42000-Number of runners in the marathon/half-marathon
10000-Number of runners who did the full marathon
1234–Times I prayed for death
256–Number of “kill the cheerleader” fantasies I entertained while getting yelled at by adolescents in mismatched cheer costumes from underfunded schools.
55–Shitty bands that were supposed to play us cheerful music along the route as we ran.
10–Number of actual shitty bands that were on the route, few playing music, most standing around idly fondling their guitars and playing mildly less shitty music on crackling speakers during their “break.” (An aside: Dude. If I can run for over five hours, you can sure as shit play your guitar for 10 extra minutes so I have something to listen to besides the sound of my leg muscles shredding into the consistency of barbacoa, only more decomposed).
10–My current pain ranking on a scale of 1-10
6–Packets of GU I ate along the path
2–Number of legs I had when I began the race
1–Number of legs I will have after the amputation that is imminent
1–Number of knees that are so mangled that they would have been rejected by the ARC people
1–Medal I got when I crossed the finish line after running 26.2 miles
1/10th of 1%–Number of Americans who will complete a marathon in their lifetime.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go continue dying. I’ll post more later when it hurts less to sit up.