Of all the things I hadn’t yet done in New York City, watching the marathon was top of the list.

On a beautiful Fall Sunday afternoon, I wandered up to Central Park amidst the turning leaves to cheer on the final 2 1/2 miles of the NY Marathon.

I was prepared for there to be running, and I was prepared for there to be cheering. But I wasn’t prepared for the heart-warming enthusiasm of the whole caper.

I’m not afraid to say I let a couple of tears escape as the waves of beaming marathoners swarmed into the park, welcomed by cowbells and handmade signs and “You’ve got this!” and hollering the names and countries emblazoned on t-shirts.

And then I joined in and yelled myself hoarse for 3 hours as the runners who needed the most encouragement kept putting foot in front of the other. I made new buddies in support crews and found ourselves roaring inappropriate support such as “I find you attractive” and winking at runners. What has become of me?

It really warmed my heart to see all these supporters from around the world, shoulder-to-shoulder with the usually brusque New Yorkers, whooping it up in the Park. And the runners - from the walkers to the sprinters, from the silent weepers to the ones looking as if they had won the whole hoopla - you have my complete awe and admiration.