First Duck

Well, what ah want y'all to know is that ah was the youngest runner in that there race. The next youngest? Well, they were a whoppin eight years old, which is more than four times mah age. Ah know, ah know, ah might be a bit of a prodigy, if ya catch mah drift.

They are a strange looking lot. Some have thin tapered ankles comin’ outa there sneaks like a flagpole. Others have thick plump ones, meaty and round, which is the kind Fredi had. I'll own up to it, I've got a little thing for them feet, but don't go passin' judgment.

Ah reckon I was also the shortest runner in tha race. Standin' at just 20 inches tall, ain't no basketball in my future, that's for sure. But what I lack in height, I sure make up for in notoriety.

Got mah own TikTok channel and all, famous for them "zoomies" where I dash back 'n forth like a bat outta hell in front of that there camera, pretendin' I'm that DeLorean from that movie, shootin' for 1.21 Gigawatts. 

Well, lemme tell ya, mah YouTube channel Se-duck-tive done got a bunch of them videos with over a good ol' million views each! I reckon you could rightly call me a celebrity, if that's what y'all wanna say.

Now, Mile 22, that's when the real New York City Marathon seemed to kick off, if y'all ask me. We done reached a water station over at 125th Street, makin' our way past them Harlem Churches and were workin’ our way up that there 5th Avenue comin’ into Manhattan from the Bronx, our sights set on Central Park. By then, we'd been racin' for 'bout eight hours, and the sun was fixin' to set on that course. The crowd had thinned out, not many runners or fans lingerin', but we'd come 'cross groups of folks walkin' along here 'n there. 

They done handed me them capfulls of water, and I just clucked at 'em with a "wek wek wek," tryin' to give 'em them duck kisses, showin' my seal of approval, you know. I was sorta low key famous, and 'bout every hundred yards or so, someone was hankerin' for a selfie, especially them beat cops keepin' a’watchin’ for the race's security.

Anyways, me 'n Justin, we were scootin' right along at a good clip, or a spry waddle in my case, and my head was bobbin' back 'n forth. I had my wings flappin' 'round, and Gatorade cups, goo gels, 'n banana peels, they was all takin' flight behind me as I went. I was in my element, just givin' it my all – full throttle, you might say – goin' all out in "zoomie mode." I was pantin' with my little duck croaks, soundin' like a rusty gate, and lettin' out a few "wek weks" here 'n there, just to add some spice for the folks watchin' – ya know, gotta put on a bit of a show for the fans, if you catch my drift.

And right then and there, that's when I caught a glimpse of Fredilyn, or "Fredi" Bangwa, for the very first time. Me 'n my owner Justin, we were just scootin' on by, sportin' them matchin' red booties, that red colorin’ helpin' me keep an eye on him amidst all the hubbub. But I swiveled my head 'round, and I saw Fredi there, tears flowin', hands on her knees, and I could tell her ankles were hurtin' somethin' fierce, the way she was rollin' 'em out. And right at that moment, I come to a dead halt, and Justin, he stops right alongside me, askin' if all's well. I just looked back, fixin' my gaze, then I begun to pivot 'round, focused on what was goin' on with Fredi.

Fredi, she had herself a nice, round face and them teeth, they sparkled like them little tic tacs, shinin' bright when she flashed a smile – you know, like them commercials for Orbit gum. Them there smiles were comin’ through clenched teeth now and she had herself some proper grimaces of pain from the throbbin’ in them there ankles. Fredi, she was restin' on a walker her two sisters had fetched for her, bringin' it right over that there tape on the side of the course.

“The arthritis is really acting up and my ankles are in so much pain,” she told her sister. She had herself a kindly voice, all gentle 'n pure, nothin' fancy or self-conscious 'bout it, a true top-notch duck voice, if you ask me.

“Oh, Fredi. You are doing so great. Just use the walker and take your time,” one of her sisters leaned in and told her. The other one, well, she was givin' her pats on the back and dabbin' her forehead with a damp towel.

Another runner, goes by the name of Mario, he was right there by their side, got a beefy arm wrapped 'round Fredi's back. He's a sturdy fella, got a friendly, warm mug, them chubby cheeks and that tapered chin, sportin' a tuft of gray hair that's all salty, like a duck with a tiny mohawk, I reckon. 

“Sis, I didn’t know if I was gonna make it, but these people are family! And my team, Release Recovery, they are all waiting for us in the Park sis—we can do this—I’ll be with you until the end. It’s just like in the program, you need to lean on someone to get you through sometime.” 

Mario, he was a solid guy, as I done told ya, but he had a heap of energy to spare. He was hoppin' up 'n down, shakin' out them arms, and stretchin' like he was fixin' to do a triple jump or pole vault right after guzzlin' down a triple espresso.

“I don’t know if I can keep going,” Fredi said, gasping as a wave of pain shot up from her ankles, “I just want the pain to stop. I want to finish, but I don’t know if I can.” She looked into Mario’s eyes as if asking for permission to DNF—that’s “Did Not Finish” for y’all non-runner folks. 

