It's best to reflect on races a few days later, after the exhileration or, in my case, the disappointment wears off. As JPJ pointed out, I definitely met the pigdog. I wasn't make it up. I've come up with a series of culprits that doesn't include Beck, who did ask me if I was OK when I passed her last at like mile 23.
1) Preparation: I didn't train enough. Everyone is different, but I need to do at least four or five 20-mile runs.
2) Hydration: Duh. In the days leading up to the race, I didn't eat right or hydrate properly. Part of that was just a crazy week at work, but most of it was laziness. I missed some water stations on the course and didn't circle back. Also, a tip to Wayne: lose the volunteers standing in front of the tables blocking them and holding two cups. They're in the way. It's also unclear what's what by having the same color cups and relying on them to shout where the water is, where the Gatorade is. I'm not bitter. Really.
3) The Guy in the Tutu: OK, the guy in the pink tutu with the wand who took GWOT Mark to Chinatwon last year returned. I reeled him in by mile 24, his pink ballerina dress in my sights when I lost lucidity. This hurts.
4) Fate: It's trite, but shit happens. The cool part of the marathon is you never quite know what's going to happen. The wheels can come off, things can all go smooth, legs can cramp, whatever. Too bad, so sad.
At risk on intense boredom, here are my splits up until I went batshit crazy. This shows how out of shape I was. I hit my pace of 7:35 in the middle miles. This is where I wanted to stay until the Wall. I should have kept that pace until mile 20 at least, preferably 22. (In Philly, when I did a 3:01, I ran a 6:46 23rd mile.)
Mile 1: 7:47
watch time for 25 miles: 3:12