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MILE BY MILE: 21

10 meters…
Kelley is the lone American, the rest are East Africans runners. It looks like two Ethiopians and two Kenyans. They all look identical wearing the same grey Nike uniform, although one has on a different color singlet: gold. That means he must be the defending World Champion.
Kelley is the only non-Nike athlete left in the lead pack. But he has a slight advantage in that he is wearing a white jersey.
9…
It’s getting really hot out here. I’ve noticed the rising temperature at times earlier in the race, but now I am really starting to feel it bake. As we approach noon, our shadows start to disappear, as does any shade that had existed along the course. Heat waves rise from the asphalt.
8…
I just realized that I have forgotten to drink since throwing up four miles ago. That has been a mistake in this heat. Salt is streaking on my face. I need to find some water, and quick -- if for no other purpose than to dump it over my head to cool off.
7…
You’ve got psychological contact. Keep pulling the lasso tight.
6…
As I had been sweating so much earlier in the race, even my shoes are getting soaked. That has only happened to me in the heart of a Midwest summer, on those days in late July when the heat and humidity are both above 90. On those days, you don’t sweat from the top-down, like normal; instead, you simply sweat from everywhere all at once. Coming back in from a run, your shoes are soaked as if you ran through a thunderstorm. Those days are rare, even for the summer. But here we are in mid-April, and it’s happening.
5…
As my shoes absorb more and more water, the blood from my blister begins to spread. A small patch by my right pinky toe begins to enlarge to an inch, then two. Those blisters aren’t exactly comfortable, but it looks worse than it is.
4…
Don’t slow down.
3…
One of the people in the media van points at me. A motorcycle cameraman drops back from the leaders and files in next to me. He tilts his head and says something into a microphone on his lapel. Kelley glances over his left shoulder. Between his sunglasses and hat, I can’t read his expression.
2…
I split a 4:58 this mile. That means the leaders must have run 5:0-something. As if everyone hadn’t already figured it out, Boston is tactical this year. With this extreme weather, everyone is afraid to make their move too far from the finish line.
1…
Contact! I’m back for the first time since the first half. That was so long ago it hardly even feels like the same race.
Wait, no!

Fuck!

**********

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