Doubt leaves us like February rains emptying off streets through storm drains. We start out of Queen Elizabeth Park. We coast with poise and take in the noise of the crowd. We hear each voice on the city streets. The first five miles ease us in to the marathon. Like high tide, we roll steady to shore with grace. The runs we ran before string us to now, and we become the unbroken miles leading up the coast to today. Remember the runs along the Portland waterfront? The mile repeats with our feet striking in unison with the waves of Elliott Bay striking the rocks? The rain-soaked run along the Stanley Park seawall, when I ran ahead and met you at the end with a well-earned steaming coffee in hand? We pace us. There are dozens of versions of us lining the course. See you up ahead, in the pink shirt? That’s you from March under Napa sunshine bidding you to dig deeper now. And there, to your right, that is you years ago running the Vancouver Half. What does she yell? “Reel in the miles ahead, the tailwind of the past miles spurs you forward.” Our faces dot the route like an impressionist painting. We pace us on the seawall, as we run the last miles past the Pineapple Rock. We run under the Lions Gate Bridge and you remember the 7:13 mile we finished with on our last run here. As you run you recognize you wearing the aquamarine running vest from that morning. You are cheering you on from below the totem poles. Stanley Park slings us out and we run for the finish at Pender Street. All the faces are familiar, all the faces are ours. Each run before today created a unique version of us. Today we pace us, and then we become the newest two in the crowd, “Come on, run faster than us.””