ONE twenty-eight a. m. on Wednesday, March 25, was a very special moment in the life of Bennett Beach and, at the same time, in the history of the MBTA. As I emerged from the subway exit and read the time on the top of the Waldorf Cafeteria building in Harvard Square, I realized with satisfaction that I was the new holder of the cherished MBTA endurance record-20:04 consecutive hours on the subways.

It was sweet, as sweet as running 26 miles or eating 40 pancakes at one sitting. The sad thing was that the people exiting with me didn't know that they had been part of such an historic event. In modesty, I let them remain uninformed.

It wasn't all roses, of course. My first problem arose Monday when I went to talk to Woody, our business manager, about funds for my outing.

"How would $1.50 be, Ben," he asked. I explained to him that this trip was scheduled to last 19 hours and that the MBTA no longer costs a nickel.

"Well, $2.50 should do it, right?" Woody suggested. "Actually, the ideal way to do this would be to give you 24 cents and see if you ever come back."

"Thanks, Woody," I said. "I'll take the $2.50."

My big day started at 4:30 a.m. Tuesday when I rol??l out of bed after three hours of sleep, itching to get on that 5:24 out of Harvard Square. I got psyched up on Don Ellis' WMEX religion show (today's topic: "Prayer in Sport"), and then slipped into my subway white socks.

I got my bag lunch out of the refrigerator and grabbed my box of Cap'n Crunch; I was ready to step out into the dark morning. Tim Carlson was still awake at the CRIMSON, so he accompanied me to the Square. It was a classic Gene Pitney situation-my last chance to turn around.

Naturally, I had to run to catch the first train. If I had missed it, I was fully prepared to consider the day a total loss and go back to bed until trying again some other day. I wanted to do this right. As the door closed behind me, I looked through the window and waved goodbye to Tim.

My grip tightened on the box of Cap'n Crunch, and I went to sit down. But there were no empty scats, 5:24 a.m. and I have to stand on the subway! At first, I was outraged, but then my ire mellowed into a bewilderment that all these people were actually on their way to work before 5:30 a.m.

Think of that the next time you struggle out of bed at noon for English 177. I did some arithmetic, and before long realized that these riders must have gotten up at 4:30 a.m., which implies going to bed at 8:30 or 9 p.m. the night before.

I decided that my first ride of this dark morning would be out to Ashmont, that is, Dorchester, the end of that red line. At 5:55 a.m., I yawned for the first time. At 5:55:5, I yawned for the second time. I began to think that I was going to yawn quite a bit before my day ended and wondered if I should start counting them. But there was the danger that I'd lose count at 10 p.m. or so, and then it'd all have been a waste of effort, so I rejected the idea.

At Ashmont, I was dismayed to find that I had to pay another quarter to get back on the train headed the other way. If I wanted my $2.50 to last the day, I obviously couldn't visit Ashmont too often, but that was a minimal disappointment.

"I've got to buy a pair of shoes, Mary. I bought some for $25, but they were terrible. I had to give them away. But I bought a nice pair for my mother for ten dollars upstairs at Jordan's."

On the way back to Park, I saw the sun and reasoned that it must be getting late. And I realized then that I was bored; the excitement was gone. This loss of enthusiasm concerned me since I had more than eighteen hours to go, and I hoped for a derailment or something similar to keep me interested. As it turned out, the whole day passed without a train or a car leaving the tracks. A smelly guy sat down beside me and started reading his Record American .