Reflections on the Great Saunter

“This is very “you” (not in a derogatory way),” my brother texts me in response to my asking him to walk the approximately 32-mile perimeter of Manhattan with me in a single day. 

I’ve always been drawn to quirky little challenges so when a work connection introduced me to the Great Saunter a year and a half ago, I was smitten.

The Great Saunter is a day-long hike along Manhattan’s shoreline, visiting more than 20 parks and promenades (and 10 bridges and 3 rivers). The event is put on by Shorewalkers Inc, a nonprofit environmental and walking group that began advocating for a public shoreline walkway in 1982. 

A scheduling conflict left me unable to partake last year which is why this year—as I was working from a coffee shop—when I received the email that registration opened I was frenetic. It’s embarrassing to admit how much adrenaline was coursing through my body as I typed in my payment details. The event was sold out a few hours later.

After asking a lot of loved ones and mostly being met with “love this for you, but absolutely not,” I recruited one of my oldest New York friends to join me. I met Jason almost a decade ago through my friend (his wife) Rebecca. I met Rebecca through nonprofit work and I have been so grateful for their friendship throughout the years and the milestones we’ve shared together from Friendsgivings to catsitting to volunteering to PowerPoint parties to attempted northern lights gazing to to to… 

A few weeks before the Saunter while out with Rebecca and another friend, I learned Jason was on a practice walk, some ridiculous mileaged stroll through the city solo. Okay, y’all are making me nervous; should I be training? They assured me that because I run marathons I’d be fine. And despite every part of my brain knowing it doesn’t work that way, I did nothing to mentally or physically prepare for the journey.

Admittedly, the Saunter snuck up on me. Two back to back work travel weeks and a slew of other obligations had me sitting on my sofa the night before only for the first time thinking about what time I’d need to leave in the morning or what I should wear and pack. It was this last minute behavior—so counter to my usually planned-well-ahead mindset—that reminded me of another long walk I did. 

I got involved with Relay for Life—a 24-hour fundraiser for the American Cancer Society—in my hometown as a teenager. Some friends and I were the inaugural “youth-led team” and we took our role seriously, determined to always level up our booth each year. Part of the 24-hour nature of the event was the idea that someone from your team would be walking on the track (in this case, the soccer fields at the park) at all times to represent the journey of a cancer patient and caregiver. 

When I was 19, I thought it might be fun to see if I, personally, could walk the full 24 hours (10:00 AM – 10:00 AM) nonstop. I didn’t give it too much thought—I was a distance runner even then—but more importantly, I had that plucky 19-year-old energy of someone who, once they’ve made up their mind, cannot be talked out of it.

I really did mean to go to bed early the night before. To drink water and eat a big, healthy meal. Instead, I ended up crying in my friend’s driveway over cakepops—a result of the extreme pressure I put on myself to have “a good booth.” I think I probably ate an Eat’n Park smiley cookie (a staple of our booth in those days) and went to bed after midnight.

The next day, I woke up and walked 50 miles straight.

It was with that memory front of mind that I sat down to read about the Saunter. Surely, it would be fine. Surely, despite having burnt the candle at every end for months, this would be fine. I had precedent for this. “You run marathons!” I could hear my friends. That’s when I went onto Shorewalkers website and saw that, on average, 50% of participants complete the whole Saunter. Suddenly, training walks felt like a really great idea.

But with less than 10 hours until I’d agreed to meet my friend at the train station, I set out my favorite running pants and my NBC Nightly News hat and went to bed. 32 is less than 50, after all.

We arrived at the Financial District in Lower Manhattan to a buzz of energy. Smiling volunteers greeted us and handed us really lovely caps and pins. Because there is no official start time—most folks begin between 7:00 – 8:00 AM—we shrugged and started our watches. It was time to Saunter.

The route takes saunterers up the west side along the Hudson River and then down the east side, along the Harlem River and the East River. Having lived on the west side of Manhattan for years and trained for two marathons during that time, I’m deeply familiar with the west side shore. I’ve run it from top to bottom and back more times than I can count. But I’ve never walked it with 3,525 saunterers. 

As we walked, I felt myself brimming with nostalgic joy. Because I no longer live in Manhattan, I seldom run here—one of the hardest things for me to let go of when I moved to Queens. It was so special to walk—to walk at a calm, leisurely pace—someplace that I associate with 18 mile runs and water fountain desperation. 

We cleared five miles fast. Then 10. Then we began to talk about moving the dinner reservation up. We’re going to be done so fast. We kept saying to each other. We are flying. And it felt like we were. The first “break” we took was a forced one as I waited for the restrooms by the Little Red Lighthouse at the top of the island. I knew I should have used that time in line to stretch but, frankly, I was feeling cocky. It’s just a walk. I used that time to catch up on some text messages, send pictures to the family, and post on Instagram. 

