Jock was willing to explain further, of course. "I say we throw all the nuts out. It's the guys with the 56-inch waistlines that bother me," he said. Horgan related that last week one of these big boys offered to punch Jock in the nose after the guy's entry was turned down. "The guy was five-by-five and weighed 225 pounds," Semple claimed, adding, "He got insulted when I told him he was a bloody idiot." He could have called him worse things, and in fact probably did, but they weren't printed.

After getting dressed, I sat out in the sunny field, downing lumps of sugar, my plan for extra energy. Then it was time. I began to walk to the starting line, a few hundred yards away. I lined up in the very back because I planned a slow start and feared getting trampled by the mob.

In the back, all of us were jokers, losers.

People were sitting up in trees, we were all laughing, and then we heard what seemed to be a gun. A few seconds later, those in front of us began to move. It had started. The start has been compared to a rifle shot. The top runners, positioned in the first two rows, start up imme- diately, the bullet, leaving the rest of us, the rifle, behind.

THE COURSE is downhill for 300 yards, and after the first quarter mile, I had a stitch, rare for me. Panic. I thought I was really losing big and wondered what the next 25 miles might bring. Soon, the stitch went away.

It was about 70 degrees and quite a pleasant day to run through the western suburbs, though many complained of the heat. My feet got hot, but not blistery. I was thankful for that.

The field spread out more and more, though there was always somebody around. And the streets were lined with people. Many had programs and as they saw a runner approaching, they checked his number and then urged him on by name. The psychological boost, at least to a novice like me, was immeasurable. A person would yell, "That a boy, Ben, keep going." I think I got special attention because many pitied me. Here comes this whimp of a kid who certainly doesn't look 18. On the other hand, some kids, ver considerately, I thought, called me names, but it was sort of funny.

At several points there were people with water and oranges, and the trick was to grab their offerings as you ran by without breaking strike. They were nice people. And it was so nice to have cars pretty much cleared from the route.

While we were jogging along having a great time, we occasionally thought of those up front. Where were they by this time? Who was winning? I tossed these questions off as insignificant and didn't really care even when the race was over. The leaders were in an entirely different race as far as I was concerned. I'm sure they felt the same way about us hackers or whatever we were.

Having started in the rear, I got many chances to pass people and found it quite a thrill in front of the audience, especially after all my training alone. I'd seen someone a bit ahead and notice myself speeding up until I went by him. It became a game. People along the route, some of them, seemed to be playing their own little game: fool the runners. They were a minority and meant well I think, but gave incorrect information on the distance we have covered. Somewhere out there I was sure I had done 15 miles and asked a cop as I went by him. "This is the 10-mile point," he said. This irritated me no end, and was to get worse.

After a while I began to get tired. No pain to speak of, but I was breathing harder. Then came Newton and the three notorious hills which newspapers and veterans had warned me about. I got up the first two without killing myself and thought that everyone else must be a sissy.

I started hard up the last hill, Heartbreak Hill, and then began to slow down. Quite a bit did I slow down. It seemed to go on forever, and for the first time I wondered what would happen if I stopped. I was bent over and just tried to keep my legs moving. Length, not steep-ness, made it torturous. But then the Hill stopped and I started back towards the center of the earth, and I was very happy.

Then I was up in the hills around Boston College and people were saying it's downhill from then on. I became excited as I saw the Prudential climbing out of the song. It still looked a bit distant, but if I could see it, that was certainly reason for encouragement.

My mind turned to the winners of the race. Probably just stepping into the showers, I figured. I felt that I was moving along at a pretty good clip for me, and a bank clock near Newton had indicated that I was running easily within the four-hour goal. The obvious concern was: could I finish the last few miles? It became a matter of figuring, well, if I stop here and walk the rest of the way, can I still break four hours?

Then a problem. I started getting a sharp pain in my left calf every few steps. At last, I thought, I'm doomed. But the pain was bearable. At about that time the first Harvard runner was crossing the finish line--John Heyburn, 101st.