Although he had not finished by the cutoff time, he, like other competitors, seemed buoyed by the experience and waxed philosophical over the whole endeavor: how we as a species need to challenge ourselves, how we do not know our limits until we search for them.

Steve Hendricks, who had coughed up blood and had the nightmare and hallucination of the Pokémon character, drew gasps when he told the gathering he had broken a rib on the third day. He fell off his bike while fumbling with a cookie and his odometer, and the lingering effects made finishing the race impossible.

Hill, who had tried to talk me into doing an Ironman, was the top female finisher in the continuous division (117:46:42) and kept up a smiling demeanor almost the entire time, to the bafflement of everyone else.

“I never laughed so hard at any race in my life,” she told the gathering.

If Turner had regrets, he kept them to himself. He had dedicated this effort to his mother, who had recently died. Near the end of the race, he scrawled her name on his arm. And he relished the outpouring of affection from his supporters, who showed up in response to “Will needs help” texts.

“When you are humbled by a race, you realize what the purpose is here,” he said. “In managing to dig so deep, you discover who you are.”

In front of him was a table full of Anvil Quintuple bumper stickers. But he would not be buying one. He felt a tinge of disappointment.

“But that’s my ego talking,” he said. “The ego wants a perfect race. You get in this to feed your ego or nourish your soul.”

He added: “The ego wants the bumper sticker. But the soul doesn’t need that.”