I ran the marathon with a few first-timers—what a privilege that is, to pace beside someone through their first 26.2. To linger at the water station so they can catch up, to help them find their rhythm again.

Saturday night, everyone in the hotel is staying up late, kids are running up and down the hall, it's 3am, and Mal has barked loudly every 30-60 minutes. I was sure my marathon was toast.

We talked about my race plan, how I shouldn't have PR'ed my shakeout run, the importance of writing things down (or, I suppose, these days anyway, typing them out).

The rain isn't even raining. It's a permeating mist that just exists everywhere simultaneously in the predawn dark. Luckily we're already back inside with coffee.