When we got to Inwood Hill Park at the very tip-top and about the halfway point, many people were stopping for lunch. We refilled our waters, grabbed granola bars from our bags, and kept plugging along. 

Early on, on the west side, we talked about whether we would do this again. At first, my take was similar to that of the New York City Marathon. Which is to say that the first time I entered the NYC Marathon lottery, I got in. Which is to say that I’ve never entered it since because I feel like I had my opportunity to run the race and that to enter now would take that away from someone else.

But then we talked about how it could be a fun thing to do every year, just as a reminder that you can. I could see it being a fun thing… like look, I can still walk 32 miles straight. 

Things were easier on the west side.

We began the descent and morale was still high. And in fact, morale would stay high until the last two miles. And then those last two miles would feel like 30. 

On the walk down the east side, I thought about how fun it is to spend an entire day doing one singular thing. I mean, when does that ever happen anymore? I might spend my morning running 15 miles but then that’s not all I’m doing that day. I’ll go home and shower and eat a lot and then do something else. Like this is just walking. All day. 

It really hit me when we entered parks on the east side or areas by the South Street Seaport where people were dressed up or going out to eat. These people have had whole days! And we’ve just been walking. They could have woken up, gone to the gym, taken a nap, done laundry, went grocery shopping, made dinner, got all dressed up cute. And we’ve just been walking!!

There was a lot of time for thinking on the walk. 

And a lot of time for talking as we discussed career and politics and relationships and everything that was happening around us. Look at this! How beautiful. We really lucked out with the weather. I’m so glad I didn’t bring a backpack. Here’s what I’d change if I did this again.

Shorewalkers had volunteers posted all over the island and at first, when we’d seen them and they’d cheered—congratulations! Keep it up! Good job! You’re looking great!—I wanted to say I’d hope so! But by mile 30, those volunteers became a lifeline. Yes, please tell me I’m strong and brave and that this will be over soon. 

We completed our route back at Fraunces Tavern, were handed our Certificates of Achievement, and promptly found a bench to collapse into and assess the damage. No blisters. No chafing. No joint pain? (Thank you, knees!) No real muscle pain beyond anticipated soreness and fatigue. Success!

As we waited for our friends and family to meet us, a man looked over and congratulated us. “First time?” We smiled. How can you tell? My body was shaking involuntarily as I peeled off my socks. He went on to tell us how he did it last year but was just here supporting his sister now. “I’ve got friends who run marathons who say this is tougher.” 

I had to look my hubris in the eye. I mean that’s me! I ran my best marathon 6 months ago and right now I don’t even want to think about walking! 

We laughed with the man a bit longer and my body revolted against the lack of care it had been shown. You went over 32 miles without really stopping to stretch?! You are almost 32-years-old! You know better!!

At one point on the west side, Jason had said something about maybe taking a car home after our organized dinner plans. We’ll be fine; I’m down for the train. 

Until halfway through dinner when I stood up to use the restroom only to find I couldn’t put any weight on my right foot. 

There is an instant humbling that comes from completing some mammoth task and then being hit with the repercussions you thought you were immune to. Never in my 2 decades of distance running have I been so blindsided by an injury or felt the severity so quickly. The walk from the bathroom back to the table felt like a harder saunter.

I would later identify it as my peroneal tendon—a result of a Google search and a very prominent red swelling the next morning. As I write this, five days removed and as many days of almost complete house-arrest, my foot feels (and looks) normal again. I haven’t run since. I haven’t walked more than around the house. 

“Would you do this again?” 

I’ve been tossing around that question since Saturday night. My short answer will always be yes. Perpetually, dangerously, excessively down for adventure, it’s hard for me to say no. 

Would I do it the same way? I’d add in some stretching. I’d slow down a hair. I’d wear shoes and socks with slightly more padding. And I’d pack a salty snack to break up all the sweet protein bars. Which is to say, it appears my long answer would also be yes. 

The night before, once I’d decided what bag to bring, I found myself almost too excited to sleep. I was giddy with the knowledge that I would be walking around the perimeter of Manhattan in a single day. It was like pre-race jitters but without the nerves. You never know what can happen on race day! There’s always a little nerves there. But this is just a long walk. Like no matter what, it’ll be fine.

Reader, how I ate those words. My biggest takeaway from the Saunter is not to take anything, any step, for granted. To recognize that just because you have done something before does not mean you will always be able to. And, if you are able to, it doesn’t mean that it will be easy. 

And it doesn’t have to be easy.

Every opportunity to push yourself is a gift and one that I should recognize as such, even if it takes a different form than I’m used to.

To the incredible team at Shorewalkers, the lovely volunteers, and my 2,185 fellow full perimeter saunterers (a 62% completion rate this year!), thank you for giving us a container in which to play, a path on which to walk, a journey to continue to saunter.