marathon

When the Road Teaches
by

When the Road Teaches

Perseverance in Difficulty

Some of the most important miles I ever ran were the ones I wanted to quit. They were not fast or easy. They happened on days when my body was tired, my mind was heavy, and the last thing I wanted to do was lace up. Those runs taught me something no effortless day could — how to keep moving when every step feels like a decision.

I remember cold winter afternoons when the weight of the day pressed down so heavily that I almost stayed inside. On those days, I finally pushed myself out the door, even when I knew my run would be slower. Finishing mattered more than pace. It was a reminder that perseverance is often measured in the simple act of showing up.

That lesson carried into training with my son. Together we ran race after race, including a cool morning 5K in Birmingham that marked our fifth together. By then we had both come a long way from where we started. The race was not just about that single morning. It was the result of weeks of steady effort and miles stacked quietly when no one else was watching.

There were also days when I dreaded heading out the door, when the thought of running felt like more of a burden than a gift. Yet those runs often surprised me. As the miles passed, my perspective shifted, and I found myself realizing again that the journey itself held its own reward.

It is in these kinds of miles — the slow, the heavy, the unremarkable — that God has met me most clearly. He didn’t always lifted the struggle, but He always gave me enough strength for the moment I was in.

Surrender in the Stride

There is a kind of running that is not about pace or distance at all. It is the kind that loosens your grip on control and teaches you to let go. These are the runs where surrender becomes as important as effort.

I remember training days when I carried tension into every step. Sometimes it was only a short run, but those three miles were enough to shift the weight I had been carrying all day. It was not about speed or proving myself. It was about letting go and finding peace in the rhythm.

In time, I began to see running less as a way to prove something and more as a gift to be received. That realization changed everything. When the miles stopped being a scoreboard and started becoming moments of grace, the run felt lighter.

Even during serious training, surrender would surface. Preparing for the half marathon, I once found myself chasing numbers until halfway through the run I realized I was missing the point. It was not about beating a time. It was about settling into the stride and releasing control. That run left me with more peace than any record ever could.

The deeper truth, though, was that surrender in running pointed to something greater. No amount of training or discipline could heal the deeper places of brokenness within me. Running might teach me how to let go of control, but only Christ could free my heart.

These runs are remembered not for finish lines but for the way burdens lifted, steps became prayers, and breathing slowed into trust. The real victory was not how far I went, but how fully I let go.

Joy in the Journey

Not every run is about perseverance or surrender. Some are simply about joy — the kind that sneaks up on you mid-stride and reminds you why you began.

I remember one afternoon running with my son when a group of kids was playing nearby. Out of nowhere, a little girl looked at me and announced that she liked pizza. It had nothing to do with running, but it made us both laugh, and suddenly the miles felt lighter.

Joy came in other ways too. Training for the Mercedes Half Marathon, I ran through the streets of Birmingham with both my sons. We talked, we laughed, and I finished that day reminded of why I loved running. The city, the conversations, and the shared effort made it unforgettable.

Even the countdown to race day carried its own kind of joy. Twenty-four days, then seventeen, then just over a week. Each marker brought anticipation, not just of the race but of what the training itself was shaping in me.

There were also seasons when joy came not from one specific run but from the rhythm itself. I realized at times that the journey really was the destination. Running gave me both grit and joy, and together they made every mile more meaningful.

The joy in the journey does not mean ignoring the hard miles. It means recognizing that along the way, God gives moments worth smiling about, worth telling stories about, and worth carrying with you long after the run is done.

Looking back, I can see how the road became more than a place to run. It became a classroom. Perseverance showed me how to move forward when my strength was gone. Surrender taught me to release control and find peace in the rhythm of each step. And joy reminded me that even in the grind, there are moments worth smiling about and carrying with me long after the run is over.

The miles were never just about distance or pace. They were about becoming – becoming more patient, more trusting, more grateful. The road taught me that growth is not measured in trophies or times, but in the quiet strength built through difficulty, the freedom discovered in surrender, and the joy found along the way.

by

The Race Reflections

I never chased races for the medals. I chased them because they marked the journey. Each finish line was more than a time on a clock. It was a stone of remembrance, a witness to how far God had brought me.

