The blisters on my feet become more and more noticeable, and each step becomes painful. As I run slower and slower, I come up with a new plan—four hours is long gone. Now I just want to finish.
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2:45 p.m. Cheering pretty Wellesley girls spruce up my spirits a little bit, including the one who holds a sign which reads, “Kiss me. I’m a senior.”
Of course, I don’t notice it until I’m past. Gotta keep on going forward.
3:12 p.m. Around Mile 17, I start having my first delirious thoughts—a series of ideas which jump out at me one after the other, almost without time to actually think about each one.
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