The recap

Mile 0: Cold. Fire smells like starter fluid for way too long. As usual, long Port-o-Potty lines. Friendly people though. Best people-watching event outside of Sugar House Park on the Fourth of July.
Start running.
Miles 1-7: Awesome, fast, downhill, beautiful beautiful Provo Canyon scenery. Enjoy a good pace, lots of people, no cars, perfect cool weather, confidence.
Keep running.
Miles 8-9: End of the canyon. Start to feel it, a little bit, but still feeling good. Been over an hour now; have settled into the serene, meditative rhythm of the run. Run, run, run. Confidence waning, though, as people start to pass, left and right, and I begin to realize I am still not a fast runner. Have to remind myself with each passing, it is not about them. It is about me. But it is hard to let go.
Keep running.
Mile 10: Feeling it.
Keep running.
Mile 11: Finally munch some Hammer Gel. Grabbed a banana somewhere along the line, but not sure where. Winding along paths and streets now. Have no idea where I'm going, only that I am still running.
Keep running.
Mile 12: High Provo River. Getting harder to adjust from level to down to up to level. Muscles transitioning slower. Have officially lost the speed game - it's now, really, only about my time.
Keep running.
Mile 13: Mile marker at 13.1, which I pass at 2:05:31. The exact same time as every other marathon I have ever run. Mind games start to play themselves, especially when I realize I will not keep the same pace for the second half. Have to make it about my own time, my time, or I wont make it. Have the first thought of giving up. Luckily, I've passed that thought so many times in training that it barely registers before dissipating.
It is all mental.
Keep running.
Miles 14-16: Even more difficult muscle transitions. Pass the LDS Church's movie studio at some point on this strech - had no idea. Looked very Hollywood. Somehow makes sense, and I file it away. Legs hurt. I am so, so conscious of every movement they make. Am suddely very glad I took an extra Hammer Gel at the last pit stop. Not entirely sure they do anything, at this point, except give me something to look forward to. The countdown to 26 starts.
Keep running.
Mile 17: Ouch.
Keep running.
Mile 18: Eight miles to go. Still winding along the river. Get super zoned in the music, and find a second wind. For a moment, I forget about the pain, the eight miles left, the 18 already run. Zone, zone, zone.
Keep running.
Mile 19: The zone is lost as quickly as the river. Suddenly I am staring down long streches of nothing but road, road and road. No distractions. No scenery. The only consolation is a light sprinkling of rain. But I hurt, I hurt more than I should, more than I want to hurt, more than I wish I hurt.
Keep running.
Mile 20: Can't keep going. Lose. My body can endure anything, but my mind is not there yet - that's the game. Lost. For half a mile.
Then I remember, there is beer in the car.
Win the mind game.
Keep running.
Mile 21: Nothing. Nothing to remember except sun, long long long streches of road that totally phase my brain, and the constant battle to keep running.
Oh, and horses. (And the only thing going through my head at that moment is, "Horses don't do stupid things like run marathons.)
Keep running.
Mile 22: Only a marathon runner finds a small amount of solace in a Port-o-Potty. All I can do now is put my head down, concentrate, run.
Keep running.
Mile 23: His name might well be Jesus the Friggin' Savior, 'cause he's standingout there with cold, heavenly sponges, and gives me two of them. Delicious cold water: face, hair, clothes, cold cold cold. Head down. Run.
Keep on runnin'.
Mile 24: Two left. Can't even comprehend right now. Head down. Run. Can't. Walk. Can. Run.
Keep running.
Mile 25: Good Christ I'm going to make it.
RUN.
Mile 26: People always ask why it is 26.2 miles. Why .2? Why not 26?
Anyone who has run a marathon knows why. Because your endurance has to take you above and beyond. Because the strength of your body is more than that. Because the strength of your mind is suddenly no longer determined by mile markers. Because it never ends when you think it will, and you have to be able to give life – lovers, struggles, joys, tragedies, marathons, work, climbs, friends – absolutely everything you have until you think you are done and you have absolutely nothing left to give.

And then you have to give more.

26 is easy. .2 takes you beyond.

RUN.
Mile 26.2: Finish line, a cheering friend, a cheap medal that can only tell a shadow of the story.
Stop running.
Drink beer.