Humility

My first few races weren’t about performance. They were about survival. In one of my earliest 5Ks, I finished in just over 31 minutes. It was hard. It hurt. But it lit something in me. The desire to keep going. The desire to become someone new.

When I ran my first half marathon, I wasn’t sure if I could finish. I reminded myself not to chase a time. Just keep moving. Just make it to the end. I finished in 1:44:11. Not because I was strong, but because I was faithful to the training. And because God met me there.

Joy

I remember the first race I ran where I truly felt fast. I ran a 5K in 22:10. I gave everything I had, so much that I needed medical attention at the finish line. But even as I caught my breath, I knew something deeper had happened. I had tasted joy. Not because I won, but because I gave everything I had.

There were races I ran with my son. We didn’t always finish together, but we shared the joy of the road. There were training runs with friends and solo miles that gave me peace. These were the bright spots. The good gifts. The laughter after long runs and the gratitude for what my body could now do.

Doubt

There were plenty of moments when I wondered if I could really keep going. During marathon training in the Alabama summer, I logged fifty miles a week. I battled the heat, sore feet, and the fear that I wouldn’t be ready. Even during taper weeks, I struggled to rest. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to heal. I just feared what I might lose by slowing down.

Before the Lehigh Valley Marathon, my goal was 3:29:00. I ended up finishing in 4:14:32. At first, I was disappointed. But then I realized something. I had done what I once thought impossible. I had finished a marathon. And in the process, I learned that grace has nothing to do with performance.

Gratitude

I’ve written before that every mile was grace. I still believe that. Whether it was a 5K, a half marathon, or the full twenty-six miles, every finish line reminded me that God had been faithful.

There was a time I couldn’t run a quarter mile without stopping. Eventually I was logging thirty or forty miles each week. That kind of change isn’t about willpower alone. It’s about mercy.

I don’t remember all my finish times, but I do remember what it felt like to cross those lines. I knew God had brought me there. He sustained me. He wasn’t just cheering from the side. He was running with me.

Endurance

Running never became easy. But it became transformative.

It became the way I learned to endure. It taught me to press forward when things got hard. It taught me to keep believing even when I couldn’t see the outcome. It helped me trust when I didn’t feel strong.

Each race revealed something deeper. I wasn’t just becoming a runner. I was becoming someone who refused to quit. Someone who would keep showing up. Someone who knew every mile mattered, not because of a medal, but because of the One who ran beside me.

Every race taught me something. But together, they taught me the truth:

Every mile was grace.

Grace was there at every start line when I questioned my ability. It was present when I crossed the finish, breathless and astonished. It stayed with me on quiet training days when no one was watching. Grace did not require a perfect performance. It did not wait for a personal best. It carried me when I felt strong, and it carried me when I nearly broke. Every mile I ran, every hill I climbed, every time I got back up and kept moving forward, it was never just about my own strength. It was always about God’s presence. And that, more than anything, is what made the journey worth every step.

Life works the same way. We all face moments that test us. Moments of pain, progress, waiting, and wonder. We walk through relationships, loss, growth, and small victories that no one else sees. The finish lines may look different, but the truth remains. Grace carries us. It walks with us through long days, quiet sacrifices, and unexpected detours. God is not just waiting at the end. He is present in the middle of it all. Every mile. Every moment. Every breath.

In 1 Corinthians, Paul says:

“I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize.” 1 Corinthians 9:27 (NIV)

This journey was never about running alone. It was about obedience, discipline, and walking out the life God called me to — not just in public, but in the hidden moments too. Like Paul, I’ve learned that the race is about more than effort. It’s about surrender. And what matters most is not how fast I run, but who I’m becoming as I run with Him.

by

The Making of a Runner

“Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” — Hebrews 12:1–2 (NASB)

I didn’t become a runner when I lost the weight, or when I crossed the marathon finish line. I became a runner somewhere in the middle — when I kept showing up, day after day, even when no one was watching.

Running didn’t fix me. It didn’t save me. But it changed me. It built something in me that couldn’t be faked — the kind of strength that comes from doing hard things when there’s no applause, no finish line, no crowd.

At first, running was just a tool. A means to an end. I ran to lose weight, to feel better, to get healthy. But over time, it became something more. It became part of who I was — not because I was fast, but because I was faithful.

