On Saturday night (Sunday morning, really) I got three and a half hours of sleep.

I went to bed at 3 a.m. after helping co-copy-editor Kari ring in her 24th birthday (just one week after mine!). I woke up at 6:30 a.m., rolled out of bed, threw on some clothes and went out to cheer on my friend Jeff in the Flying Pig Marathon. (6:30 is waaaay too early for me even if I have gotten a decent amount of sleep. But if Jeff can get up at 5:30 a.m. and run 26.2 miles, then I could sit on a sidewalk in my sweatpants and hold a damn sign for thirty seconds.)

Eileen, Carrie (different one from the birthday girl; hence the different spelling) and I met at Marburg and Erie (about mile 12 of the course) in Hyde Park, conveniently located next to a Starbucks (as is everything in Hyde Park). I didn't get one because I was planning to go back home to bed, but Eileen and Carrie were pretty happy with the arrangement.

Anyway, we huddled there chatting about work and the Boston Marathon (Jeff was running to qualify) and clapping whenever a runner passed. I grew amazed by these runners. Here are these men and women who have run 12 miles and are still going faster than I can jog.

It wasn't long before we saw Jeff coming towards us. We jumped to our feet and started waving our signs and screaming. When he saw us, he flashed a big grin, threw his hands in the air and waved. As he ran by, even faster than before, he high-fived all of us and shouted "I love you guys!" over his shoulder.

And then he was gone. We stared after him for a few seconds and talked about how well he was doing.

"Does he have any other cheering sections?" I asked.

"No - we're it," Eileen said. "That's why I think I'm going to go down to Eastern and Delta - you guys want to come?"

Hmm. I weighed the joy of supporting my friend vs. the three hours of sleep I'd had ... "I'm gonna need some coffee."

I wasn't just committed; I was VENTI committed.

Ten minutes later, we were off to Columbia Tusculum. We settled in around mile 20 - the mile when marathon runners typically hit the famous "wall" and feel they can't go another step. (My wall is at about 200 yards. Have I mentioned that marathon runners amaze me?) We had a little while to wait, so we used the time to set Jeff's name to "Eye of the Tiger," Starbucks-commercial style. About half an hour later ...

"Jeff! Jeff-Jeff-Jeff! Jeff-Jeff-Jeff! Jeff-Jeff-Jeff!"

Oh my god, he was still running! How can human beings DO that? His face lit up as he yelled at us, "I'm going to Boston!"

And he was gone again. We stood around.

"Who wants to go to the finish line?"

We were marathon groupies.

We parked at Riverboat Row to avoid downtown parking hassles. As we were walking toward the Purple People Bridge, it occurred to us: Jeff was due to cross the finish line in 10 minutes! Our friend had run the distance faster than we could drive and walk it!

We finally caught up to Jeff during the foil-wrapping, bagel-eating stage. He seemed happy, but subdued. He told us his time.

He had missed Boston by one minute and 19 seconds.

But he had shaved something like 10 minutes off his personal best.

"I'll have to run another marathon in the fall," he said. It'll probably be Columbus, which is flat where Cincinnati is hilly. He's going to make it next time.

And maybe his cheering section will be there to see him do it.