Memories of a Half-Marathon

• Vaguely feeling regret before the start of the race for not having trained much.
• Waiting in the corral wishing I had left my shirt in my gear bag.
• Crossing the start line surrounded by enthusiasm and exuberance.
• Weaving through the throng of runners. What happened to the wave start? Just a big mass of slower people as far as I can see.
  
• Deciding to take it easy for a few miles to see how I feel.
  
• Male spectator shouting "nice body!" as I run by shirtless in my bicycle shorts. Thanks, I guess.
  
• Clumsily grabbing at a cup of water and pouring it over my face, some of the water going into my mouth. Choking and gasping, continuing anyway.
• Passing the 1:45 pacer group at two or three miles. Feeling strong but reserving myself.
• Passing, endlessly passing others. Picking up the pace a bit.
  
• The eerie silence of runners pounding forward step by step through the morning city streets. Then coming up on any number of rock bands playing their set. People cheering and waving. Feeling the rush of the internal surge. Every blood vessel in my cranium swelling with each steady beat of my heart. Wanting to go, go, go, but always holding back, back, back. Curiously wondering what's it's like to be on EPO in a grand tour.
• Guy feet few ahead of me suddenly stopping and getting an elbow. Stay out of my way.
• Wasting breath to ask Spartan Guy to where he's headed. Persia. Not wasting breath to tell him not to muck it all up in the Peloponnesian War next century. He's too far behind by then anyway.
• Passing mile 7. Or was that 8 or 9? Starting to feel tired in the legs but my lungs and heart feel fine.
  
• Passing the 1:39 pacer group.
  
• Stoic countenance becoming a permanent scowl.
• Losing feeling in my legs. But they keep moving. It's all-out. Getting harder to pass people. Can't tell if that's because I'm slowing or because I caught up to better runners.
• Final mile.
• Crossing the Mill Ave. bridge.
  
• Spectator shouting "only 400 yards to go!" The man is a liar or else doesn't play par 4s.
  
• Sprinting the final 100 meters. The ugliest, slowest sprint of my life.
  
• Pumping my fist in the air across the finish line. Kind of silly but who cares.
  
• Legs quitting without being told.
  
• Strongly feeling regret for not having trained much.