Boots, Boats and Boston Qualifier

I only got as far as the title for my trip to the US.

But you will notice the picture of the marathoner and how the strain of the race is getting to her. In the background is that latest in Madonna type fashion for bra's. It's not as aggressive as the metallic cone and I kinda prefer the "look at my long sausage boobies" much more.

The picture is mile 17 and I can tell you my race was not going quite as well as Katy's at this point. From mile 16, I started to work harder to keep with the 3:10 pacers. The water stops are the hardest, as it only takes me a few snorty, gulping, splashy moments of drinking on the run to drop a few metres behind the bunch. The effort to tuck back in behind the leaders takes its toll after awhile. Just after mile 17 there was sharp turn and a small rise. I think someone simply flicked a switch disconnecting the power to whatever motor makes the legs work. I lost the the pace group as it sailed over the hill and felt my heart sank like a man overboard watching the ship power away leaving me stranded and alone. What happened next, I'll tell you in another storey called "Sammy to the Rescue".