I begin... waiting for the start with odd thoughts and serenities intermixed with moments of distress and determination my steam breath churning in the cold. We surge out of the start chute, a sheer mass of churning high tech fabric and humanity as we head downtown and up the on ramp to I-90.

  Mile 4 is crossing the bridge and watching the leaders flowing back toward me already, their knees lifted striding smooth and slick. I wonder what it would be like to run that fast that far. On the bridge: people run with me, then pass me chatting, completely unaware of what is to come, running easily and too fast.

Next I enter the Mercer Island tunnel, the echoing strangeness of hundreds of slapping feet in an enclosed space, the unwordly flourescent lighting seems to strobe in the shadows. Then back toward Seattle and the litter of discarded sweats hats gloves and other clothing left on the bridge as the sun breaks the Lake Washington fog and the course warms up.

  North on on Lake Washington boulevard  spectators wave and cheer at each intersection. Volunteers block the streets from traffic and encourage the runnners as they thin out and begin to realize the depth of their undertaking.  The flush of excitement pales with the realization that we are not even halfway yet. Hitting the turn around at the point of Seward park I feel elated that I am slighly ahead of mark and still running strong at 13.1. We run back along Lake Washington through shadows and sun the lake on the right sparkling and calm.  I Find a few individuals at about the same pace to ensure that I don't lose too many steps coming out of the water stops. It's too big of a tempatation to linger and slow.

   Mile 16 - thank God for GU but my pace slips a little bit in pyschcological anticipation of the hills to come. Spectators with megaphones shout encouragement and bring a small smile. The first hill between 19 and 20 is steep but somehow I run up it and even pass a few people. I recover on the long flat in preparation for the Galer st. Gauntlet a super steep turn followed by a 3/4 mile long ascent. Surprisingly I only need to walk the steep 300 meters or so and I run (slowly) the rest. Downhill through the Arboretum I let gravity flow me  feeling the added speed roll through my legs and hips. 

  Then comes the turn up Interlaken boulevard and the hills roller costering through Interlaken Park between miles 22 and 23. I begin slowly reeling in runners that had been in front of me for hours. The hill training must have done some good after all. The volunteer at the trail turnoff sees me "3.2 miles left" he says with an encouraging smile and clap. I can stand almost anything for 3.2 miles. Trying to pick up my pace, my feet falling faster my breath tighter and higher, I feel the fatigue spread up and through my legs, thighs, and back. If I finish this I tell myself I will never run fast or run hills again. I wonder what it would be like to run a Marathon where it was easy at mile 23. Loud fast rock music from loudspeakers on Delmar at the aid station, make me smile- a great attempt to motivate us in the last miles.

  Along the freeway, a bake shop with a half dozen women offer trays of croissants and pastries to the runners. What a great aid station but who could possible eat a muffin now? Okay 2 miles, I can do anything for 2  measly miles - 22  + minutes or so, no prolem. I promise myself I will never run this far again if I can just keep my pace for 22 more minutes.

  I refuse to death march shuffle the last 1.5 miles. I will collapse first, I swear. I slide my knees forward forcing a smooth toe off even though it is uncomfortable- no actually it's outright painful. A slow annoying draining pain. It now feels that I have been running forever. Somewhere I begin to feel that I will run forever and never stop. I feel the tug of the imaginary string that I use in training. It runs through my sternum pulling my strides straight toward the finish line.

  Up the last small hill at Republic. How did 40 feet in eleveation become Everest? Slowing slightly as my legs reach their last legs. 3/4 of a mile, 8 minutes. I can do anything for 8 minutes. I again bargain with myself. I will never ever run a single mile again if I can just pick my pace up until the finish line. Turning the corner at Dexter I hear a volunteer "Congratulations on your race". I then realize that I only have 3 minutes left. I also realize that I could crawl to the finish from here. But I won't, because I can do anything for 3 minutes. Then I can stop and never do this again. 

  Somehow from some where unknown I feel an upwelling of determination, stubborness, whatever, and I pick my pace up as I stride uphill through the Mercer underpass just before the turn onto 4th. As I make the turn I hear my name and see my wife step into the street -a splash of beautiful pink encouragment. My son and his girfriend also- all yelling and holding signs. I can't see them very well through my fatigue but my spirit lifts and I hope I don't look like I'm shuffling as I make the turn onto the artificial turf of the stadium.  I tell my legs to pump and I begin my final sprint as I see someone in front of me that might be in my age group. The last 30 yards I hear my son yelling "GO Charlie!!!". How the hell did he get there from the corner? Oh yeah, he's ten times faster than me.

  I pass the guy in front of me and step on the finish mat a split second after a young guy who comes out of nowhere to beat me literally at the last second. I have a quick flash of a rather uncharitable thought- "I hope I put him through at least a little agony trying to pass me". One step past the finish mat- "Congratulations, are you okay sir?". When did I become a sir? Do I look like I'm dying? Anyway, on with the foil blankie and off to the recovery area. I will never again run, or even exercise again. My life will now be in front of the tv with beer and chips. Yeah that's right chips. I will never run a step again even if chased by a family of ravenous grizzlies...I swear.