As we crested the rise into the mid-morning sun I still had my gloves on, but I knew it wouldn't be too much longer before I could toss them and get ready to work it home. Even though it wasn't yet 9:00AM, the day was nearly half over...at least in terms of time. The halfway mark passed easily in 1:59:30 - just 13.1 miles to go now, but I'd been through enough of these before to know that we weren't yet halfway; not even close, really.

But that didn't stop him from asking. "Under 2 hours? That's awesome! We're going to break 4 hours if we keep this up." I didn't want to dash any hopes with so many miles yet to go, so I managed a smile and said, "We're pretty close - definitely close."

So why is it when I get up early on race mornings and turn on the TV, there's always a movie on? I nearly missed getting to the park on time for the start at Tupper Lake in 2007 when I got sucked into "Munich" at 5:30AM. So this time I had to wonder, who exactly does a network think is going to watch "Thelma and Louise" at 4:32AM on a Sunday morning? If someone at HBO knew they had three guys sitting in silence, each in their beds, sipping coffee, what do you think they would do with that information?

And yet somehow, it seemed strangely fitting. To my right was Brian Gatens: My partner in crime, and the guy who gave my psyche the slap it needed last year, when he pretty much dared my doubt to put up or shut up, and see if I really could run a Boston Qualifier. That chance wouldn't come for me today - there had been too much work drama, and too little training, but that didn't mean the dream was dead. It just wasn't going to happen today, so that meant I'd be starting the day with no pressure.

To my left was Brian's friend Bill Fahey - an unknown quantity. It was Bill's first marathon, but Brian had told me he'd been training like a lunatic, and expected to do well.

So we sat, drank, ate, checked gear, checked the weather, stared out into the pre-dawn darkness, wordlessly watching Thelma and Louise leave it all behind, and soar into the great beyond.

Regardless of how the race was going to go for me, the weekend had already been a smash. I finally got to meet John Young and his traveling female companion, Iliana (she'd be running the full - he, the half). Eric Weiss had come out of retirement to run, and Dave Decker (of the Allentown Deckers), had been dragged down because we promised him really good beer at the Manayunk Brewing Company the night before the race. Debi Bernardes had come up from Virginia with her husband Jack, and had brought along a dugout worth of runners - some for the half, some for the full.

Once I managed to get everyone together for dinner on Saturday night (including three of my Dragon Boat teammates running their first Half Marathon the next day), my work for the weekend was done - now I just had to run, a little bit. Over, and over, and over, and over...you know the deal. It's not 26.2 miles, it's just one mile run 26.2 times.

On race morning, I had all these well-mapped, detailed plans on how we would meet up at Logan Circle by the fountains at precisely 6:15AM, and walk to the start. Sadly, so did about 4,000 other runners from the 18,000 runner field. This was where we never met up with Debi and her clan, which was a shame, since Debi was going to be the brains for my race. So I went to Plan "B," which sadly, I hadn't really written down. Brian kept telling me, "We're going out with the 3:35 pace group, and hanging on."

I didn't want to do that. I hadn't trained for that - hadn't done the speedwork to make that happen, so I decided to stop thinking about my race plan, and focus on my wardrobe. Since Brian is also one of Lance Armstrong's biggest fans (ahem), I'd decided that I'd be going with the all yellow motif: Yellow hat, LiveStrong sleeveless, and I'd even found matching yellow socks. Even if he was going to kick my ass the entire day, I could annoy him by just glowing in yellow awesomeness everywhere I went.

However, the base layer I'd put on was already too warm, so I made a last-minute dash for the baggage trucks to drop it off. Despite the 40F temperature, I'd go with a sleeveless and shorts, plus gloves. It felt good. I felt as ready as I could be. We made our way into the corrals - John, Iliana, Brian, and me.

And then all we had to do was wait a few minutes - maybe 5 at best. We'd timed it right, we were ready, and there was no threat of rain. The skies were clear, there was no wind - it was easily going to be the best weather the marathon had seen in the 12 years I've been running...good thing I went with the sleeveless...

And then I looked down.

"Oh, sh*t."