Now, lemme tell ya 'bout the DNF. A genuine runner, a real deal runner, they never throws in the towel. You only DNF if some official's yankin' ya off that course, or you're hauled away in an ambulance. Every true-blue runner's got that tattooed on their heart. I sure as shootin' do. It's like a sacred code, a pledge etched in stone, a military decree. It's like that notion from that 300 Movie, you either come home with your shield or on it – it's somethin' kinda like that, y'see.

And right here's where I reckon I let out a wee duck tear from my tiny duck eye. Them two, they were leanin' on each other for the go-ahead or to pull the brakes, caught up in this runner's pact, couldn't make a move without the other's nod – like they had this bond, you see. 'Cause amongst all them 50,000 or so folks gathered 'round to race today, it was just them two who truly understood what the other was wrestlin' with.

And neither one of 'em could let the other bust that code. So, neither one of 'em could just throw in the towel. And they both knew it clear as day, you could tell from the glances they swapped between 'em.

“Hey Fredi, sis—I found you, you found me—that’s all we need. Forget about finishing, let’s just go another five minutes, then another five—it’ll be an adventure,” Mario let out a roar, a deep belly rumble that seemed to come from the very core of him. Then he went on and did a bit of hoppin', all for that extra touch of emphasis.

That’s right when I came up to Fredi, with that wee duck tear hangin’ on my cheek, and gave her a couple pecks on her right ankle, as if to say, “Helloooo.” I raised up my beak and gave her a good ‘ol hooting duck whistle, w-o-o-O-O-I-T. “Let’s go Lady, you can doooo-it!” I let out a bark and a grunt, and I flapped my wings like this here, givin' it a little extra flair. Then I started marchin' in one spot with a plop-plop, plop-plop sound of my little red duck booties landin' on them Gatorade cups scatterin' 'round on the street from warr my wings were flappin’.

“Look at this cute little duck,” she said, and Justin picked me up and placed me perched on the edge of the walker. She petted my head, and neck, and my rump feathers, and I snuck a few pecks and duck kisses and gave her a “qwa-bu-bu-bu-bwahaha-qwaaahh,” as if to say “I’m here for you, we’ll do it together.”

“What’s his name,” she asked, all cooin' and givin' my beak a little nuzzle.

“This is Wrinkle. And this is his second New York City Marathon… didn’t finish last year… but, he’s in it to win it for sure this time.” I truly believe it done just shattered her heart when he told her that.

“Well Wrinkle, I wasn’t too sure I’d make it, but you’ve really lifted my spirits kiddo. Whatd’ya say you and me and Mario walk this sucker in together, huh?” I flapped my wings, did a jig with my feet, wekked and quacked, and let out a hoot and a cluck – oh, yessiree! I bopped my head to and fro, gave a twirl, and even took a little leap, just to show my excitement. Then I pecked around her ankle, givin' it a good thorough fussin' – oh, you betcha! "Let's go for it!" I cried out, all fired up!

More than I ever yearned to cross that finish line first in my age bracket – and let's be fair, those two things were basically the same – I got a brand-new purpose to see this race through. I wanted to run the rest of this here race for my friend Fredi.

Justin handed me a bit of water from a Gatorade cup while we was waitin' for Fredi and Mario to pick up the pace, and I let out a little cluck to show I was pleased with it all. “Wek wek wek. Wek wek wek. Wek wek wek.” And so, we commenced trudgin' ahead, makin' our way up that mighty ol' hill.

Well now, if y'all ever tackled the NYC Marathon, there's this one thing y'all know, that’s for damn sure – that uphill haul to Central Park, it's like the hill straight outta hell. See, there's this long ol' incline on 5th Avenue, comin' down towards 90th Street. Them twenty blocks stretchin' from 110th down to 90th, they're a real torment, buddy. It's just a measly 2% grade, might not sound like much to ya, but give it a whirl with legs measurin' four inches long and feet paddles two inches long, then come on back 'n tell me how it feels, would ya?

Gazin' up that hill, I gotta share somethin' with ya. You spot a light up yonder, and there's a sorta peak at that light, so ya think, "Just gotta reach that there light and it’s all downhill." You keep on waddlin', waddle, waddle, waddle, and ten minutes later, there ya are, at that light. Then, yonder in the distance, up another hill is another light twinklin', and the whole cycle starts anew—like Sisyphus and them there rocks. It just keeps on like that, stretchin' for leastways ten to fifteen blocks, each stoplight like one of them desert mirages, and every climb that follows, well, it's like that hangman's noose, squeezin' the very marrow outta yer spirit, right down to yer bones.

Mario, he was goin' on 'n on, a true cheerleader, keepin' the spirit alive. As that sun was settlin' down and twilight started blanketin' the path, it kinda brought a sense of peace, if ya ask me. And we sure did need it, 'cause that hill just kept on unfoldin' in front of us, like some never-ending escalator that put the hurtin’ on right proper.

