By 8:05 a.m. the volunteers at Mile Five near the entrance to Robinson’s Farm are prepared.
    Up-tempo music blares from speakers on the lawn of a Shore Road home.
    A morning haze begins to burn off. The only thing left to do is wait for the more than 10,000 feet participating in Saturday’s Beach to Beacon 10K road race to thunder past toward the fog-shrouded finish line a little more than a mile away.
    The first wave of cheers begins around the bend to the south and precedes the appearance of the first racers – athletes in wheelchairs, arms pumping as they negotiate an incline. Hot on their wheels a group of elite runners blow past the volunteers, and their cups of water, up to the crest of the hill and out of sight.
    Next to come around the bend are the merely extraordinarily fast, including Cape Elizabeth’s Ayalew Taye, 19, who will be heading to Georgetown in the fall. Taye will be the first Mainer to finish the race (with a time of 30:46) – three minutes behind race winner Duncan Kibet of Kenya (27:52). The quickest pass by in sparse clumps– pairs and groups of four and five, with enough time between each for a spectator to leisurely cross the road.
But soon the clumps grow and become packs and the packs become the pack – the road chokes with a streaming mass of red-faced and sweating humanity in various states of undress.
    In this last mile, the race takes it toll on many of the runners, but there are others who seem to be just getting started – hair still neat, shirts still tucked – a few seemly have not broken a sweat. There are children and some who even qualify as elderly. Some are dressed as superheroes.
    The cheering roadside spectators who minutes before could stand on the shoulder are forced to the grass and stone embankments– or risk collision with those who have the right of way. Some runners stop, others slow to a walk, joining the growing ranks of spectators migrating leisurely to the finish line.
    As the pack enters Fort Williams, the path narrows and the crowd increases. Now spectators outnumber runners.
Applause, whoops, cheers, noisemakers grow constant. The runners disappear once more around a curve and into the thick fog still clinging to the cliffs, obscuring the finish line.
    Once across the finish line those who gave their all to get there learn still more is demanded of them. In order to avoid a backup, the pack must keep moving like ghosts through fog and up one final hill as a man on a bullhorn beckons them with water, medals and chastisement for those who idle. Once atop the hill there is room to stop, stretch or collapse.
    Family members and well-wishers mingle as they search for their favorite athlete. The line between racers and spectators grow as blurred as the view. Backs are slapped.
    Less than two hours after the race began, 4,839 runners have crossed the finish line.
    The race is over.
    The recovery begins.
    The fun begins.
    It is 10 a.m.