I love this race.
I do.
The way it starts in the dark, and the feeling of dread and nervousness at the starting line. Can't say I've ever sensed excitement from the Dirties.
The way every year's race flier looks like a 3 year old with 5 missing fingers created it.
How, at the start, no one, including me, knows how the day might play out.
The way the sun rises upon the Torture Crew on their bikes, who welcome it as a sign of warmth.
The way people who have never run a marathon decide to just jump in because on paper, it looks cool.
The text messages I get from other Torture Crew saying that so-and-so has had enough and has dropped.
The point of the race where you can tell that the Dirties still in the race want to(or have already) told you to go screw yourself.
The fact that if you are out of shape, you are in for a very, very long day.
The fact that even if you are a good runner, you are still in for a very, very long day.
Most importantly, there's a point during the race for every runner that has finished where flight changes to fight. Their feet turnover a little quicker. Posture get straighter.
I love when they think they are done.
And that's the time that I love most....when they drop down to do more pushups.
September 22. Let's go.
