I blacked out for just a second. The sudden stop after hours of racing drained all the blood from my head. When I come to, I am being held up by a race official.
I am also crying -- or, at least, tears are dripping down my cheeks -- and I don’t know why. Relief at finally being done with this goddamn race? Joy over racing faster and placing better than I ever thought possible? Disappointment about coming so close and then blowing it?
All I know right now is that fatigue is just an emotional response to stress, and after 26.2 miles of racing and pacing and surging and slowing and blisters and puking, the fatigue is unbearable.
“I’m sorry,” I say, on repeat. “I’m sorry.” To the official holding me up. To anyone around me. To no one in particular. To myself. I don’t any have any other words.
“First American!” A disembodied voice around me shouts.
“Who is it?”
“I-- I don’t know… Not one of our elites!”
“Well, someone look up his bib number!”
“Pour some water over their heads!”
“His name is Eliot!” I recognize that voice. “Eliot Swift!”
“She’s right! Eliot Swift, 24, from Flint Hills, Kansas.”
Looking towards the voice I recognize, I see Amelia. I wasn’t hallucinating, she really did make it here. She runs down the sidewalk and then, without hesitation, leaps over the metal barrier shielding the race from the spectators. We are in the finish chute now.
“You can’t be back here!” Another race official shouts.
“I’m his manager,” she retorts, not even bothering to look back. She points: “The other elites all have their managers with them.” She is right, they do. Not just the other two men that finished with me, but also the female elite finishers who came through earlier and are still hanging around the finish.
“I got him,” she says to the official holding me up, brushing him aside and wrapping her arm around my waist.
“I thought I heard you out there,” I said, still a little stunned. “But I wasn’t sure if it was reality or if I was just manifesting what I wanted to hear.”
“I made it. I tried to be loud, but I wasn’t sure if I would be loud enough over the rest of the spectators.”
“How did you--”
“I booked a last-minute flight. All that was left was the red-eye out of Kansas City, so I flew overnight and then slept in the airport. I called in sick from there, hopped on the T, and here I am.”
“Why did you--”
“Come on, Eliot. After seeing you train all winter? I wouldn’t miss this.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t win.” There it is again. I can’t stop apologizing.
“Don’t. Don’t apologize for anything.” We are walking through the finishing chute now, slowly. Shuffling is more like it. “What you did today was incredible. Third place in the freaking Boston Marathon is nothing to be ashamed of. Plus, a 2:12 -- in this heat! -- is a top-tier time. And you did all of that from the masses.”
As we walk, volunteers keep trying to hand us stuff. Take a bagel. A banana. Chocolate milk. Here; here’s your medal: the same one that everyone else who finishes the race gets. Smile for the picture!
I don’t want any of this crap. I just want my bag so I can change out of my uniform. But the walk to the gear check might be the longest mile on the course.
“I thought I had it, Amelia. I was so close. I was kicking so well, and they just … they were better.”
“Today, yes. But only two people were better. Out of all the 30,000 people running today, only two people were better than you. And they were expected to be better. No one expected you to be up there.”
“I did collect some pretty big scalps.”
“You were the best marathoner in the nation today! No one can ever take that away from you.”
“That’s true.”
“I just -- I really hope you’re proud of your performance today, because I am. I’m in awe of what you did today. I was pretty sure you had something special in you, but I am just so glad to have seen it come out on the most important day."
Someone taps my shoulder and we both turn around.
“Eliot?” It’s one of the race officials from the finish line. “We need you back at the finish. You are going to be on the podium.”
Amelia and I look at each other. He continues, “And we are going to need you to fill out some paperwork.”
“Go.” Amelia says. “You belong on that stage.”
**********
THIS IS THE END.
THANK YOU FOR READING!
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