AN: Bit of a lighter story this time around, I have some pretty big chapters on the way. Sorry there is a bit of swearing in this one. Hope I don't offend anyone.

25 – Boston Marathon

After injuring my leg I knew I had to get into peek physical condition again, not necessarily for the police force, but more for me, so I set myself goals that I had to achieve whilst I was in college. The final goal and the pinnacle of my fitness regime was to run a marathon. Now you would think for someone who has been an athlete like me, this would be a walk in the park, but I got to tell you, a marathon is… Really. Fucking. Hard!

There were a group of five of us entering, my best friend, Steve Adler, who was now living in Boston doing something Economicish, two friends from Ohio State, Jose and Owen, who were on the basketball team with me, and my personal trainer, Rick, who had helped me get back into shape after my injury and who thought running a marathon would be "fun" and "a great story to tell your kids".

So the morning of April 17, 1995 my friends and I were somewhere in the middle of the 9,410 runners who had entered the 99th Boston Marathon. It took us four minutes to even cross the starting line after the gun went off but we soon were on our way.

Now I don't think it matters how hard you train, how good you are at carb loading, and watching your fluid intake, the first time you do a marathon you will wish you were dead… not straight away, but somewhere around that 15 mile mark, just before what is called "heartbreak hill".

Our group had split up of course as we each got into our personal stride, Rick, my trainer had taken a commanding lead, then Jose was next, then me, and I have no idea where the others were. Turns out Steve who had not done as much sport as the rest of us had thrown in the towel around the 12 mile mark and caught the bus to the finish line, but a good effort by him.

So as I say it is around the 15 mile mark that you tend to question your sanity at having entered such a ridiculous race, and if you will actually survive even if you fell to the ground now. It had been fun up until now, there were bands playing, people cheering, women flashing their boobs and a general carnival atmosphere but as that hill loomed ahead of me, my legs felt like jello (no jello is far to firm a substance to compare to how my legs felt at this stage), my head was thumping in time with each footstep, and my feet felt like the entire layer of skin was slowly peeling away. Why was I doing this again? Oh yeah that's right it would be "fun". Fuck you Rick, this was painful, pointless, possibly fatal and all together not fun.

However, as I slowly climbed heartbreak hill, keeping pace to my new mental mantra "fuck you Rick" (who I ironically passed on the way up but didn't have enough breath to say out loud) something happened, I caught my second wind! As I crested the hill and started on the downward slope and the remaining 10 miles all of a sudden my legs regained some solidity, my feet although still throbbing, no longer felt like they were wrapped in jellyfish tentacles, and my lungs which had been previously incapable of inhaling anywhere near enough oxygen to sustain life, were now back to their fully functioning self. I fell like I could go on forever.

And this feeling carried me on until … about a mile from the finish. And then it all came crashing down again. But I wasn't going to stop. I only had a mile to go and if I had to crawl over the finish line I was going to do it (in fact there were about seven people who did, in fact, crawl over the line). I pushed myself onwards, only aware of my feet impacting the ground through the stabbing pain in my brain, because lets face it, I had no feeling below my waist anymore. My mental mantra had changed from "fuck you Rick" to "I'm going to kill you Rick" and whilst not as catchy it still did the trick.

Finally I rounded that last corner and there it was, the finish line. I don't know where I got the energy but as soon as I saw that line I just wanted to finish this god-damn race so I started to sprint. I could hear the crowd cheering me on, and on the other side of the line was Steve, waiting with a space blanket and a drink. I crossed the line in 3 hours 56 minutes and 48 seconds placing me in 786th place.

Steve came over to me and draped the space blanket around my shoulders hand me a drink and steered me towards the side where I promptly threw up before collapsing to the ground were I would remain for the next 40 minutes. I was kind of upset I broke the DiNozzo rule of never throwing up, but I think this was one of those moments that it can be forgiven.

Rick stumbled over the line about 23 minutes later and I greeted him with, "I hate you so much right now", to which he responded, "yeah this was a stupid fucking idea."

Jose came in 5 minutes later, and collapsed in a fetal position beside us making sounds that sounded amazingly similar to sobs but he later assured us were manly grunts of accomplishment. It turns out I had passed him at around the 14 mile mark but I was so engrossed in my own world of pain I didn't notice. Finally Owen stumbled across the line nearly two hours later eating a meatball sub he had picked up along the way and swigging on a Coke. Way to commit there Owen! Turns out he had quit running around the five mile mark and decided to walk the remainder. Turned out to be quite a pleasant day for him.

When we finally got back to Steve's place, who had been kind enough to put us all up in his tiny 1 bedroom apartment, I peeled off my shoes and blood soaked socks and discovered five of my toenails had turned black (I would later lose the outer two on my right food and the big one on my left), the skin on my heels had peeled away leaving a bloody raw mess, and on the balls of my feet were the biggest blisters I have ever seen in my life. They were both four inches long and over an inch wide. It was so gross and I couldn't walk for two days. Steve took a photo of them and I proudly have that displayed in my gym locker so I can always remember what I am capable of.

I never entered a marathon again but this was one of those moments in your life where if you are in need of a confidence boost you look back at this moment and say, "I did that!"

And Rick was right, it was a great story to tell my kids.