This wasn't an ordinary, "Oh, sh*t." This was a world-class, I-just-showed-up-naked-for-a-final-exam-oh-sh*t. This wasn't an "Oh, sh*t" that came from looking down and wondering, "Where is my SpiBelt with my five gels?" This was an "Oh, sh*t." because I knew exactly where they were. They were wrapped up in the base layer I'd just taken off and stuffed into a baggage truck about ¼ mile away.

I immediately stopped working on Plan "B" and went immediately to Plan "D," (Plan "C" was scrapped due to budget cuts). I just said to everyone, "I forgot my gels. I am the single stupidest man in this race right now. This is my 30th marathon, and I just made the mother of all rookie mistakes. Yougottabefugginkiddinme." John offered me his flask of Hammer Gel. Brian gave me one. Iliana gave me one. This was great - they saved me, because I knew I could limp along with two and then 'go shopping' later in the race and get more at the aid stations. Even if they didn't have them, one gel every 10 miles was better than none at all.

They fired the gun, the wheelchairs and elites took off, and then it was our turn. When we finally got going, I couldn't stop smiling; so much has gone wrong this year, to finally be running on a perfect, late autumn day, in my favorite race, for the next 4 hours (more or less), life would be simple, uncomplicated, and easy to do. It might hurt, I might get tired, but to just be able to run? I needed that.

As we approached City Hall less than a half mile into the race, I turned to the guy next to me and said, "Is there anywhere you'd rather be than right here, right now?" He said, "No way man, this is the best." For the next few miles, I just settled into whatever my body was giving me. The first six miles went by easily - right around 54 minutes. As we headed towards University City and Mile 7, I looked over and saw my buddy from City Hall again. I asked him, "How's your race going? Settled in pretty well?"

He replied, "Yeah, yeah! Feeling okay. This is my first marathon, and I've been following you since the start." I figured it had to be the yellow, but then I realized that now I had something to do with my race. I asked him, "What are you hoping to run?" He said, "About 4 hours."

Now I had a purpose. I might not be able to stay with him, but I could try. If I could be a Sherpa for someone, that was what I was going to do. "Okay, good deal! You're right where you want to be. Keep drinking, stay with your gel plan, and let people go here. These are easy miles. You've got a climb coming up towards mile 8...."

His name was Derek. He was a Senior at Bloomsburg University. He didn't mind me being a tour guide at all.

We passed through the aid station at mile 10, and I grabbed three gels - now I had all I needed, no harm, no foul. I didn't even look at what flavors I had - I didn't care. Fuel was fuel, and in my case, they turned out to be Espresso GU. That was a win in my book.

When we got back onto West River Drive I cautioned him, "You'll start to get passed by people here - they're the half marathoners galloping to the line. Let them go, and stick to your pace. We've got plenty of time to catch up." We let them go and stayed to the left side of the road, away from the cruel signpost that read, "FINISH TO RIGHT - MARATHON MILE 14 TO LEFT."

The clock said 1:59:30 at halfway. I would have liked to have seen closer to 1:56, but this was what my body had today. "Under 2 hours? That's awesome! We're going to break 4 hours if we keep this up." I didn't want to dash any hopes with so many miles yet to go, so I managed a smile and said, "We're pretty close - definitely close." Inside my mind, however, I couldn't help but think, "Yeah, well, not so much."

Once you've run a marathon, you understand that 13.1 miles is not halfway.

Halfway in the marathon is 20 miles: The last 6.2 miles are really the entire race.

How you handle those last 6.2 miles is based on what you do in the first 20.

But when you're a rookie? You don't need to know these things. No sense in worrying now - keep it smooth, keep it light, keep it steady. That's all I kept thinking as we headed out Kelly Drive, towards the first real test of the second half - Lemon Hill.

Lemon Hill was where my legs began to come apart in 2008, mainly because I didn't know the damn hill was coming. I'd run the race 10 times, and no Lemon Hill. I took one year off with injury, and BOOM - they drop Lemon F'ing Hill into the course. "It's a short, steep, insulting climb, so get psyched to hurt a little bit. Grind it out, and we plummet out the other side..." I warned Derek. "Okay, man - let's hit it."

