The start line is organized by projected finish times. Fastest in front. Heather and I take a safe spot next to a pacer. He's an older guy, probably in his forties. He's carrying red balloons with 3:50 written boldly on them. It seems safer back here. There's more people. I vaguely think about how I have to pee but the gun sounds and I, along with the giant mass of people, trot towards the chip scanner that means my race has begun.
Mile 1: Someone had posted a sign that says "Good job Aaron!! You're almost there!" I read it and say, "Now that's the biggest lie I've ever heard." Marthoners are friendly and surprisingly talkative. Because of the slower pace, its easier to talk. And, let's be real, it makes the miles go by faster.
Mile 3: I overhear a man say, "Yeah I just qualified for Boston on Thursday. This is just my fun run." Who does that???
Mile 4: I decide the most annoying racers are the guys wearing knee shorts with their swishing pockets stuffed with gu and power bars. Aaaaand the Asian man whose strides are outrageously short and he stomps every time his foot meets the pavement.
Mile 5: I settle in behind Chick in Pink. I feel out of place. Everyone around me looks like they are crazy serious about running. I'm serious...but I still like my ice cream.
Mile 7: Still have to pee. Luckily, I see a free Honey Bucket. I'm in and out in less than 30 seconds. I don't bother with hand sanitizer. So judge me.
Mile 10: Holy hell...I still have so far...
Mile 13: Whoa! We're half way there! WHO---OOAA LIVING ON A PRAYER!!! That song has never been more appropriate. My half time is 1:40. I think I'm doing pretty good.
Mile 13 1/2: What if I qualify for Boston?.....?......?......
Mile 14: Family! Friends! Husband! I looked forward to seeing them for exactly 13 miles. And I pass by them in a matter of seconds. Still worth every single familiar face and every single word of encouragement.
Mile 17: Runner's high. Second wind. Whatever you want to call it, I am feeling good. A man sitting to the side tells me that I'm number 177, 24th female. Sweet. I'll take that.
Mile 20: I joke with the aid station guys, "From far back, that sign looks like it says 'Mile 10!'" They laugh. My 20 mile time is 2:34. Still doing pretty good.
Mile 21: This is when I die. Not entirely...but I'm hurting. More gatorade! That's the answer, right?
Mile 22: Nope. Still hurting.
Mile 23: The 3:25 pacer passes me. Still dying. I drink at the aid station and walk a little extra until I can will myself to get going again.
Mile 25 1/2: The last few miles have been hell. I don't care about my time. I just want to finish. I hurt. The guys in front of me walk. Does that mean I can walk too? No, Kim. Keep going. You're almost there. Less than a mile and that still seems like a big fat lie.
Mile 26: I still can't see the end. Walking still looks like a very tempting possibility. But then I turn the corner and all I can see is the finish line. It's only a football field away. I have absolutely no energy to sprint or even run any faster at all. I see Matt to the side. He screams that I'm going to get sub 3:30. I glare at him. Who cares what my time is? I just want to cross that line and be done.
Mile 26.2: 3 hours 29 minutes and 28 seconds. And it's over.
Results: 184th over-all finisher (out of about 1,600 runners). 30th woman. 2nd in my age group (20-24). Averaged a 7:59 minute pace.
And I qualified for Boston.
But really, honestly, I'm just glad I finished. That marathon was the hardest things I've ever done physically in my whole life. But I finished.
Kyle did awesome. He's my hero. So crazy speedy. And Heather did so good too. I thought I would get emotional when I finished. I didn't, though. But I did when Heather finished. I was so outrageously proud of her. Gosh, my siblings are amazing. And Heather still looked super hot after running 26.2 miles. Wish I could've pulled that off.
