Done.

That's it.  I finished.

 

I am Jack.

I am Dianna.

I am Luther.

I am Don.

I am Gina.

I am Kelly.

I am Stephen.

I am the Fisher clan.

I am the one everyone on the course was screaming for and who everyone put out signs for.

I was a Kenyan.

 

I crossed the line in 5:35 and change.

Now I can "retire".

 

Mad props to the HRBers.  You guys rock.  Straight up rock, no question about it.

Thanks to Jon who ran with me from 24 to 25.

Everyone I saw on the course--you were a huge boost.

And then there was my lovely wife who was a straight up angel with the banannas and cliff bars and goo just when I needed them the most.  FREAKIN' AWESOME!

 

Special congratulations to Michelle who was running her first marathon and I paced off of for about a mile and a half in the first couple of miles on Allen Parkway.

Special thanks to Fat Elvis who I saw somewhere before mile 9 and the first thought that went through my head was "I can't let that guy stay in front of me."

Special thanks also to Monica's crazy-huge cheering section.  She was in the general vacinity of me for just about the last 16 miles and as they cheered for her, I thought to myself "I'm Monica."

I stopped for a well needed potty break and lost track of her for 5 miles near the end, but found her in my sights, then caught her between 25 and 26.  After I passed Monica, she charged up and caught back up to me, then faltered a bit.  I looked over my shoulder and said "I've paced you for 16 miles and spent the last mile and a half catching you.  You're not quitting on me now."  She said "I'm going to puke" and I replied "You puke after you cross the finish line.  It's allowed over there.  Don't you quit on me."  She finished strong--but I beat her.

 

That's the cliff's notes version of the recap.  I'll tell more later.