8 miles

It was almost a relief when the alarm went off at 5:30. I'd been having a terrible nightmare about competing in a triathlon. The order was backward and the swim was last. It was utter chaos in the pool. And then they started draining the water so I had to swim through air. It was very difficult.

And then off to Dick Woods Road. As usual, I straggled in at precisely 6:15, and had to park way the heck down Miller School Road. I missed most of Mark's speech, but figured it consisted mostly of "start out slow" and "stay hydrated." And OMG, Cynthia Lorenzoni was there. She's training for Richmond, her first marathon in over 20 years. I've seen her at the shop and she's even helped me with my shoes a couple of times. Talk about Mama Marathon - she's got 4 kids!

The group was huge, and the start was a madhouse. I think I've been in races with fewer entrants. I ran pretty much on my own, though. The first three miles were fine, albeit unbelievably muggy. Not long before the second water stop, my arch really started hurting, and I half-ran, half-hobbled into the water stop. I decided to keep going, to make the full 4 out, then turned back.

Just after mile 5, everything started to click, sore foot and all. I was almost entirely alone, since the marathoners were all doing high mileage, and were doing the full 7 to the end of Dick Woods. Mentally, I was somewhere I hadn't been since my airline days. Every now and then, you'd have one of those days where you knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. Your grip on the yoke relaxed, and you controlled the airplane almost by telekinesis - just the thought of how you wanted the airplane to move would make it happen. Every noise, from ATC to the FO's checklists, to the movement of the flaps and the gear, to the automated callouts, to the faint sound of the FA addressing the passengers, seemed perfectly orchestrated, and perfectly clear. The airplane and the gauges and the wind and the runway and the pilot are all part of the same intention. No matter what the crosswind or weather, the plane would cross the threshold exactly on track and on speed, and just a breath of pressure on the controls, and first the upwind wheel, then the downwind wheel, and then the nosewheel would engage the runway in a soft, slow kiss.

And that's what I felt for the last two miles this morning.