MELROSE, Mass. – So there I was, passing the 25-mile marker on the course of the Boston Marathon on Monday with my stopwatch reading 3 hours, 51 minutes and 30 seconds. I felt like I had two huge blisters on my feet, my calves were like Jell-O and my hips felt like rusty hinges unwilling to extend my legs.

I dug deep, as deep as I could for having run that far, and went for it all – my goal of a four-hour marathon. I didn’t make it, I finished in 4 hours and 29 seconds, but the experience of my first marathon was still well worth it.

To recap, I am a 21-year-old junior who ran cross country and track in high school. The marathon for me was a personal challenge. I grew up watching the Boston Marathon, and this lofty goal was a way for me to stay in shape.

Before I started training in December, I was physically fit, but trust me – a marathon seemed like a long shot, something I was really going to have to work for. Here’s my diary of Monday, April 17, Patriots’ Day in Massachusetts, as I remember it:

8:30 a.m. – Woke up and ate a breakfast of oatmeal and Italian bread toast with jelly. Drink Gatorade, water and more Gatorade.

10 a.m. – Left my home in Melrose for Hopkinton, Mass., the town where the Boston Marathon starts.

11:15 a.m. – My parents and sister, Anne, dropped me off 2 miles from the starting line in Hopkinton (the roads near the starting line were closed).

Noon – The gun sounded and the first wave of runners began its journey to Boston. I stood nervously behind the last group of numbered runners because I was a ‘bandit’ who was not registered for the race. Originally I’d made it into one of the corrals of registered runners, but a race official kicked me out.

12:40 p.m. – Finally, the last of the 23,000 numbered runners cleared the starting line and I began to move toward the start.

12:50 p.m. – I crossed the starting line and clicked my stopwatch. Soon thereafter, I found my local parish priest, the Rev. John Sullivan, who began running his third marathon with his brother Kevin.

1:05 p.m. – I attempted to drink the first of many cups of Gatorade. Let me tell you, drinking while you’re running is a lot harder than it looks. On two occasions, Gatorade splashed up and hit me in the eye. It burned.

1:35 p.m. – Around mile five, I saw the funniest shirt of the race. On one man’s back it said in marker, ‘I am just doing this to get the day off from work.’ He must’ve been crazy.

Among the other runners, I saw a man in a gorilla suit, two Elvis impersonators and a man in a chicken suit. On the local news, I saw that two men juggled throughout the race.

2:20 p.m. – Around mile 10 I witnessed two men quickly running off the course and into a local bar. The crowd roared, and they did not return to the race. Around mile 18, I wished I’d joined them.

2:24 p.m. – As I approached two other men, I noticed there was a leash-like rope tied around the younger man’s hand. I heard the older man giving him terrain descriptions as I got closer. He was one of the few blind competitors in the race. I was amazed there were blind people brave enough to run the streets of Boston.

2:38 p.m. – I began mile 12 about 10 seconds ahead of my nine-minute mile pace. During the mile I passed Wellesley College, an all-female school, which features its famous ‘Scream Tunnel,’ a section of the race where the Wellesley girls line up three-deep. I finished mile 12 about 45 seconds ahead of my pace.

3:14 p.m. – I began mile 16 about 10 seconds ahead of pace, the last time that was true.

3:47 p.m. – Heartbreak Hill lived up to its name. Although I ran the whole way, I blame the last hill for not allowing me to reach my four-hour goal.

3:55 p.m. – I decided I made the right decision going to Syracuse and not Boston College. As I passed BC’s campus, the drunken students yelled more at each other than cheering on the runners. Many jumped over the gates to join the race for a mile before bowing out. Nice job, guys.

4:05 p.m. – My sister Anne, who was sober, joined me for the last five miles. She pushed me and put me in the running for my goal, but more than anything she provided an emotional lift as my legs turned to putty. Thanks, Anne.

4:50 p.m. – I crossed the finish line on Boylston Street and had to walk an additional mile and a half to find my family because of the thick crowd and because most of the roads were closed.

11:30 p.m. – I am sitting in my living room, feeling much better than I did at 5. My feet feel like they went 12 rounds with Mike Tyson and my shins are in constant pain, but I am happy I ran.

More than anything, I realized that running a marathon is just as mental as it is physical. The pain and fatigue are inevitable. But if you think you can finish, you can. Just look at the blind competitors or men like Dick Hoyt.

Hoyt is 65 and Monday marked the 25th time he pushed his son, Rick, who is 44, across the finish line in Boston. Rick has cerebral palsy, and after their first race in 1979, Rick wrote, ‘When I’m running, it feels like my disability disappears.’

That statement continues to inspire Dick, who had knee surgery earlier this year and didn’t start training until the end of February. Still, ‘Team Hoyt’ finished in 3 hours and 43 minutes, a heck of a lot faster than my time.

I guess racing for someone can be just as inspirational as racing for a time.

At this point you may be wondering if I will try Boston again next year. Right now, I’m not sure. I know I will take two weeks off before running again and then see how I feel.

Timothy Gorman is a design editor at The Daily Orange, where his columns appear weekly. E-mail him at tpgorman@gmail.com.

Published on April 18, 2006 at 12:00 pm