I'll try to make this short, but for all you Boston burn-outs, feel free to skim or delete. I won't take it personally.

This was an emotional race for me, partly because I was under trained, still sick and already preparing for my first DNF. But more importantly, my father was flying from Virginia to watch me race. I'll spare you all the family details, but let's just say that I really like my dad and was thrilled to have him watch me race for the first time.

We stayed with college friends living in Grafton, 45 minutes west of Boston -- completely inconvenient for getting into town for encounters and stuff, but great for the start. Hopkinton was a 10 minute drive, and our hosts graciously dropped us off at 9:45. We caught a quick shuttle to Athlete's Village and milled around trying to stay warm. I found a Washington, D.C. friend of mine huddling inside one of the tents, and we munched on the rolls (I hope you New Englanders don't call these things bagels) being given out. By 11:30 I had stripped down to a long-sleeve singlet and shorts, and was making my way slowly toward the twelfth corral. Amazingly, my dad had found a way to get to Hopkinton and was waiting at the 12th corral when I got there. We chatted until the herd began inching forward.

This was my second marathon. My first was Chicago last year, a race during which I felt strong and upbeat and incredibly positive. Boston was a bit of a mental challenge, because I never found my running groove, that place where you go inside you head and just enjoy the movement of your feet and the changing scenery. I was always aware of my discomfort, from my aching knees to my sore feet. After settling into mile splits of around 8:15, I tried to find ways to forget about my pain. I watched the children handing out oranges and bags of jelly beans, and the amazing diversity of runners around me. I thought about Dead Runners that have overcome difficult setbacks with constant grace, and those still struggling. And most importantly, I dedicated every challenging mile to my sister. She's my inspiration -- a loving and cheerful young woman despite being born with cerebral palsy and serious brain damage.

Chip time: 3:48:23

Thoughts on the Hills: What hills? In fairness, the downhills were responsible for my trashed legs throughout the last half of the race, but I didn't think Heartbreak lived up to its mythological status. Like other Deads, I had to ask other runners to make sure we were actually on Heartbreak. Maybe by then I was numb.

The Encounter: Fantastic, although I wish I had gotten to mingle more. Will improve in that area, I promise.

Why Everyone Should do Boston Once: The support was stunning, and the five hours of coverage from local stations was great. Bostonians everywhere asked how we did after the race -- mostly because I was limping noticeably. Great town, great people.

But Don't Cry if You Don't: What a mob scene. And it was darn cold. And I secretly believe Chicago was a better organized marathon, but don't tell the BAA folks.

Last Thought: A friend from Pennsylvania was the tenth American woman to finish. Anyone see her? Her name is Jacquie Merritt and was very fast, finishing in 2:45 despite a stomach flu.

Congratulations to everyone who ran, those who tried but (wisely) decided to save the effort for another day, and those facing their own racing goals this year. Thanks to everyone for the constant support.

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