in about two days, our running community brought together: a pack of runners to the start (some running the whole thing, some running less); a time-keeper with 'official' race results; and cars zipping ahead of us as rolling water and food stations. We had mile markers, inspirational posters and even a couple of hearty souls riding bikes with backpacks full of supplies. Believe it or not, there was even a box of engraved medals to commemorate our special Sunday in November. But, probably the best thing of all was how...

...running local and small whittled the marathon down to its essence. This was not a big-city circus with a pasta dinner and expo, grandstand seating and cow bells. This was not boroughs and bridges and banners, oh my! This was a simple run through our own rolling hills. This was chatting with Vinny and Brendan, not even noticing the miles go by. This was stopping at friends' cars to drink from Dixie cups. This was running roads we trained on, pointing out houses we knew, blending into the landscape of cows and fields. This was running to calm our minds and test our hearts, to expand our lungs and lift our spirits. And, most of all, this was a running community coming together to support each other with an incredible morning - a morning that should have brought the whole of New York City together, but, instead, gave a handful of runners an event with more meaning than any big city marathon could ever have.

You can bet I'll be at the start in 2013.