Editor’s Note: The recent announcement that Trenton Rescue Mission faced a $400,000 deficit was not good news. And the recent national election with all its uncertainty seemed to add to the bleakness, just as the holidays were approaching and the mood is suppose to be bright.
Yet then there was an email from a local financial planner, Bill Sheehy, who wanted to know if we would be interested in his first person account of running in the recent Trenton Half Marathon and raising money for the Rescue Mission.
You need to ask? What could be more of a seasonal boost than to hear about a Trenton native running in a Trenton event to help a Trenton organization during this season of giving? After all, it is Trenton’s own that make Trenton.
The recent Trenton Half Marathon is over, and a team of eight runners raised $32,000 for the Rescue Mission of Trenton to be used for the Emergency Shelter.
I am a 69-year-old financial planner who organized that fundraiser using the 13.1 mile race. I also have a history with Trenton — born here, worked here. And the recent event connected me with the city in new ways and created new memories.
My involvement in the marathon comes from a long standing relationship as a supporter of the Rescue Mission. And this past May its director, Mary Gay Abbott Young, and I were discussing the need for funds to help the emergency shelter, which despite its important work is facing a large deficit. It was then I flippantly suggested I could do a run and raise $25,000 — similar to two years ago when I ran the Philadelphia half marathon and raised $18,400 for autism research.
Instantly I was in training, losing 22 pounds, and logging some 450 miles. While the vast majority of the money for the Rescue Mission came from my existing social and business contacts, I also began recruiting and identifying people running on the Delaware canal by my home in Yardley, Pennsylvania. During my runs to Washington Crossing I would stop others and ask them if they wanted to run. That accounted for several team members. Two others were recruited from the Rescue Mission.
For those who ever considered running the marathon or wondered what exactly is happening on those closed Trenton streets that stops traffic for the day, the following will give you an idea of what it is like — along with some commentary on our capital city.
My day starts at 6:20 a.m. on October 29, when I pull up to Waterfront Stadium and a friendly female Trenton police officer helps me unload our group’s signs, shirts, and an oversized check for photo purposes. Excitement and anticipation is in the air as runners from all directions head to the stadium. A Colonial-era garbed band plays and “patriot” soldiers ham it up for photo shoots. It is festive and fun. I meet friends also connected to Trenton, including Glenn Paul, the former owner of Clancy-Paul Computers and one of those spearheading the Trenton Digital Initiative. He takes photos of me and a crew from the Rescue Mission.
The starting gate has signs indicating stalls for various speed levels, starting at seven minute mile pace. I join the 11 minute per mile group — but I am determined to break it.
Although it’s chilly, some runners have stripped to shorts and light shirts and are stretching, rubbing hands, and jumping to keep warm. I try not to think of the cold I’m fighting off.
The crowd grows restless by 8:15 a.m. I befriend Jim, who looks in his 50s and is a fellow financial planner. He yells, “Come on, guys, let’s get going.”
Then at 8:20 a.m. a Revolutionary War-styled cannon booms, and we’re off.
As I run past new state buildings, I think how much has changed: lots of big buildings but not much business.
We head south on Route 29, into the tunnel, and then onto the steep Lalor Street exit ramp. Runners are slowing to a crawl. It’s like an obstacle course as we swing back into the tunnel and try to get past those running the shorter run/fun walk.
Now under the railroad bridge, Jim and I join a group eight athletic guys wearing “Black Men Run” jerseys. They laugh and rib one another, but they are serious runners and call out the pace every half mile.
We exit onto Calhoun Street and turn right on State Street. The New Jersey State Museum is on the right. The mansions across the street are magnificent. The statehouse looks eloquently stark. As we pass Willow Street, I tell Jim I spent eight years working on Front Street and walking to Trenton Rotary in the mid 1970s. He kids me about my age.
As I run past new state buildings, I think how much has changed: lots of big buildings but not much business. When I worked in town the city rocked during lunchtime and the late Trenton mayor Carmen Armenti’s restaurant was a madhouse.
