*End Excuse Transmission.*

The race runs from 7:30 to 9 a.m. At 8:40, they dispatch a bus from the starting line. The Bus of Shame travels south, picking up any straggling runners along the way. Runners are absolutely, positively required to board the bus when it pulls up. So I had two goals:

1. Finish The Race.
2. Outrun The Bus Of Shame.

So the starting gun went off, and I started walking, because it was too crowded to run just yet. Just as I was starting to jog, something weird happened. 1500 runners were all crammed together within about 100 feet of space, running at the same time - I had read about the effect that would have on the Seven Mile Bridge, but was completely unprepared for what if would feel like.

The seven-mile long, concrete bridge was bouncing up and down. I could feel it under my feet. It was the craziest thing - at first, all of the runners just looked around at each other to make sure other people were feeling it and we weren't just insane, and some people screamed. Once everyone dispersed a bit, it stopped.

I have a bad habit of pacing myself way too fast and burning out, so I forced myself to jog slooow. It was hard when the little kid passed me. When the decrepit old man jogged on by, I just muttered to myself, "Speedy Gonzalez will be sorry later." When the 250-pound, 4' 5" stubby woman scuttled past, I decided to up the pace just a little bit.

There was a light sprinkle of rain for a couple of minutes in the beginning. That was nice.

I ran for about a mile and a half, then took a walking break when I picked up a cup of water. I made myself start up again when I could see the one and only, BIG hill on the bridge. I kept running until I was about 1/3 of the way up the hill, then crapped out until I went over the peak. Jogging down it, I really, really wanted to take a walk break, but knew I'd be super-pissed at myself if I didn't use the downhill momentum while I had it. I ran down, and continued for a while. After that, I traveled in intervals - alternating running and walking about 1/2 to 3/4 of a mile at a time.

They had people cheering on runners at every water stop, and sometimes, just randomly along the road.

I don't really even remember what I thought about during the race. Usually, when I just do my evening jogs, I try to sort out all the crap in my head and figure out what's going on in my life. The bridge run was much more relaxing - I think I just mostly looked at the view (and I don't have words for how beautiful it was - ocean and islands and boats and sparkle), eavesdropped on the other runners, concentrated on my pace and distance, and thought about how lucky I am. It's just not something that a lot of people get to do.

I was pretty proud of myself, too, I confess. After two years of wanting to run it, and not doing it, I was finally achieving my goal. Plus, I'd worked really hard to get there. So I spent a lot of smug time enjoying where I was and what I was doing.

At the halfway point, a van blasting reggae music cheered us along, with people dancing in a hose clapping and singing.

At five miles, a fire truck sprayed a fine mist from overhead.

At five and a half miles, I heard an engine, and didn't know what it was.

Jamie's Brain: "Oh, my God. IT'S THE BUS OF SHAME! I don't care if I have to sprint from here to the finish, I WILL beat that BUS! Fuck!"

I took off in a panic.

It turned out to be an ambulance.

I slowed down to a walk on quivery legs, feeling foolish.

I thought I'd get a second wind for the last mile, but it was actually harder than I thought it would be. There were people encouraging the runners from about the last half mile to the finish, and I think I anticipated the finish too soon. All I know is that I ran too fast for too long.

When I dragged my wildcat butt across the finish line, they tore the timing panel off my number and a little boy congratulated me and handed me a button that says, "I Ran The Seven Mile Bridge Run!"

Remember, guys - I knew no one. So I walked around, cooling down, sweating and grinning. I could not believe what I had just done. I kept telling myself, "You know, Jamie, you can do anything. Anything. Anything."

I'd gone 7 miles in an hour and 20 minutes. Good enough for me.

There was water and fruit available at the finish - bananas and oranges. I hate bananas, so I went on a quest for oranges. Everywhere I looked, I could see people eating delicious Florida oranges. All I could smell were oranges. I just couldn't find the fucking oranges. Bananas galore, though.

Right before I was about to rip an orange away from another runner, I found the last two boxes and loaded up. Next, I took a walk over to the beach and looked at the ocean while I ate the best oranges ever and sucked down more water. I really wanted to hug someone and was tempted to just ambush somebody, but decided against it - mainly because if the person was unfriendly, there was no way I'd be able to run more than two steps before collapsing in a heap of sweat, tears, and orange peels.

All of a sudden, I remembered that I should really stretch. By the time I finished that and looked up, my stomach sank when I realized the buses back to the bridge were all gone. They would come back, but traffic was a nightmare after the road had been closed for two hours, so I knew it would take a loooong time.

So I hitched a ride with a nice guy named Scott and his 7,000,000 children watching 4 different movies in the back of his van. He didn't mind when I told him I was sweating all over the seat, and took me back to my car. Despite the scrapage when I parked it, the Neon started, and I drove home.

When I opened the front door, no Shawn. I called her up and said, "Damn it! I've been wanting to hug someone for TWO HOURS! Get your ass home!"

So she did. I took a nap while she cleaned up, and we got ready to pick up Shannon and head to South Beach for the night.