Hyponatremia

The sun was glaring down at me but it was starting to get too hot, too bright. I painfully inched my way along the steaming hard tar road. I would have liked to collapse on all fours and crawl, but I was in the Boston Marathon. People passed me. They were suffering such a personal torture that only they could define. Their foreheads were glistening with stars of sweat as they slowly drained their energy. Left, right, left, right. It would never end. The watering stop came into view and the white table was lined with beautiful white plastic cups. It was too white, too pure to be true. I drank one. Then another. Then another. Then another.
I scrunched up my face and continued shuffling my feet towards the hellish sun. People littered the sides of the path and the finish line was floating before the horizon. I was almost there, just a few shadows away. I could feel the energy draining out of me like air wheezing out of a balloon. And then the last wisp of air was extinguished like a sigh. Too quiet, too soon. I collapsed like a stranded doll on the sidewalk. It was too much sun, too much water. Too much pressure.
The sun was so far away and I didn't know how to run a marathon. I had much to learn, but I couldn't anymore because the water killed me.
A miracle had to happen: my resurrection.