Here, you see the leaders' bulging thigh muscles--er, I mean--pained faces about a mile from the finish. They were neck in neck. That's right, after 25 miles at a 5 minute-ish pace, they weren't necessarily promised a win.
My favorite part of watching was cheering for random people. Yep. Those with names on their shirts made my day. I'd yell "Go John" or whatever was written. I'm embarrassed to say that I only yelled names I could pronounce. Also, that I got into it enough to start yelling descriptions if their shirts were sans-name. "Go Uncle Sam" to a man dressed in a flag. Or "Yeah Twins guy" to someone in a jersey. I really shouldn't be allowed in public.
While there were a lot of pained faces (see above), some people seemed to be having a great time. Like Erik, for example (the reason I was yelling random names in the first place). He was all smiles around mile 22 when we saw him. Here, it looks like he's leading the pack. In reality, I believe he was juuuuuust behind the scary muscle men pictured above...by an hour or two.
If I run a marathon, I will definitely ask to borrow Erik's hat. You need a signature piece for supporters to look for. The hunter-orange did the trick here. I might have pushed it a bit further, even...like a full body leotard featuring my name in hot pink glitter. "Go penelope!"
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