There’s a difference between someone who runs and someone who is a runner. The first is about activity. The second is about identity. And for me, it wasn’t about pace or distance or race medals. It was about consistency. Commitment. Grit.

I ran in the heat, in the cold, after long days at work, through stress I didn’t know how to name. Some days the runs felt easy. Other days they were a war. But every time I showed up, I was becoming someone new — not just a man who ran, but a man who endured.

And endurance spilled into everything.

Into fatherhood — showing up for my kids, even when I didn’t feel strong. Into marriage — choosing presence over escape, even when it was hard. Into faith — believing, even when I didn’t feel it. Into work — staying steady, even under pressure.

Running wasn’t just a habit. It was a habit that formed me.

I never wore the label “athlete” growing up. I wasn’t the guy who lived for gym class or team sports. But somewhere in the miles, I found a rhythm that matched the life I was learning to live — quiet, steady, marked by perseverance more than performance.

I became a runner not because I was perfect, but because I refused to quit.

And in that identity, I began to find a kind of freedom — the freedom of being fully in the moment, fully in my body, fully present on the road beneath me. The freedom of running not away from something, but toward something better.

Through it all — the quiet mornings, the hard runs, the seasons of sorrow and strength — God was there. Not just at the finish lines, but in every step. He was with me in the struggle, in the silence, in the effort it took just to keep going. I didn’t always feel His presence, but I know now He never left.

It wasn’t just running that shaped me. It was the grace that carried me. The strength I found in the miles wasn’t mine alone — it was His, sustaining me through every up and down.

I became a runner, yes. But more than that, I became someone who was learning to walk with God — not just on the easy days, but especially when the road felt long.

The Road That Changed Me
by

A Finish Worth Remembering

After all the setbacks, soreness, and slow miles, something began to shift. My mileage increased. Not all at once, and not without pain — but it happened. Week after week, I kept showing up. And slowly, my legs got stronger, my lungs got steadier, and my confidence grew.

I signed up for the Mercedes Half Marathon in Birmingham. It felt bold at the time — maybe too bold. But I needed something to chase. Not just to prove I could do it, but to remind myself that the road I was on was going somewhere.

Training looked different in that season. I began incorporating speed workouts — not because I thought I was fast, but because I wanted to push myself further. I had a goal: to finish under two hours. I didn’t know if I could do it, but I trained like it was possible.

When race day came, I felt ready — nervous, but ready. The energy downtown was electric, runners everywhere, music pumping, bibs pinned tight. I found my spot in the crowd, looked around, and realized: I belonged here. Maybe I didn’t look like a “real runner” in the traditional sense, but I had earned my place at the starting line.

I wasn’t running alone either. My sons came to support me, and one of them — the same son who had encouraged me to sign up and take on the race in the first place — ran the race with me. Their encouragement meant more than they knew. It made the miles feel lighter.

I crossed the finish line in 1 hour and 44 minutes — well under my goal.

It was amazing. I honestly didn’t think I’d finish the race, let alone finish it that far under two hours. The last few miles were a test of everything in me — physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I had never run more than 10 miles before. Now I had pushed through to 13.1.

But I hadn’t done it alone.

I prayed the entire race, through every step, every ache, every mile marker. I knew I couldn’t have even made it to the starting line without Him — and I was certain He had carried me across the finish. He was with me in the doubts, in the fear, in the final stretch when everything in me wanted to slow down. And I know that He celebrated with me when I crossed that line.

Later, I had coworkers tell me they knew athletes in great shape who couldn’t break two hours in a half marathon. They were amazed — and honestly, so was I. That finish time became a reminder: I was capable of more than I thought. I had done something real. Something hard. And it lit something inside me.

I started dreaming about running more half marathons. Even a full one. The finish line didn’t mark the end of something — it opened the door to everything that came next.

by

Failing Forward

Somewhere between mile two and mile ten, things started to fall apart.

It wasn’t dramatic — no collapse, no ambulance, no headlines. Just the slow, steady ache of joints not used to this kind of repetition. The tightness in my Achilles tendon that I tried to stretch out, ice down, and pray through. The mornings I woke up limping and still pulled on my shoes.

I had to soak my Achilles in a bucket of ice after nearly every run. It was the only way I could manage the inflammation and keep moving. I’d limp into the backyard, still catching my breath, lower my foot into freezing water, and grit my teeth through the sting. It became part of the routine — run, ice, recover, repeat.