The hill up Market Street is a challenge. Jim and I are trying to keep pace with “Black Men Run” but fall behind. Fortunately, Mill Hill is flat. The homes are well manicured and lots of people are on their porches cheering us on. It feels good.
Running back and downhill on Market I catch my breath and join my teammates and pals as we approach the “Trenton Makes, the World Takes” bridge — I think about how industry has largely abandoned the city, leaving tremendous pressure on social service organizations such as the Rescue Mission.
The water rushing beneath us is loud, and a runner stops. He calls to his friends, “This is scary looking down at the water. I can’t do this.” His pals stop, comfort him, take his arms, and tell him not to look down as they move forward — a simple act of compassion and friendship.
We are now in Morrisville and winding through a park on Delmorr Avenue. I feel good and high five a friend handing out Gatorade. But then the Crown Street hill becomes a haul and seeing the “split time” marker at 6.55 miles is sobering. I got to do the distance again!
I find a burst of speed as we file onto Calhoun Street Bridge’s wooden walkway and think about my childhood water skiing on the river.
Heading northbound on Route 29 —or the John Fitchway as old timers call it — is just a flat boring slog. Everyone is silent as we maintain a 10:45 pace, as confirmed by my stopwatch.
At mile nine, at Parkside Avenue and the entrance to Cadwalader Park, Jim demonstrates his comparative youthful advantage and lengthens his stride. Lagging and struggling behind, I encourage him.
As I run alone through the park and recall the old “Monkey House” and fond visits with my family during a different time in Trenton, I suddenly realize I just squandered 1.5 minutes of my 2.5 minute advantage and get anxious. “Calm down, calm down, what goes up must come down,” I tell myself.
I start making up the lost time by racing downhill (huge strides) and catch up to friends at mile 10 at the entrance back to the Fitchway. They joke with me, “Where the hell you been?” The banter cheers me up.
Then there’s silence and the realization that the runner’s high is gone. Everyone is breathing heavily, legs ache, lungs burn. Yet we all push ourselves and support one another. I concentrate, push the pain out of my head, and hold my pace.
We turn off the highway and head towards the War Memorial and the old Barracks, site of the Battle of Trenton. Running down Warren Street, I focus away from the fatigue by naming the presidents. My lower body is now numb, and I feel blood from my arms drain to feed oxygen to my legs; my finger tips tingle.
Mile 12 swings back onto the Fitchway and home. Forget the clock, I’m ahead now by 1.5 minutes. The adrenaline kicks in. Damn it! I want to finish at a 10:30 pace if it kills me, and it might.
I spot the group from the Rescue Mission in the stands cheering and holding up the signs. ‘Go Bill, running together to rebuild lives.’
The female cop waves us in and shouts, “Only a quarter mile to go, you can do it!” I pick up speed and am in the middle of “Black Men Run.” The pacemaker says, “Okay, guys, I got you this far, every man for himself.” The athletes who have so patiently stayed together decide to show off their speed and several take off like sprinters.
As each of us enters the stadium a camera shows the image on the big screen for a few moments and an announcer reads each name from our numbers.
I spot the group from the Rescue Mission in the stands cheering and holding up the signs we made for each teammate. “Go Bill, running together to rebuild lives.”
I sprint the last 50 yards, and it’s official: 2:22:37 for a 10:53 pace.
I lean on the fence and try to recover. Family, friends, and team members call my name, and I want to savor the moment: the smiling faces of my wife, Nancy, daughter, Lauren; friends taking photos; my “Black Men Run” pals asking me to pose with them; and the smiling Rescue Mission folks.
As I stand there I think of what I called to Jim when he moved ahead, “Nice meeting you. Thanks for the memories.” I also think about that sign that says “running together to rebuild lives.”
For more information on the Trenton Rescue Mission: (609) 695-1436 or rescuemissionoftrenton.org. Other nonprofits can be found on the following websites: greatnonprofits.org/city/trenton/NJ, mercerbucks.com and state.nj.us.
On the Run: Bill Sheehy, right, with Juanita Williams of the Rescue Mission.,
