Still dizzy and queazy from severe dyhydration an hour after NY 2003. Shortly after this shot, I slumped on a curb in west Central Park while Lorraine flagged down a taxi. Couldn't function. Ate chicken dumpling soup in our hotel room and passed out. It was the second NY marathon that wrung me out, two out of two disaster runs. Eating the dumpling, I swore the marathoning was over. Yesterday I got picked in the lottery for some future 26.2 mile lap through the five boroughs. My memory, obviously, is still bonking. (Kurt was not selected, neither was Marabelle, Roy is guaranteed. We may roll the guarantees until we're all selected.)