When we got to New York on Sunday afternoon, there were quite a few marathon runners to be seen. My wife remarked that she thought some liked to walk around in shorts after the race, presumably to make sure that one knew that they had run. It has been long enough since I ran one that I really couldn't say. Many more one could tell by the finisher's medal, the orange bag, or the blue marathon shirt--or the hobbled gait that goes oddly with the appearance of fitness and strength. There were something around 47 thousand starters, nearly all of whom finished.
On Monday I heard a Norwegian woman tell a couple of Italians that some store up the way had given her a discount because of her marathon paraphernalia. By Tuesday the runners were less conspicuous, but I saw a man dressed for the office with his finisher's medal hung about his neck; this medal is quite large, about 4 inches in diameter.
Most impressive, though, were the two wheelchair athletes we saw at Penn Station today--they rode the escalator down to the platform, which looked anything but safe. Evidently the approved method is to to ride backward, with the center of mass over the large wheels. I suppose somebody who can wheel a chair 26 miles in a few hours has a grip he can trust on escalators.