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When Nat Arsenault destroyed the Toronto Marathon last month in 3 hours 22 minutes, Lisa LeBlanc reminded her with all the pride she could muster that she Runs Like a Girl!

We should be so lucky.

Pre Legs for Literacy, my wife subtlety inquired, "How do you hope to do"? To which I replied, either a personal best or I will crash. There is only one way to run a race. And so the games began. Three weeks of pre-race e-mail ribbing set the stage.

Hector LeBlanc had trained Natalie and never set foot on a treadmill. He dropped 15 lbs and was good to go. Note to self...let Hector run.

We gather at CEPS for additional ribbing, photos and at least three bathroom breaks but, before long, the starting line has formed.

"You will be too hot," yelled Lisa LeBlanc, as I wrestled with a poncho at the race start.

I cast it aside into the smiling hands of Natalie Arsenault.

I smell conspiracy.

Two kilometres in and the air is summer like. The sky opens and we are soaked to the bone. Conspiracy proven.

Over Wheeler Blvd., the weather turns favourable but all of my imaginary pace bunnies are on a sub 3.15 marathon pace. Second plan out the window. Do not run too fast at the beginning, as seconds will cost you minutes at the end. Soaked to the knees, I might as well be running barefoot.

I tuck in with Dr. Bob Forbes as we approach the Gunningsville Bridge. A drop in temperature matches the hardest rain and equally strong winds ever encountered.

Our in-motion cheerleaders headed up by Kim Rayworth-Landry tried to look glamorous (matching boots, raincoat and umbrella) but not even 'Kimbo' could equalize the elements. Someone is going to die of hypothermia, I fear! Bad call on the poncho.

My daughter's iPOD goes dead in the rain, so it was time to shed its weight. No Bon Jovi today; the plan for today's race is quickly coming apart.

The pace remains ridiculous and the question on my mind is whose body will give out first. It will not be a voluntary decision; we are far too competitive.

Along the waterfront trail in Riverview we head, knowing the wind will take its toll. Comfort is found in the knowledge that the return trip always has the wind at your back. Riverview High's second water stop offers great support and a few friendly faces.

I remind myself to eat a protein bar despite being two hours the other side of oatmeal and peanut butter and jam sandwiches. Food at this point will be released to my system two hours later, an error of omission I pledged not to repeat.

Good call: back on plan but running too fast. When will the madness stop?

Our travelling fan support greets us at various points over the next ten kilometres. These exchanges make the race worthwhile. I am told the next day by Pierre LeBlanc, official photographer, that I was always smiling. Good sign.

Dr. Bob pulls out front and looks pretty good but he would be the first to share that his training has been hit and miss.

We let him go, but then transplanted South African Roger Tabone pulls up and we run together for at least 10 kilometres. Have I lost my mind? This gazelle-like creature will be my demise if he sticks around.

Through the Running Room water stop to the tunes of Santana and the verbal support of Jean Guy Gautreau and son near their home, soon we will face the hills of Dieppe. This stage reminds me of the Newton Hills near Boston.

The turning point in St-Anselme affords a chance to see where everyone is and allows my first glimpse of ever-tough and sometimes broken Mike McNeil. Buddy Darrell Wilkins looks strong but I am not confident this race belongs to him today. We have been holding a 3.35 km pace for quite sometime; faster than planned but feeling good. What is going on?

Hans Laltoo offers me the best banana I have ever eaten at the base of Fox Creek. I get a strange sense of confidence that it might all come together today.

Roger Tabone has fallen off the pace and Dr. Bob is in sight. Much anticipated Chartersville hill was taken in stride and we have only lost one second to the pace.

A word of support and direction from Mike Murphy is offered at the turn. Peter Comeau tags along on his bike and fields my request for bananas. When the good doctor and I part ways near the Catholic Church, having climbed Melanson, I pray (pardon the pun) that the winds of the trails do not pick up. I am not disappointed. For the first time I start to envision the finish line.

I tuck in behind a younger female runner who appears strong, good for my cadence. Peter surfaces with the promised fruit.

The walking wounded start to appear. I get the sense I have passed eight or more runners with tight calves, knotted hamstrings and the like. Like Halloween characters, they lurk in the shadows.

This is an ugly time. I would not stop for my mother at this point as I am holding pace and still have a kick. Lets get to the protection from the winds downtown.

One more strip of fruit leather and I am looking to throw my water belt like a pilot reducing his load before an emergency landing.

Passing the A & W, I see my wife's car and thoughts turn to how my daughter Marlise did in her 5 km. I am all alone at this point and will have to hum my favourite tunes from this point onward: Head up, use your upper body strength -- the end is but six or seven kilometres away.

Kelly Gunn takes my water belt as I have elected to alternate between water and power aid at the stops, negating the need for additional fluids.

Past City Hall, I hold the centreline until Highfield. This is yet another body check moment because I died here previously. If you can muster that slight grade to Park, this race is potentially in the bag.

Before you know it, I have reeled off another 2km and I am about to cross over Wheeler, but not before I get to cheer on Bill Trewin and his band of walkers. Puts the day all in perspective.

Capable of coherent speech, I am encouraged. I have not stopped running the entire race.

Past the last water stop near the university, I am able to distinguish my eldest daughter from the pack serving as a volunteer. She is mindful of my time. This is a good sign.

Pace bunny Mark LeBlanc sets a strong pace and I lock on to him like the Starship Enterprise. Robert LeBlanc wheels in on his bike and shares in my excitement. Fittingly, at the last turn and hill who greets me but training partner John Dallaire. You are at 3:14 so get it done.

I am in a good place!

You can feel the buzz in the air. I am anxious to see a familiar face. Sprinting is not out of the question. Today is my 10th marathon and the very first time I have felt good (relatively, anyway) at the end. If I fetch up at this point, I am capable of hopping.

I see my wife (ask her how much of the race she saw?) daughter, clock (for the first time) and merry band of supporters. This one is over. 3.18.07.

I await the crew so as to share in their accomplishments.. In rolls Roger Tabone, fan favourite Mike McNeil (somewhat broken, salt stained but quick with a joke) and Dr. Bob, Darrell and Gary Williams.

When we finally assemble, I realize that I carved six minutes off my personal best and will likely win my division. I will enjoy it as anyone of those guys could own it tomorrow. However, today I Ran Like a GIRL!

I look for John Dallaire and he says "3.15 in Boston"! And so it begins. For all of these reasons, we run.

* Pat O'Brien is the manager: Learning & Development with the City of Moncton. He can be reached at patrick.obrien@moncton.ca