It worked out just fine. We climbed in, grinded it out, looped, and descended back to the drive for the long haul to Manayunk. After a mile to recover and settle into the drive, I said to Derek, "These are where the real miles begin. Miles 14-20 are real; the crowds are gone, your legs will start to feel the race, so this is where being patient and steady in the first 10 miles will pay you back. We'll start to see folks coming back now - folks who did way too much, way too soon."

He nodded in grim agreement and asked, "So what number marathon is this for you?"

"Well, 30...my 12th Philadelphia..." I said, but quickly added, "But that doesn't mean I know what I'm doing - I just know where this road goes. You picked a race I've run a lot, so if I can help with anything, it's yours for the asking." I reminded him, "You're doing great - way better than my first one."

I filled the next mile with the story of my first Marine Corps Marathon in 1996. How I'd tripped at mile 1, and dropped all of my gels. How I'd torn both palms to shreds sliding on the asphalt, and how they bled most of the day. A day where the temperature reached 80F, and it was so bad for the slow runners in the back...they ran out of cups at the water stops. So I had to take those hands, those shredded hands, and scoop Gatorade from a bucket where a Marine was mixing as fast as people could drink. I finished in 5:08, and immediately knew I would run another marathon, mainly because I couldn't conceive of a worse possible race experience.

"So you're like, miles - and I mean MILES - ahead of my first." I beamed. I was keeping track of the math, too. We were ticking the miles off between 9:05 and 9:10. Sub-4 wasn't likely, but I said, "If we keep this up, it'll be a 4:0something. Really solid. Keep it up."

As we rounded the bend under the Columbia Bridge and headed past the Temple Boat House, there was a DJ setup with some monster speakers. I can take or leave the music in some races, but on this day, on this stretch, at this very moment, Mister DJ put a record on, and hit it out of the park.

I looked over at Derek, and his head was already moving, just like mine. Because when Rage Against the Machine comes on, you can't help it. Especially when it's the opening chords of, "Bulls on Parade."

"Rally round the family...pocket full of shells."
"Rally round the family...pocket full of shells."
"Rally round the family...pocket full of shells."

For the next few miles we kept that groove on, working the real miles. I didn't say much here - I didn't need to. Only once did I note as we watched the sub-3 hour guys roaring for home, "It's amazing to see how easy they make it look. No worries, though - we'll be there soon. One mile at a time..."

I got him ready for the exit ramp into Manayunk, where so many of my races were made, or ended. Once again we grinded over the top of an insult, and cruised down the other side. We passed my Philadelphia Triathlon Club Teammates and their Tailgate party. I grabbed a beer from the Hashers - a nice, Dixie cup of Weissbier. Derek stayed by my side, just following the wheels.

"Once we make the turn up ahead, your first marathon will have just 6 miles left to go. Less than an hour. Keep it up!"

It was here I saw Brian roaring the other way - good old Leeroy Jenkins himself, following his race plan to the letter: Take it out hard, pick it up in the middle, make 'em pay at the end. He looked great, and even waved to me with his 15-minute lead. However, Brian would later tell me that leaving Manayunk, he was in so much pain that he could have punched a Panda. Even two weeks later, I think that's the quote of the year.

But without punching any Pandas, Derek and I made the turn for home, and started the final stretch out of Manayunk. I kept my sentences short here - just little things; "If you feel bad here, it's because you're running uphill - Manayunk is down to the turn, and up on the way out. Just be steady." He answered, "I was wondering..."

We left Manayunk behind, and made the turn onto Kelly Drive. As we made our way around the same curves we'd covered an hour earlier, there was still a steady stream of runners headed the other way. I turned to him and said, "See all those people over there? They're looking at you the same way you and I looked at those 3-hour guys before. Right now they want to be you in the worst way...because you're headed home."

"That's unreal..." he said.

