Mile 17, on First Avenue just north of 75th Street, is starting to fill up. It’s 10:30 a.m. on Marathon Sunday and the tavern’s namesake, the 17th mile marker of the New York City Marathon, just steps away on the avenue, is nearly desolate.
The runners are still miles away. But a small number of spectators leans on the metal barricades, encouraging the few athletes hustling by on wheelchairs or handcycles.
By the time the leading pack of elite runners appears, the bar is bustling. At 11:30 a.m., Jan Crozier is finishing a bowl of soup as the TV screen above the bar shows Kenyan runner Mary Keitany crossing the finish line in Central Park. Crozier, 78, reflects on a time when female athletes were barely recognized for their accomplishments. She’s happy they’re getting their due.
