It was summer 2025, my first time in New York. The city rushed past me, sirens blaring, the subway smells, crowds moving in every direction. I was new here, both officially and emotionally. I knew no one except my family.
I wanted to do something meaningful, something I loved back home: running.I started running by myself, slowly building my strength and pace. I enjoyed it. Running gave me my day’s purpose, kept me moving, and reminded me that I existed.
I remembered a proverb: “If you want to walk fast, walk alone; if you want to walk far, walk together.”
I wanted connection, a community where my energy and goals could align with others. I searched online and found the New York Road Runners website. There, a massive event caught my attention: the New York Marathon. I couldn’t run that far. At least not yet, but I wanted to feel its energy. I wanted to be part of the city. So, I signed up to volunteer.
On race day,when Elmhurst was still asleep, I left for the venue. I took the subway to Brooklyn, arriving early to register. Music thumped from speakers, cowbells rang, and overlapping voices. Volunteers bustled around me, laughing, joking, passing cups, filling glasses with water and Gatorade, already acting as a team. And for the first time in a while, I wasn’t standing alone.
We lined up hundreds of water cups together, stretching down the street. Crowds pressed in from both sides, cheering for runners they had never met, yet treating them like lifelong friends. The vibes were amazing, as if the whole borough was holding its breath.
Then the runners arrived.
They poured past us like a moving wave with bright shirts, pounding feet, determined faces. The noise exploded. I shouted, gave them support until my voice cracked, handed out water, and shared quick smiles with other volunteers beside me. We fell into a rhythm: grab, hand off, cheer, repeat.
The runners were exhausted, but full of energy. One runner grabbed a cup from me and yelled, “You’re amazing!”. Another runner said, “Thank You!”. Simple words but it felt meant just for me. In those tiny moments, I felt seen.
When it was over, the street was littered with empty cups and fading cheers. I was tired, sweaty, and had a smiley face. I laughed and chatted with the volunteers as we cleaned up, feeling as if we had known each other far longer than a few hours.
As the miles passed, I realized something:
I’m part of a team.
I’m contributing.
I’m surrounded by people moving toward something together.
I had come here hoping to make friends, to be active, to feel connected. Even if I left without phone numbers or plans for later, I had already found what I was looking for.
Originally from Indonesia, Ms. Study now resides in Elmhurst with her family. One of her free time passions is writing biographical sketches in her second language, English.
