In 1997 ESPN was covering the Baystate Marathon for its "Freak of the Week"-style program - you know, the one they almost always show at 2:30 a.m. due to rabid viewer interest. I went through the halfway point in first but behind over 30 half-marathoners, and did not even become aware I was leading the race until asking a homeless guy who was in front at around 17 miles, by which time the guy on the back of the motorcycle riding about 30 yards ahead and holding a large camera had made me suspicious. I wound up crashing and getting passed at around 24.5 miles. When they aired the segment, that was pretty much all they showed. By then I was running 6:40 pace, from the grace I exhibited onscreen, I sure made it *look* like 9:00, maybe even 8:45.
In the 2001 Boston Marathon, I was one of many local yokels mopped up by Ndereba in the final miles. She got me with a little less than a mile to go and beat me by 32 seconds. Not long before she went hauling by, I had stopped to take a huge, nasty dump, no wiping of course. My vague thought at the moment she went by, bubbling up from an endorphin and exhaustion haze, was that in the only widely broadcasted TV appearance I am likely to be part of, people would probably be able to see that I had sh*t all over my legs. Later inspection ruled out this potentially embarassing possibility.
So both times I have been on TV during a race, someone's been blowing by me. Next time I spot someone with a camera at a marathon, I won't hold my breath for a sterling performance.