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I’m 12 miles in, nearly halfway through the marathon, by the time I realize that I haven’t yet stopped for water or fuel. And, I’ve somehow forgotten my precious fuel belt and the valuable turbo jelly beans and dried fruit it contains. Thankfully, the course passes through a little cottage–an art gallery perhaps–and on the second floor there’s a kitchen. There’s a sign on the oven reading “treats for marathoners.” I open the oven up, find a selection of muffins, grab a big lemon poppy seed one topped with curls of bacon— why not?—and start shoving it in my mouth as I jog down the stairs and back on the road. It’s pretty much empty. Spectators are few. Where is everyone? Where are the great supportive New York fans I’ve heard so much about? Did I accidentally start late and miss all the excitement? Have I been moving that slowly? More »Post from: Blisstree