I walk out of transition, like last year. But I feel worse than I did last year. I walk a while, then jog just because that's what you're supposed to do. Then I walk again because jogging is not that much fun right now. I make a loop around the race headquarters/finish line area and get a blue wrist band. The next time through I'll get a white one. The next time through I'll be heading for the finish chute.

I jog/walk from aid station to aid station, sometimes getting a drink of coke or water, sometimes skipping it altogether. I look forward to seeing friends - Mike, Frank, Steve... everyone seems to be in the same order as on the bike, although Judy has passed me.

Many people are out on the course cheering. It seems to be a good excuse for alcohol consumption and general gathering of friends. There is the beer family - a large man and woman and their young son, sitting at a round table with about 24 empty beer bottles arranged in a circle. They are happy. There are the various groups of guys who not only cheer but ask questions of competitors - mainly female competitors. "Where are you from?....Good on you Jane from America!", "Would you like a beer?..." etc.

I trudge through the first half of the run and end up back at the finish area. I'm handed my special needs bag. This is a good time to sit down on the curb. 3 hours 10 minutes for a half marathon. Wow. I really feel like crap. I can't believe I have to run another whole loop.

Robert finds me and sits down by me. "Why do you do this to yourself? You don't look like you're enjoying this." I can't help but wonder if he's really thinking "Why do you keep putting me through this? It sucks being out here all day, just to see you for a few seconds every few hours." I mumble something that I can't even remember.

I sip on my Diet Coke and wonder if there's anything I can to do make myself feel better. I feel a lot worse now than I ever did last year. I'm going to have to walk the entire second loop, I'm sure of that. I tell Robert not to expect to see me back for about 4 hours. I don't want to tell him but at this point I'm not sure I can finish. I'm feeling nauseous and lightheaded.

I get up from the curb and put on my rain jacket. It has cooled off some since the beginning of the run and it's actually getting windy. I walk around the building and get my white wrist band. Stop and vomit into the bushes.

I try to jog. The wind has already died down and I'm too hot. Remove jacket and tie around waist. Consider leaving it in bushes. No, I just bought it at the expo. Don't want to risk losing it. Give up on jogging and just walk.

I see Cathy's parents. Her dad wants to take a photo of me. This is a good excuse to stop walking and just stand there for a minute. He snaps photo, I continue on.

I'm tired of feeling like crap and I really want to get this over with. It would go by faster if I jogged but I don't feel like it.

The sun goes down. Temperatures drop. I trot back by the beer family. They are still at their table having fun. Across the street from them someone has built a fire in a trash receptacle so we can stop and warm up. It's a pretty big fire and feels good. There are still many people out on the course cheering and talking to competitors. At this point, no competitors are moving very fast.

With about 15K to go, it starts to rain. The skies open up and it pours. It is cold and very windy. Spectators have gone indoors. There are only a handful of us left out there and it is truly miserable. We are few and far between. Many people are wearing garbage bags. Don't we all look so pitiful.

I am so cold that I start to jog - almost run. Each time I stop to rest I immediately start again because it is just so miserable that I want to get it over with as soon as possible. A lot of the soreness that has built up in my legs is eased because of the cold. This makes it easier to run. I actually feel okay. I feel a lot better than I did the first loop.

The streets are flooding near the turnaround. I try to avoid big puddles. There are no street lights and I splash through ankle-deep water without even seeing it. It is so dark and so cold and it's raining so hard. If I had trained I would not still be out here. I would have finished by now, or soon. Thank goodness I kept my rain jacket. I don't know if it's really doing any good, since water pours out my sleeve whenever I lower my arms, but just having it on makes me feel better and allows me to continue.

I worry about Cathy. I know she doesn't have a jacket. Please don't drop out Cathy. I know I would drop out at this point if I didn't have a jacket.

I finally hit the run turnaround and I'm on my way home. It's about time. I see Cathy coming the other way and this really lifts my spirits. I can do this. It's not that bad. Maybe it will stop raining and my clothes will dry before I finish. I don't know why this matters to me, but it does.

And the rain does stop with about 8K to go. A few spectators come back out. The beer family returns to their table. The trash can fire is still burning.

A woman with a large white dog jogs beside me a while, telling me how impressive we all are and how it's great to have an event like The Ironman in Taupo. She makes me proud of myself. I reach the 5K to go mark and think "Yay! Only 30 more minutes and I'm finished." Who am I kidding. I pass our rental house and see someone at the kitchen table. Whoever it is has already showered and is probably enjoying some nice hot pizza. I envy you.

The bottoms of my feet hurt so badly I can only run on the grass. I picture them to be black and blue. The last 5K ends up taking about 45 minutes. Yeah, I'm blazing this course. Hey, at least I'm "running", and I'm getting lots of cheers for that. I'm hanging in there.

One more lap around the finish area and I'm home. I'm running, but I never seem to get any closer. Is there really a finish chute? I'm probably doing about 16-min pace.

I look back to make sure no one is behind me, getting ready to pass me at the last minute, forcing me to spew obscenities and sprint to the finish. Yes, maybe I have some energy left.

No one is behind me. I round the corner and see a huge crowd and THE FINISH LINE! I glance back and see someone behind me, running. In retrospect I realize it was probably a volunteer running from one side of the chute to the other, but at the time I'm spooked and afraid someone is catching me. I run as hard as I can. Shane Hooks has a microphone (was he born with one?) and is yelling something that is making everyone cheer. I high five him and blast across the finish line (so it feels). I finished! I finished! 15:19:46 - my slowest Ironman ever. Oh well. The second half of the run took only 3 hours 1 minute, so for once in my life I negative splitted a run.

After massage and medical check I want a hamburger. We drive to Burger King (which is about 300 yds away) and Robert and Mike go inside to order. They are in there forever. I see Cathy coming up the street. She has a crowd of fans with her. My God, I think she's going to be the last finisher. I run into Burger King and tell Mike and Robert to get the damn food and get out of there (as if they have control over this). Cathy is coming!

We try to run to the finish line but my legs won't run. We walk quickly to the finish line in time to see Cathy's big finale . She is the 2nd to last finisher at 16:50:18. She gets big cheers and crosses the line covered with streamers. Her parents are emotional. I'm more excited about her finish than my own.

To all the people who listened to me complain about training this winter and who heard me say time and time again "I will never, ever, ever train through the winter again", thank you for tolerating me. I hope you can stand it again this winter because I have to go back to Ironman New Zealand next year. The thought of not going back is more painful than any cold weather ride or any long run in freezing drizzle.