The winner of the city marathon crossed the finish line a little after two hours, and soon the crowds went home. The crews started stacking the barriers and rolling up the banners. But at seven in the evening, Hana was still on the course. She was over sixty, and she was the very last runner. She was running for her late husband, who had always told her, "Finish, whatever the time."
An old member of the crew refused to take down the finish tape. Cleaners, medics and a few people who had stayed stood along the last hundred meters and held up their phone lights. Hana crossed the line in the dark, her breath loud and her legs shaking, while about twenty people applauded. "Thank you for waiting," she said.