Eventually, even that wasn’t enough. The pain wouldn’t let up, and I started seeing a chiropractor. My body was trying to catch up to my ambition, and some days it simply couldn’t. The adjustments helped, but they also reminded me that every step forward came with a cost. I wasn’t just building endurance — I was holding myself together, piece by piece.

Building mileage felt like chasing progress with a moving target. I’d hit five miles and feel unstoppable one day, only to struggle with three the next. Every gain seemed to come with some small price — a sore knee, a tight calf, a bruised ego.

There were days I had to stop and walk, not because I wanted to, but because my body gave me no choice. I remember trying to run through pain, then spending the next week regretting it, icing my foot each night just to get back on the road.

But I kept going.

Not perfectly. Not quickly. But forward.

It was during this season I learned that failing didn’t mean I was finished. It meant I was trying. It meant I was testing the edge of who I was and slowly stretching beyond it.

Some weeks, my body needed rest. Other times, it needed courage. And sometimes, it needed grace — the kind I had to extend to myself, the kind that whispered, you’re not done yet.

Because every step, even the limping ones, was part of the journey. And every run — good, bad, or broken — was better than standing still.

by

Season of Change

My blog, 278toBoston.com is named for a reason that most of you understand.  To be honest, it has really helped keep me in line and give me motivation over the past year or two.

I struggle in two main areas.

  1. Weight
  2. Goals

When I weighted 278 lbs, I never thought I could lose that weight.  I honestly thought I’d die of some heart related disease and everyone who got on to me about my weight would say, “See I told you so.”   I had a hard time with long term goals.  Losing 100 lbs wasn’t possible.  Running a marathon as my dad had, wasn’t possible.  Living a normal healthy life after 50 wasn’t possible.  After all, not only was I obese, but I had hip and leg problems.  In fact my legs and ankles were beginning to swell and just walking up the steps was a difficult task.

One day, on an 11 hour drive home from visiting Chicago (the “fat” pic on the side of this blog was taken that weekend), I had to drive the whole way home and couldn’t stay awake.  I almost couldn’t make it home.  I had to stop twice to sleep.  Ends up I had severe apnea.  At my sleep study I was told that I stopped breathing 110 times in an hour.

Things were not going well.

Seasons of change come and go.  I’ve learned over the years that when a season of change (a good change) comes, I need to take it and run with it or it will pass me by.  In a season of change, I went to a Dr. appointment with my Lovely Wife and that doctor helped me.  I lost weight, I began running, I lost more weight, I began racing, and finally ran a marathon last September.

To be honest, I still struggle with weight and goals.  My weight is consistent, but is about 10 – 15 lbs over where I should be.  My goal (in my blog name) of making it to Boston one day seems but a dream.  It can get so overwhelming.

Sometimes you need a sign.

As I was running a few weeks ago, I was in a new neighborhood and ran past a house with a teen boy kicking a soccer ball.  As I ran past, he waved and said hi and I returned the greeting.  I thought, “How nice! Most kids look down and ignore me as I run, but he said hi and smiled”.

A few days later I was running by the same house.  That boy has not been out since, but as I ran by I noticed his mailbox.

A sign?  I hope.  Maybe I can do this.  I just need to go with the season of change and believe:

Do I believe?

Do I believe?

by

New running shoes to the rescue!

So much going on here and the blog is screaming for me to write, so here I am, putting all else behind and writing finally.

Last week, my son got the flu, I got a small version of the flu – to be honest I was over it in just a day or two.  My son is back to normal now and we continue on with life.

I finally broke down and bought me a pair of Brooks PureFlow 3 on Saturday.  I was starting to have pains where I never have pains and my heel spur was getting angry, so I thought I should buy another pair, even though my shoes had less then 200 miles on them.  I’m glad I did.

As soon as I put on my new shoes, I could feel support in the exact areas I was hurting.  Looking at my old shoes, I didn’t really see much wear, but all my hill running had taken a toll on them.  What goes up, must come down, and running down steep hills at times means a lot of pressure on my shoes.

So I ran this weekend some.  Saturday was my off day, but I wanted to try these shoes out.  I put them on and ran a quick 2 miles.  They felt great.  My last mile was at 5K pace and it was over 90 outside.

