Eleven.

This past weekend I ran my eleventh marathon and according to results, placed eighth overall in my age division and was in the top 100 - really?!  My overall time was certainly not my best, nor my worst, but satisfactory as far as I'm concerned due to the hills.  I used to say that the Manchester City, NH marathon was the toughest course I've ever done, but this nasty little eleventh marathon in Vermont made ManchVegas look like a jog on the beach. 

The one thing that really surprised me about this marathon was just how quickly it went by.  The first twelve miles were utterly brutal; the hills were steep and relentless and there were many people walking, which is a terrifying sign that early on in the race.  There were several hairpin turns which were tricky to navigate and once the sun came out, it beat on us as if we weren't already being beaten up by the sharp ups and downs.  Once to mile 14, the scenery suddenly opened up and I could just feel my heart tenderly bleeding for the mountains, trees, cow pastures and green, green, green, greens.  It was stunning.  And then I hit that sweet spot at mile 18, the entire reason why I keep running marathons - that point where the world just opened up and for about two miles, felt sheer joy, love and inner peace. 

Which was nice, because miles 20-23 were a nine percent grade uphill. 

When I finished, I finished strong, but was also depleted.  Once finished, I promptly downed three bottles of water because the temperature and humidity were stifling in the July morning air.  And then there were the ghosts; this marathon was particularly memorable due to the ghosts.  I happily bantered with a few of the strangers I happened to meet on the course - marathon ghosts, I call them; they quickly enter and vanish from my life during these races, almost into thin air.  I hugged the kid in the yellow shirt when he finished because it was his first marathon and we had leap-frogged for the final three miles.  I congratulated an older couple on finishing their 63rd marathon together and for her getting through her hysterectomy just four weeks before the race that I had the pleasure of learning all about around mile nine.  I texted the really nice guy I had met the night prior while eating dinner solo at a local pub who finished only a few minutes before me, but I didn't have a chance to see again due to his own depletion.  Although he had to head home, I'm hoping I'll see him again in some other time and space.  Or I may not, because he lives in another state, but he is coming to town in a few weeks.  However, that's the power of marathon ghosts.  They come and go and only add to the individuality of each one of these races; barely making an imprint on my life, but intertwined within the race experience.  They're all different and unique, just like the medals that represent each 26.2 that line my living room shelf.  They are part of the story, part of the experience, and part of the memories.