The mile splits still hadn't dropped much at all - now they were around 9:15, with the occasional 9:20. Nothing too bad at all - no collapse, no implosion. Controlled, steady pacing. As I'd promised, we were passing people every mile - folks walking, shuffling, stopping to stretch and work out cramps. We just kept on keeping on, knocking the miles down.

We ran landmark to landmark - bridge to bridge. I'd run them so many times in training an in past years, I knew exactly what to say, and how to say it so it didn't sound too far.

As we passed under Strawberry Mansion Bridge I said, "See that grandstand way down there? That's 2000 meters - 1.2 miles. When you get to there, you'll have just over 2 miles to go...and it'll be in full sun, too..."

When we came around the Kelly Grandstand, it was here I finally felt the elastic begin to stretch. For the first time since Mile 0 when I'd asked him where he'd rather be, I had to look backwards to find him. His shoulders were slumping, and his hands were crossing his body. It had taken 24 miles, but the watch finally had a "10" on it - a 10:07 mile 24.

"Sorry..." was all he said.

"Sorry?! Nonsense, dude. You're great - this is nothing at all. If you went from 9's to 14's, okay - that's bad. This is fine - we've got less than 2 miles to go now. Do you like basketball?" I asked, and God smiled upon me.

"I love basketball..." He managed.

"Great! This is a 1-and-1. Shoot one, shoot another. Give me one good mile now, and I guarantee you can give me mile 26." Don't ask me where it came from - I still don't know. But it worked. Derek smiled, picked up his shoulders a bit, and we kept moving.

Mile 25 was a 10:05. "Great work! That's how you do it. No fade, no fade - you've got it, you've got it." We passed through the rock tunnel, and as we started past Boathouse Row, I got him ready for the final rise. "This is it - just this little rise. See the Art Museum? Get there, and it's all downhill to the line from Eakins Oval..."

The crowds were back now - the barriers were on either side of the road, filled with people. Derek stayed on the power, and stayed right at my side. As we ran through the canyon of people, I waved both arms to get them louder, and they yelled back. I turned to Derek and said, "Welcome to the last half-mile of your first marathon. I can tell you that this feeling - what you feel now - never gets old, never gets boring. Take it in - love it, live it - you've earned it! Every step was for this moment, right now!"

I even got a little misty, remembering how it felt to run on the same stretch of road with Joe Bator and this big German dude Bernd just one year ago. I'd gone 3:48 that day - a record that I'd miss today by nearly 15 minutes, but here I was, hopefully paying back that karmic debt.

But for all my work, I didn't want to take anything away from Derek. As we turned past the Art Museum, and as the grade leveled out, I told him, "This last stretch is all yours. I'm dropping off. Derek, it's been an honor." I shook his hand, he shook mine, I flicked my head, and slowed up a bit. Derek rounded the bend past Eakins Oval...and blended into the blur of spectators before me.

He would have his moment, and now I would have mine.

My 30th Marathon.

My 12th Philadelphia.

And it still, never gets old.

The clock would stop at 4:04:16. Not a record, but it would still be my 7th fastest marathon, even on a year when my training was probably about as minimal as I would dare. "Imagine what would happen if you actually trained..." I thought, smiling. Boston isn't gone - it just wasn't today.

However, I was the last of our group to finish. Brian had run a 3:44, Bill had uncorked a ridiculous 3:37 debut, and Iliana had scored a Boston Qualifier on her first try with a 3:44 as well. Since everyone else had run the half, they'd all been waiting for me...but since the sun was out, and the sky was clear, nobody really seemed to mind all that much. Dave Decker handed me a cup of chicken soup (nectar of the GODS), and I grabbed my bag from the baggage truck.

Sure enough, as soon as I opened it and looked in, right on top was my SpiBelt. Complete with five gels, packed carefully, and loaded for bear. For a moment I pondered if Derek would have chosen to run with me, had he known his Sherpa somehow managed to start his "A" race for the year with an empty gas tank...but then again, maybe because of it, that's how I ended up by his side.

Even though it seemed to make no sense at the time, it worked out. It all worked out great, and all I had to do was just keep on running. If only life were so easy!

Hurricane Bob
* Enjoy the Journey - The Finish Line is Too Short. *