Sunday I wanted to run a long run or my mountain run, but my body wasn’t over the pain inflicted by my shoes that were wearing out.  I chose to run 5 miles in my neighborhood.  The first three were lousy.  I felt weak, my legs felt heavy and it was very humid outside.  Then at mile 4 I began to come to life.  My legs finally decided to wake up and I had a great ending to my run.  I still kept it at 5 miles for the reasons stated above, but I was satisfied with my run.

Back to work today and then my hill run this afternoon if my body feels up to it.  Looking at the weather, we will be in the 90’s until a week from wednesday when the temps finally plunge into the 70’s.  Of course that is 10 days out and there are no guarantees.

I’m still debating on the marathon in December.  I have a lot going on right now and I remember the huge amount of time and effort goes into training.  So, decisions, decisions.  I have to make my mind up soon though.  Really soon.  It was exactly a year ago I ran my first marathon with TJ.  I must say it was a rewarding experience.

Tom

by

To marathon or not to marathon…

I’m thinking about it…

I might just do it…

I am debating another marathon.  Of course that shouldn’t be big news to anyone who knows why I named my blog 278toBoston.  However this is big news to me.  I had almost just given up on running another long race.

The summer has been difficult to say the least.  It has been hot and tiring.  My goal is to run 4 miles each day I run (going for at least 5 days a week) and I have just added a 7-8 mile run on the weekend.

Basically I’m in survival mode running.  Just enough running to not lose the gains I have made in the past few years.

Back to the marathon.  I have a great Hungarian Dr. friend who lives in Jacksonville, Fl.  After I ran my last marathon, he said, “Okay Tom, now that you have run a marathon, you aren’t doing any more, right?”  He was afraid that I could hurt myself by running so far.

Well now he is wanting me to run the Jacksonville Bank Marathon in December.  He wants us to come down and spend time together.  I think the marathon is the excuse he is making for us to come down for a visit, but it is tempting.

A couple of pluses… It is a flat course. It is at the end of December in Florida.  It is 80% shaded.  It is very scenic.  He is an awesome friend.

So, now with confidence from my hill/mountain running over the past couple weeks, I am at a place where I have to make a choice to train or not to train for another marathon.  This training will be easier then last years training as I won’t be doing the bulk of my training in the summer heat.

Anyway, I will make up my mind soon.  My last/first marathon clocked in at 4:14, so a sub 4:00 marathon would be awesome.

Decisions, decisions…

Should I or shouldn’t I…

More on my decision within a few days.

Tom

by

Running strength. Building a base for the future.

Well I ended up with almost 105 miles for the month after my evening run yesterday.  I can’t complain.  I felt great.

I started out my run too fast at an 8:12 pace for the first mile.  What was I thinking!  Fortunately I got 3 calls from work during my workout which gave me an excuse to rest for a few minutes each time.

All in all things are coming along well with my running.  I feel much stronger after all my mountain runs.  It is like I am a whole different runner.  I can push myself up hills in my neighborhood like never before.  I run at paces that I have never run at before except to do a speed workouts.  I just really feel good out there.

I think back to my marathon and specifically remember mile 4.  I was coming down a small but steep hill and I felt my leg give way a bit.  It was very unnerving and made me realize that even after all the training, my legs weren’t really strong enough for the 26.2 miles.  I finished with a 4:15 time, but I had to walk off and on the last 10 miles or so.

Now I feel like I am on the right track.  I am gaining leg strength.  My lungs can handle longer and faster runs.  I run mainly to feel, and have been in the 7:30 – 8:00 pace off and on lately.  Overall my pace averages around 8:30, but I honestly think I am building a base so that I can run a sub 8:00 pace for a marathon and qualify for Boston one day.

So now we start a new month.  All our apps set back to the big zero as we head out today to run.

The future is looking bright.

I love running.

Tom

by

My life, my running, and stuff you never knew about me

I write a running blog.

Most of the time, all I write about is something to do with running.  Something related to running.  Something/anything I can relate to and want others to relate to.  I write about a tiny slice of my day.  I have written a post for this blog about 90% of the days since I started… Just about running.

