Getting to the starting line was as much of a journey as anything else associated with the marathon. This was one of the areas that made me most nervous, as there were so many variables where I didn't know what to expect. How cold would it be? Would I bring everything that I needed?

My hotel was in Times Square, so my morning began at 5:30am, at the Starbucks on Broadway. I checked the night before, and thankfully they opened at 5:30am, just for marathon runners. I am eternally grateful for this, Starbucks! This allowed me to start the day with some nice, warm oatmeal.

From there I caught the subway train downtown, to the Staten Island Ferry. It was pretty energizing seeing Times Square buzzing with runners, on their way to the start line. When the train arrived, it was packed with runners. This is not something you'll ever see in NYC, and it was inspiring. There was a lot of nervous energy in the air.

Once at the ferry terminal, we waited for our ferry, which are scheduled to leave every fifteen minutes. I was on the 7am departure. I shared the ride with two new friends, one from California and the other from Colorado. You arrive at Staten Island and are immediately hit with the image of the Manhattan skyline, which looks like it's a hundred miles away. It's hard to believe that that's where we're headed.

From the terminal, you board a shuttle bus for a ten minute ride to the starting village.

The starting village was absolutely surreal. It felt like you were in a post-apocalyptic scifi movie, where the government is hearding people together in camps. The village is organized in several camps by color. I was in the orange wave. As you're finding your way to your camp with the thousands of other runners, announcements are broadcast through outdoor PA systems, in languages from across the world. People are wearing garbage bags (another layer for warmth), dishevelled thrift shop coats and sweats (that they can leave behind at the starting line) and even Tyvek suits (that retain the heat while waiting for the start.) You can hear the conversations around you in French, German, Japanese and other languages. Coast Guard and media helicopters are circling the camp. The video clip above gives you a sense of what it was like.

Once in your village, you see giant video display screens, with rotating messages about start times and logistics. Again, in languages from across the globe. At this point you need to check your bag at a UPS truck (and they bring it to the finish line for you), and prepare to wait for your start.

At the appropriate time (9:15am for me), your "corral" opens up, and you're summoned to head there. This is exactly what it sounds like. It's a corral of humans, each funneled into the road that leads to the Verrazano Bridge. It's at this point that people begin to shred layers of clothing, slather vaseline on their nipples and legs, and various other pre-race rituals. As you slowly move forward to the starting line, you're stepping over bottles, discarded clothing and various other sundries. Totally, completely unreal.

As we near the bridge, we hear the first cannon. The first wave has just kicked off. I'm in the second wave, and so we head onto the entrance of the bridge. I shed my thrift shop jacket and old sweat pants, and walked with the crowd that made up "wave two" of the "orange bib" section. They play the national anthem, Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York", and the cannon fires. It's exactly 10:10am.

We're off.