4:40:11

That's all, folks. So long, and thanks for all the fish.

I had a great time on Monday, and finished in 4:40:11. Sadly, chip time doesn't stop for the 10 minutes waiting to use the port-a-potty at mile 12, or the many diversions to high-five pre-schoolers and Wellesley girls. But even with those detours, I beat Jesse's PR by 13 minutes, and that's all that matters.

Highlights of the day:

1. Friends on the course. Thanks to everyone who came out, even those of you who I missed because I was, as Geoff says, "in the zone" when I passed you. Knowing that I had people at 17, 18, 21, 23, and 25 let me keep clicking along.
2. The crowds. The little kids, especially, kept me going. I tried to keep to the middle of the street and avoid the more rowdy folks at the end, though.
3. My teammates. Even though we got separated early on, Sean & Hector helped keep me cool before the start.
4. Knowing I put in the work. When I started feeling tired, I thought about the work I had done in training and in fundraising, and about all of the people who had supported me in both those areas. I knew that I had prepared, and that I would finish.
   
5. Bouillon cubes. Sounds gross, but when you finish a race looking like a salt-lick, it helps. (Thanks, coach Jesse.)
   
6. Wellesley. You really can hear them 1/2 mile away. And the "Kiss me, I'm ___" signs ae remarkably specific and diverse. My favorite, from a lone guy: "Kiss me, I'm male."
7. Running up Heartbreak Hill. All the way up. Past all the people who blew past me earlier in the day. I intentionally didn't race on Monday, but it was gratifying to have a moment of glory.
8. Not racing. For someone who is... how shall I say it... a little intense, it was a nice break to just run for the experience of being out there. I had fun, and I felt less trashed after 26.2 than I have after some shorter races.
9. Digging deep. Even without pushing the pace, 26.2 miles is a long way! From mile 22 on, I was out of energy, my legs were shot, I couldn't bear the thought of ingesting anything else, and I was overwhelmed by the crowds. Those last 4 miles were the "mountain-top" moment when I got to zone out, look into myself, and see who was there. And, lo and behold, there I was.
10. Hereford Street. In training, I had avoided running that last stretch, sort of like I never walked through the main gate at Harvard until I graduated. I'm glad I made a big deal out of Hereford Street, because that was where I started crying. By the time I rounded the next corner and could see the finish line, I had composed myself enough to really smile as I crossed the finish line.