Ideas can be difficult to come up with. Sometimes when I run I think of what I will write the next morning.  Hmmm, there is a pain in my left foot… A blog post was born!

One of the consequences of magnifying a single part of my life is that people get the impression that this is all of my life.  If I am hurt and writing about my depression of not running, then people get the impression that all I am all day is depressed and hurt.

There are 23.5 hours of the day that I never write about.  Sometimes I’ll include some personal stuff in my blog, but that is rare and when I do it is usually related to my running.

So I decided to write some random personal things about myself that I don’t think I have written about before, or that people who are new to my blog don’t really know unless they have gone over the 300+ posts from the past year (and I don’t think they have).  Also this is in part accepting the Sunshine award that runningtoherdreams gave me last weekend.  Thank you.  It means so much.  It made me think of putting just a little about myself “out there” and I hope people read her blog.  It was one of the inspirations that got me to my marathon last August.

Here we go:

I was born the youngest of 4 children.

I am now the youngest of 3 living children as my sister passed away in a cave diving accident.

My mom went into labor with me at a Penn State football game.

I was born with hips that turned in so severely that I spent a long time with corrective shoes and a bar between my feet.

I could hear when I was born, but soon lost my hearing. My adenoids grew and blocked my hearing.  Since I could hear for some time, I learned to read lips, so no one caught on that I couldn’t hear.  One day when I was 4 years old my mom put me on her lap, facing away from her and asked me if I wanted ice cream.  I didn’t make a move (I’ve always loved ice cream).  My speaking was so poor that my late sister was the only one who could understand me.  So after lots of tests and a surgery, I woke up from the anesthetics and the first thing I said was, “I can hear”.

I lived in a small town in Pennsylvania.  We left our doors unlocked and open when we left the house.  Us kids would all play at the other kids house and vice versa.  It was a good childhood.

We moved to Northern Va. (Mt. Vernon area) when I was in high school.  George Washington used to fox hunt in the backyard of the home my parents bought (long before I was born ). 🙂

I used to race sailboats with my mom and dad on the Potomac.  We won many trophies over those few years.

I was a messed up kid from the time we moved to DC (age 15) until after my freshman year of college.  During that summer after my freshman year I became a Christian (that story is under my “Faith” tab) and my life has never been the same.

I am married with lots of kids.  They are almost all grown (no more child tax credits), and have all turned out to be honorable, good children.

I have been an evangelical Protestant Christian my whole Christian life, and am becoming Catholic on Easter this year.

Although life has thrown in some challenges over the past few years, I am so thankful and grateful for my life, my family and my work.  I couldn’t have created a better life for me if I was the one creating it.

The day Joe Paterno got fired from Penn State, I was going to have wrist surgery, I weighed almost 300 lbs, I couldn’t get my wedding ring off and they threatened to cut it off, so my Lovely Wife “helped” me get it off.  Hmmm. That hurt.

I lost 100 lbs in under a year.

Running is a big deal to me because it has allowed me to do so much more in my life since I stated.  It was almost 2 years ago when  I ran my first 1.5 miles.  I have run many 5K’s a half marathon and a marathon since then.  I enjoy the outdoors for the first time since I was a child.  I am in great shape for the first time ever in my life.  Since the age of 49, my life has been more impacted from running than almost anything else.

Okay, I’m done.  I guess I wanted those who read this to know that running isn’t everything.  It is just a thing God has used to add value to my life and give me experiences that I never thought I would have.  One day when I finish this ultimate race I am running called life, I will look back and be in awe over my “midlife crisis” called running.

Thank you all for being a part of it.

Tom

by

My 3 mile run + Bonus

3 miles!!!

I ran 3 miles yesterday.  It went well (of course it was just 3 miles).  I was pretty tight in the beginning and then I loosened up and ran better.

Heading out to run with @BigBigBeek in our beautiful State Park.  I haven’t run there since before my marathon.  I’m looking forward to the run and getting to catch up with Neill.

Short post today.  Just trying to get back into the swing of running.

As an added bonus ( 🙂 ), below is a picture I’m going to purchase from my marathon 3 weeks ago.  This was taken at the end of mile 24.  I’m on the left and running with me was a neat guy I met around mile 22 and ran together until just after this picture was taken.  It really helped me get through those last few miles.

Mile 25

Mile 25