Then there was the guy who cruised past wearing a wetsuit, carrying a boogie board under one arm. The budgie smuggler didn't bother me. But the guy in the wetsuit did.
I'd trained for more than three months for this event - this guy had rattled out of bed, dressed for a surf and started running a marathon.
I'm not a big talker when I train or run - it's a solo journey of personal achievement for me. But the wetsuit guy moved me to comment to the runner next to me ... "that wetsuit's going to fill up with sweat, and by the 30km mark his XXXX is going to drop off".
It was a rare moment of levity.
The night before, I'd been nervous. I had two minor injuries that were playing more on my mind than on my body.
In training, I had been places I did not want to go again. And I'm not talking about the hundreds of kilometres I ran up and down Three Mile Bush Rd in Kamo.
I'm talking about places where your mind and body are at odds and somewhere within yourself you have to find a way to mediate.
So on the day in Rotorua - my body felt OK, my mental attitude had to be strong or I wasn't going to get there.
After the distraction of my exhibitionist friends, it became a race of milestones that I slowly ticked off. I knew that if I got to 30km and beat the Rotorua hills I could crawl the last 12km.
I didn't have to crawl. I ate the right food, drank the right fluid during the race and didn't do anything stupid. I used every piece of advice I'd been given and every kilometre of training I had in the bank.
It was immensely satisfying. But as someone who is not naturally gifted at running, I don't think I will do it again. But I have an empathy and respect for people who do this sort of thing again and again, and a pride in my own achievement.
And a tick next to "marathon" on my bucket list and a need for a new challenge.
