Flying Monkey Marathon redux

I'm back to it.  This race is still on my mind.
Specifically: how I was weaseled by a weasel.

As you may remember, ages ago I made a bet with a friend of mine.  I wanted to do the Flying Monkey Marathon but, with a race this small, I was concerned about being last.  Ian bet me that he would be last.  I was game.

But then, my plans changed and I was out.  Ian was out, too (because he's a wuss), so the bet was just off and I wouldn't be doing the race and that was that.  Right?  Well...  No.  Of course, as you know,  I got a last minute ticket and was good to go race morning.

Ian, his brother, and I all lined up at the start.  Ian's plan was to run the first 7 or so with his brother and then meet up with him for the last 7 or 8.  If I could stay with his brother, then I'd get Ian's company, too.  I didn't think I'd be able to keep up with him, but once we started running we fell into a pleasant camaraderie and were fairly well matched.  Ian's brother was undertrained (by a lot) whereas I was experienced - but slow and tired.

For a while we rolled along (and that's all you can do on a course this hilly, just go with it).  I was in good spirits - we were going slowly enough that I could just talk... and talk... and talk..., and Ian's brother is interesting and engaging and (most importantly) was willing to listen to me blather on.  We hit a few rough spots, and his knee started bothering him pretty badly.  I was happy to take it easy for him.  I could have maybe picked it up a little bit in there, but I wanted the company more than I wanted to finish a few minutes faster.

We met up with Ian again around 18 and our party kept moving on.  I hadn't been watching the time, but when we hit the 23m marker, I looked down at my watch: 5:30.  Drat.  I'd been hoping to break 6 hours (and I think I would have with no problem if I'd left Ian's brother behind).  I said something aloud, jokingly, about how we needed sub-10 minute miles for the last few to break 6 hours.

Well.  With that, Ian's brother took off.  I don't know how else to describe it.  He just took off.  No real warning, just a massive burst of speed.  And he kept it up!  He dropped his pace by nearly 4 minutes per mile for the last 3.2 and finished in 6:02.

On one hand: seriously, you weasel. For real? After we all just went through, you ditch me?

On the other hand: it's a race. As in, every man for himself.  And he rocked the finish.

On the (hm, okay, go with it) third hand: I was jealous. That kind of mind-over-body determination? I don't have it. Can it be learned? I sure hope.

Honestly? I was just impressed.  This was a bastard of a first marathon, and to do it undertrained? Insane. To do it undertrained and blast out sub-10 minute miles on crazy hills for your last 3 miles after averaging closer to 14 for the rest of the race and dealing with debilitating knee pain?  DUDE.

Still, I feel like I have unfinished business with this race.  Partly because I was definitely holding myself back at points for Ian's brother, partly because I had such a rough go of it between Chicago and NYCM and I wasn't prepared to do this race except as a lark.  Like I tweeted my imaginary friend Angry, "there's no glory in a 6 hour marathon finish, even if there is a 3500 ft elevation change."