SOON I was clearly in Boston, the calf getting worse and my grimaces thrilling bystanders. Then some guy finally said, "Last mile." It was a lie, of course, but the race was undeniably nearing completion. The Prudential came closer and closer. Estimates by the crowd of distance remaining was all contradictory and more a handicap than a help. But they meant well.

Now the calf was really bad news, but here was a right turn. I could tell that I had run 100 yards and then turn left for the final 100. So I poured it on and my calf got all better. No one was around me so I coudn't make any attempts to pass to thrill the bigger crowd. Nor could I be passed.

Then I made the final turn. I could see the timers. The huge crowd saw the little runt trying to sprint, and they responded with applause which seemed ear shattering to me. And since there was no one near me, I relished the thought that they were making all that noise for me. Then the loudspeaker. "Now finishing is #527, Bennett H. Beach of Harvard." This unexpected bit of class really thrilled me, and my ego was going wild.

Last 25 yards, still the noise. I had run for hours and only a handful of seconds were left. It ended. Some official put a horse blanket over me and walked me to the Pru escalator and asked me if I was all right. I gave him the reassuring nod and went up the escalator. More people clapping at the top, and I even smiled. They were nice people; why can't everyone be like that?

Before long I was in the dressing room. I got root beer, sat down, and watched guys vomit. Some didn't, but when they got up, they fell down. We were all a bunch of destroyed human beings. But we loved it. Only my feet hurt, and that was just the traditional soreness. Elsewhere a husband and wife team was relaxing. The man had dropped out; the woman finished. All females, however, are unofficial, and Jock hates them. But the crowds love them, and a few run every year.

There was one shower at the Pru, but I got to use it eventually. I went to get my food after dressing, but I just could not eat the stew. My stomach said no. I had about four glasses of milk, though. My mother would have been proud.

Cloney's recent threat that, due to increasing numbers, they might have to do away with beef stew at the finishing line will probably do little to discourage entrants.

I noticed a group of people, so I permanently deserted my tray to investigate. I knew when I had finished that I had bettered three and a half hours, but the sheets the people were looking at told me even better news. My time of 3:23:50 had earned me 138th. I was astonished. I thought I had come in about 250th.

I smiled at all the grubbies on the subway back to Harvard. I wanted to tell them about the greatest event of my life, and I wanted all of them to experience it. But they probably would have laughed at me