On Sunday, November 1, nearly 60,000 runners took part in the 2026 NYC Marathon, starting in Staten Island and crossing the finish line 26.2 miles later in Central Park.

It's not easy — or cheap — to get in.

The odds of gaining entry through the general drawing are about 1%. New Yorkers can secure a spot through the "9+1" program, which requires completing nine NYRR races and volunteering at one. Charity bibs are another option, often requiring runners to raise thousands of dollars, and a select few can earn a spot with a qualifying time.

If you're lucky enough to get your hands on a bib, registration will still cost upward of $300. In 2026, the fee was $333.11. It is also a major feat of preparation and training in the months leading up to the event.

My colleague Noah Sheidlower and I were among the runners who took on the five-borough race this year. Here's what it was like.

Transit to the start begins as early as 5 a.m. The race falls on the first Sunday of every November, coinciding with the end of daylight saving time. The extra hour of sleep makes a difference when your alarm is set to go off in the 3s or 4s.

Noah and I take a bus from Midtown. The lines are long, but organized.

There's also a bus from MetLife Stadium, and many runners take the Staten Island Ferry. The ferry ride, while cold, offers an epic flyby of the Statue of Liberty.

After arriving in Staten Island and going through security, we have a few hours to kill before the gun goes off. This year, temps are in the low 40s at the start. Runners bring blankets and wear layers they can shed at the start line.

There's coffee and bagels in the starting village — and bathroom lines that can last half an hour.

There are five start waves, with Wave 1 beginning at 9:10 a.m. and Wave 5 at 11:30 a.m. Runners head to their assigned corrals about 30 minutes before their wave begins.

As we approach the start line, the vibes are immaculate. Music plays as runners make final preparations, take photos, dance, and high-five one another.

Just before the starting cannon fires, the soundtrack shifts to Frank Sinatra's "Theme From New York, New York." This is my seventh time running the race, and that exact moment — as soon as I hear, "Start spreading the news" — still sends goosebumps down my arms.

The first mile takes you over the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge, from Staten Island to Brooklyn. It's the steepest part of the course — and one of the most picturesque, with lower Manhattan in the distance.

After climbing for about a mile, we're rewarded with a downhill that spits us out in Brooklyn. We spend the next 11 miles running through New York's most populous borough. Lafayette Avenue, through Clinton Hill and Fort Greene, is particularly rambunctious, with block parties and live music. Passing through Williamsburg also feels like crashing a house party.

From Brooklyn, we cross the Pulaski Bridge into Queens around the halfway mark. We then run through Long Island City before approaching the dreaded Queensboro Bridge. It's steep, silent, and soul-crushing — the only part of the course where spectators aren't allowed.

But once we reach the apex and begin descending, we start to hear what's known as the "wall of sound": spectators waiting with open arms — and beer cans — at mile 16. Their energy is contagious, making it easy to forget that you still have a lot of running ahead.

The crowd carries us up First Avenue and into the Bronx, where we're greeted with hip-hop music and some tricky hills.

If your name hasn't yet fallen off your shirt — as happened to one of the authors — strangers cheer for you personally. That can help if you hit the infamous mile-20 wall, when your legs start to feel like lead.

We reenter Manhattan around mile 21, and prepare to face the 5th Avenue hill starting around 23. It's brutal. As NYC Marathon veteran Casey Neistat described the course, it's "not the hardest, it's the meanest."

The final three miles are the toughest, but the crowds are thick. They make sure you reach the finish line.

Crossing the finish line is emotional.

Almost as iconic as the finisher medal is the bright orange poncho volunteers wrap you up in. It keeps you warm — and guarantees enough "Congrats!" from strangers for the rest of the day that you can't help but wonder if this is what it feels like to be Jalen Brunson.

Despite the stiff legs and lost toenails, most runners — including yours truly — already can't wait for next year.