Looks like he'll make it

He called from near mile 23, sounding as miserable as he did at mile 12.

"My body just aches," he said.

"Well, so does mine, and I'm just lying in bed with the flu. I'm not running."

"Oh, honey. I'm not running either." He gave a weak laugh.

So he's thinking he'll make it to the finish line, jog-walking his way there. He won't hit is personal goal, with was to do it in 4:40 or less. But he'll make it.

And we'll treat him like a hero when he comes home. If I can manage to drag myself out of bed long enough to cheer for him, that is.

P.S. I let N go to the Purim carnival at temple with Em this morning because he spent all day yesterday fever-free. I didn't even bother to check first. But when he got home, he seemed off and felt warm, and has a temperature of over 102 again. I should be shot. And I probably will be, by the temple full of carnival-goers, several of whom offered to watch my kids for me so that I wouldn't spread my gooey goodness among the revelers, only to find out, belatedly, that I sent in a Trojan Horse-Boy.