The Other New York City Marathon

Sometimes, you gotta go big....

The following post is part of a Seed Pod collaboration about time. Seed Pods are a SmallStack community project designed to help smaller publications lift each other up by publishing and cross-promoting around a common theme. We’re helping each other plant the seeds for growth!

---

Testing the limits of my endurance has never been my idea of a good time. Up to now, the only endurance sport I ever willingly participated in was childbirth, and that took some serious drugs. But this weekend, I willingly participated in one of New York City’s most unique endurance challenges.

I went to see Gatz, a word-for-word reading/staging of The Great Gatsby, at the Public Theater. Eight hours (including two 15-minute intermissions and a 90-minute dinner break) later, I’m here to tell the tale.

Is it stating the obvious to say there’s no better place to “go big” than New York City? Perhaps, but then why does New York City keep reminding us of this? Why, for example, did they recently install a colossal pigeon statue called Dinosaur on the High Line above Tenth Avenue? I don’t know the answer to that question, but I do know this: When my older son invited me to join him for Gatz, I jumped on the chance like a Great Big Pigeon jumps on a Great Big Baguette. With a bit more grace, perhaps, but I jumped.

My husband (who wasn’t actually invited) made it perfectly clear he’d rather undergo a root canal than join us. This did not surprise me. As much as my husband loves theater, we’re like East Egg and West Egg when it comes to experimental art of any kind. What did surprise me is how little he knows about root canals. For the record, you could easily undergo four root canals in the time it takes to see Gatz. Five, if you count the dinner break.

I believed in the mission, but the challenge that lay ahead was daunting. Humbled before I even began, I did my best to push through the myriad “am I worthy?” moments of doubt. I embarked on a rigorous training schedule—shorter workouts (Left on Tenth at the James Earl Jones Theater), longer ones (Tosca at the Met), and sprints (a litany of 90-minutes-or-less rom-coms streaming on Netflix). I made practice trips into the city from New Jersey, using a mix of NJ Transit, PATH, and subway. I even did the unthinkable and drove through Midtown, just in case all modes of public transportation went down at the same time. I grew up a Girl Scout. I’m a strong believer in being prepared.

On the Big Day, I emerged from the subway in the East Village feeling ready for anything. Pumped. Unstoppable. Except for one last cup of coffee. That, I stopped for.

This isn’t a theater review, but I suspect you’re curious, so here’s the premise. A nondescript office worker named Nick walks into a nondescript office, sits at his nondescript computer, and…nothing. While he waits for an IT guy to arrive, Nick finds a copy of The Great Gatsby on his desk and starts to read aloud, as various office people filter in. As Nick reads on, his office mates contribute lines of dialogue, Nick transforms into Nick Carraway (the narrator), and the others transform into Daisy, Tom, Gatsby, etc. While the set never changes, we’re somehow transported to East Egg, West Egg, and Manhattan (via the Valley of Ashes). And somehow, while we’re a perfectly rational audience, we never question any of this.

I imagined sitting through Gatz would resemble the New York City marathon, but the reality was more nuanced. Most people who run the marathon finish in less time than it takes to see Gatz. The marathon’s organizers send out “sweep buses” seven hours after the race’s start time to pick up anyone who wants a ride to the finish line. That didn’t happen at Gatz.

Sitting through Gatz also involved comparatively little in the way of physical pain. There was no chafing of intimate body parts. No blisters. And no cramping, aside from a brief knot in my back from leaning forward intently during Act 4.

Like the New York City marathon, staying hydrated was critical. Fortunately, this was one area where The Public was on point, with a free water station. Still, some Gatorade would’ve been nice. And, now that I think about it, maybe some of those high-energy jellybeans. We were determined to stay the course, my son and I, and we worked to maintain our pace. We made the most of the 90-minute dinner break between Acts 2 and 3, engaging in some heavy-duty carb loading at a little udon place around the corner. (Excellent udon.)

Did I hit The Wall? I did. There was a moment (I think it was in Act 3) when the udon carbs left my bloodstream and I would’ve welcomed an usher splashing water in my face, possibly even slapping my cheeks and urging me to “get my head back in the game.” But I also experienced a Runner’s High. When the actor playing Nick, who’d been reading from his copy of Gatsby throughout, closed his book partway through Act 4 and recited the rest from memory, we all experienced it – the actors, the audience, all of us.

We started Gatz at three o’clock on a bright New York afternoon, a group of actors and an audience of individuals. By the time we finished, an hour before midnight, we were united in our shared endeavor. The actors, several of whom spent almost every minute on stage. The audience, all of whom spent literally every minute in seats that, while perfectly fine, would’ve been marginally better with lumbar support—or, perhaps, a built-in massage function. No matter which side of the stage was ours, we carried each other across the finish line.

One of the great things about living in the New York area is you don’t have to go big or go home. You can go big and go home. And we did. As we left the New York of Gatz and reentered the New York of big plays and big birds, there was no marathon finisher’s jacket. No participation medal. Not even an “I Satz Through Gatz” t-shirt (which is a shame, because I definitely would’ve bought one). No, we left with nothing more than a Playbill and an indelible reminder of what can happen when a creative spark finds a willing audience and an author’s words shine through. The skeptics among you might think Gatz is just the visual equivalent of a book on tape. But I can tell you now, there’s a world of difference between a book on tape and a book on stage.

Would I do it all again? In a New York Minute. Or, more accurately, 480 New York Minutes. But that may not be possible. Gatz closed on December 1st, possibly for the last time. Until the next opportunity to go big comes along, I’ll have to settle for a Great Big Pigeon on the High Line, in the only city in the world where that would be considered settling.

Want to see more posts from this Seed Pod or join in on the fun? Head over to our roundup to learn more!