I will not be walking in this Sunday's Step Out Walk to Stop Diabetes.

I will not be walking in costume.

I will not be walking out of costume.

I will not be walking.

I will be running... the New York City Marathon.

Note that I did not say "running in the Marathon", but "running the Marathon".

I, along with approximately 9,000 other volunteers -- three hundred and eighty of whom will, like me, have radios attached to their hips and earpieces under their bright orange baseball caps. We are the people who confirm that the ice, water, Gatorade, and cups have been delivered to the water stations -- that there are tents, cots, and medical supplies for the course doctors -- that there are people to help every runner who needs fluid, salt, sugar, pain-relief, directions, and/or medical attention, no matter how old or young the runner, nor what language he speaks. (We have a group of volunteers whose responsibility is specifically to serve as translators between runners and race officials, runners and medical aid folk, runners and... whoever.) We are the people who keep track of the sweep buses which pick up those runners who have had to quit running.

For many radio operators, working the Marathon is a day-long commitment. We arrive on-site before the police department closes the roads to traffic, about two hours before the earliest competitors -- those in the hand-crank wheelchair division -- ride past us, and we don't leave until after the last sweep bus has passed, and most of the supplies have been picked up. We are out there in the cold, from dawn to dusk, with little more than what we can carry on our bodies or stow in our Mile Captains' cars between circuits up and down our assigned portions of the course.

For those of us with diabetes, both the "job requirements" and the weather can be an issue. We need to keep ourselves, and our medications, warm enough to work but not so warm that our pills spoil or we sweat into clothes that will be too cool for us, too soon. And we need food and beverages that will keep us from overheating or freezing, and still keep our blood glucose levels in some semblance of control.

For our thermal comfort, we dress in layers. I may start the day in a light winter coat over a sweatshirt and a sweater, with a base layer appropriate for a little bit cooler than the day's predicted high temperature. I carry a thermos of coffee, and I usually prepare a hot lunch which I take in wide-mouth thermoses. While vegan chili is my standard, I've also had chicken soup or leftover pasta with meat sauce. We've done the cold route as well, taking turkey sandwiches on rolls, but the warmer the food, the better it is for me.

When the race gets going, I may not have time to test my blood glucose levels as often as us ideal. I usually run a bit high on Marathon Sunday before adding food into the equation, but I need to put my thermal comfort ahead of perfect readings -- I'm more at risk for windburn and Raynauds' flare-ups than I am for treatable blood-glucose excursions. That said, I'm glad that my highest high rarely approaches 200 mg/dl -- unlike the runner we had a few years ago who clocked in at 531. (He'd bonked earlier and overtreated, and his insulin was back at the finish line.)

I doubt that I will ever run in a marathon, or run a marathon's distance; I can barely make 5k without having to slow from a jog to a walk. This year, though, will be my 20th on-site, radio in-hand, doing my part to make sure this event runs smoothly.