Here is a pre-race photo of Carrie's parents, Carrie, and me. We are in the parking of the Lord Wakefield hotel, which for its all pretentious name, is a total dive.
Here is a photo of Carrie's Dad, my brother Eric, and my wife who fell asleep standing up.
We woke Carrie up just in time to take this photo.
Here I am at mile 1, pacing behind King Leonidas, because THIS IS SPARTAAAA!!!!!!
I give a typically smarmy look.
Which way to the Special Olympics?
Running along early in the night. Notice that the official who kept track of race times and runners was sitting on a cooler.
This dude rocks.
Here is the very parking lot that hosted the start and finish of the race. The tent with the Buffalo Bills logo on it is, strangely enough, the registration tent for the marathon. Apparently, in Wakefield, tents are hard to come by.
At mile two I am still smiling and waving energetically. There would be less smiling and waving in the future. PS THIS IS STILL SPARTAAAA!!!!!
Here I am with a bounce in my step and a song in my heart.
If you cannot see this photo clearly, I suggest a visit to the local optometrist.
It's the pause that refreshes! (Sorry).
Here is Base Camp Alpha, where my dedicated crew held my needed gels and salt tablets. Thanks, crew!
Here is a blimp that flew over the lake, giving a wonderful light show that I hear was delightful to the eyes. I never did see it, but I did notice the Boston Korean Love Church around mile 3. Thats got to count for something!
If you look very closely, my arm is visible just behind the woman who looks like a volcano, with lava flowing down her head, some cooling at the midrange, down to solidified lava rocks at the base. You can also see the chairs that the race officials sat in while calling out our race numbers. "103!!!" "103! Steve Latour! Good job!" This is the definitive example of a low key marathon.
Observe on the right a glowing running man. Observe on the left the port-a-potties. Take my advice and never, ever use a port-a-potty that several hundred marathoners have used. Just trust me.
Here I am with Carrie's Mom taking a photo on the left, and my brother Eric taking a video on the right. To my left is an unshaven, heavily illustrated man with his baseball cap on in a devil-may-care fashion. You can tell by the way he uses his walk that he is a woman's man; no time to talk. Ba-na-baa ba. Do doo do do.
Here is another fine photo of me
during the race.
Here I am, looking like a demon of the night, coming for your soul...
Here I am finishing the marathon, now looking like a demon of the night who already has your soul and now is contemplating the leisurely tortures to which it will be subjected for an eternity. My time was around 5 hours and 5 minutes. It would be more exact, but the race organizers just didn't care for it to be so.
At long last I stand with delicious victuals in my hand and a finishers medal on my chest. A most delightful evening.
Here is the official race clock, on top of an well travelled trunk and surrounded by trash and junk, on a rickety old table, beneath a faded and weary canopy, atop a pothole riddled parking lot, in a tired old town.