“Team Duck! I’ll tell you what Fredi, you can’t make this up. We are team Release Recovery and team Duck, Mario and Fredi, and… WRINKLE… aaannnddd WRINKLE… ain’t nothing’ gonna stop us now…”

This here last bit was from that old Starship Song, blarin' outta the headphones of some spry eighty-year-old lady who was power walkin' past us like a bat outta hell, using one of them Freedom HurryCanes with that three-legged contraption at the bottom. We all just let them words sink in and kept on trudgin' forward. 

This here ol' gal had done pinned a sign on the back of her racin' gear, claimin' "This is my 50th Marathon and my Birthday! Give me a Happy 86!" Looked like a real attention-seeker, if ya ask me – all showin' off and seekin' the limelight. But reckon it makes me wonder, ain't I just a wee two-year-old and this here's already my second marathon? Now, ain't that a hoot and a holler? Anyways, the music came blarin’ outa her headphones like so:

Standin' here beside you…Want so much to give you…This love in my heart---that I'm feeling for you…Let 'em say we're crazy…I don't care about Thhhaattt…Put your hand in my hand…Baby, don't ever look Baaackkkkk…Let the world around us…Just fall Ah-paaarrrtt…Baby, we can make it…If we're heart to heartttttt…

I ain't gonna fib, it sure did give us a good ol' boost and perked up our spirits right proper. And right at that moment, we hit a downhill stretch and rolled on into Central Park. The edges of the park were still lined with folks, cheerin' us on, steppin' onto the course and lettin' out whoops and hollers. And just as we set foot in the Park, the whole Team Release Recovery bunch was there, ready to run us to the finish line. I swear, there must've been a good dozen of 'em, and let me tell ya, they sure lifted our spirits high.

But as we got to that last mile, I was downright achin'. My duck feet were stinging and burnin' from that pavement and all them sticky cups diggin' into the webbin' of my toes. My noggin felt like it was ablaze from all the pushin', and my feathers were all damp and clammy, my breath comin' out in these long, raspy wheezes. I was gettin' light-headed, and even after munchin' on a few grapes and my all-time fave, French Fries, I still had a hankerin'. I fluffed and flapped my wings. And I looked over at Fredi, her pushin' that walker, her head hangin' low, and letting out them slow, grunt-like sounds. So I gave her a couple weks and quacks, just to say, "Keep on goin'! We're almost there!"

Ambulance lights were sparklin' up ahead. There was a runner down, collapsed, grimacin' in pain, all bent and crumpled right there on the pavement, with the med folks tendin' to her. There was a whole ruckus goin' on, folks hollerin' and ringin' them cowbells like there was no tomorrow.

And as we made that final turn on Columbus Circle, we laid eyes on the finish line up ahead. Not too far behind us, them chaser trucks were tidyin' up the path as we went along. But what captured our attention was that blue finish line, off in the distance, and them arches markin' the end of the race. Up above, there was that big ol' catwalk, and a giant digital screen displayin' videos of folks crossin' that finish line, for all to see. The announcer was screaming out, “Coming in now are our last finishers of the day, Fredi and Mario and Wrrrinnkkkllleee the Duck!”

It was somethin' real special for me to be runnin' alongside this bunch, more than a dozen strong. I never had me a proper crew or a flock to stick with in a good ol' paddlin'. Reckon that's why I was always so fleet of foot. My adoptive parents, Justin and Joyce, they hatched me from a batch of eggs they got hold of, and I happened to be egg number five. That's why my race bib read "Wrinkle #5."

“I’m not gonna lose to a duck, I’m not gonna lose to a duck,” a stocky fella with muscles poppin' out and a belly like a boulder—a proper gym bro—muttered as he stumbled on by us.

“Mr. Duck-Duck-Goose comin’ trhough!!” hollered one of them volunteers as I shuffled on past.

I glanced back at Fredi, and her face lit right up, seein' that we were just 'bout there.

Side-to-side head bobbing and shakin’ my tail feather means I’m happy. I call back and bark to Fredi to catch up, “bup-bah, bup-bup, BAAaahhh… Let’s keep it mooovin’.”

We’re really pushing now, come on Fredi, “qwha-qwha-qwha-QWHA-QWHA-qwha-qwha… Let’s goooooo!”

I was 'bout to make my dash for that finish line myself, just a couple strides away, when I glanced back and caught sight of Fredi strugglin'. Didn't want to end up DFL – y'know, "Dead F**king Last," for y’all non-runner folks.

But I eased off and Fredi and I, we crossed the finish line together, side by side, right along with the whole Release Recovery team, Mario, and Justin, all in tow.

As we stepped across that finish line, they handed me my medal, finally! And lookin' back, I spotted Fredi in a tight hug with Mario, tears rollin' down her cheeks onto his shoulder, holdin' their medals high for a snapshot. They waved me over, Justin liftin' me up, the three of us, medals in hand – Finishers.

I reckon being First Duck was enough on its own, even if I did come DFL. But more importantly, I made me a friend that day.