What happens when runners cross a marathon finish line? We’ve got data.

On Sunday, two Washington Post reporters perched on either side of the giant inflatable arch that marks the Marine Corps Marathon finish line in Arlington, Va. We recorded reactions from the first runner — who ended in a classic hands-up, break-the-tape pose two hours, 25 minutes and 26 seconds after the starting howitzer sounded — to the last finisher, who high-fived waiting Marines as she crossed in just under seven hours.

Most runners just crossed the line, hit “stop” on their watches and kept moving. They sometimes grinned or grimaced — it can be hard to tell the difference in a person who has just run 26.2 miles.

But mostly they silently absorbed the moment. They may have been processing their stunning triumph or brutal disappointment, or perhaps just looking for the food tent.

However, at least 1,004 of the 13,824 finishers did something else. (We say “at least” because at peak times, hordes of people finished nearly simultaneously, so we missed people.)

Some runners sprinted through the finish and kept going as if they didn’t know the race was over. Some staggered over the line. A few fell. At least nine made the sign of the cross.

Before the three-hour mark, we had vomiting. By the five-hour mark, we had blood.

They hugged and kissed and made heart hands. They high-fived, fist-bumped and flexed. A few hopped and cartwheeled over the line. Some immediately put their hands over their hearts (not in a cardiac emergency sort of way) or their hamstrings (definitely in a muscle-cramp sort of way).

Many pointed to the sky and smiled, or broke into tears, or both.

An enduring friendship and history made at the Marine Corps Marathon

A dozen or so put their hands on their heads and just stared, as if questioning the life choices that got them to this place.

At least 159 finished holding hands, in pairs and trios and even four- and five-across, including a woman who exclaimed “I did it with my mama!” as she gripped her mother’s hand.

By far, the most common finish gesture was both hands or fists in the air, the universal symbol for “I just crushed that!” Variations included raising the roof, peace signs, No. 1 fingers and shakas.

At least 17 adults zipped across making airplane wings with their hands like giddy toddlers. Two wearing Philadelphia Eagles jerseys did the “Fly, Eagles Fly” flap at the very time their team was beating the Washington Commanders, 38-31, a few miles away.

About a dozen people pulled children — their own, we think — from the sidelines to run in with them. One man finished carrying a baby; a woman had a toddler on her shoulders.

Several fought to finish in obvious distress on the unseasonably warm, humid day. One, blood running down the left side of his face, let go of hovering medics to cross the line finish on his own.

Another fell across the line and crawled toward a backup timing mat, thinking he had farther to go. “I got it! I got it!” he yelled, shooing away Marines who were rushing to help him.

“You’re already past it, man! You did it!” they told him. “Mission accomplished!”

We lost count of the numbers of people who crossed the line taking videos and photos after the tally topped 150. One woman stopped 10 or 20 feet from the finish to shoot a photo of the time clock as it ticked away, adding seconds to her finishing time. At least three appeared to be narrating a live stream. “I’m literally crossing the finish line,” said one man into his phone.

A few turned around to get better selfies and nearly got run over.

Dozens of people carried the flags of military groups and various countries, including Ukraine and Israel. Runners came to the race from 68 countries.

A few of the 57 handcycle and wheelchair athletes let go long enough for a victory fist-pump.

We expected to hear a lot of words — general celebration and thanking of deities and moms and such — and there was a bit of that. But most runners emitted no sound other than labored breathing.

The ones who did make noise rarely used words, perhaps because no words can convey quite the same meaning as a heartfelt, guttural “AAAAAHHHH.”

Still, some screams contained recognizable consonants and vowels.

The most common one was “Woooo!” in all its forms, such as the elongated “Woooooooo!,” the staccato “woo-hoo!” or “woo-wee!” and the totally relieved “whew.”

There was also the exuberant “Oooowww!” and the pained “ow.”

We heard a healthy dose of “oorah!” because this is a Marine Corps’ event. More than 8,000 active and retired service members participated in the day’s races, which included a 10K and a 50K in addition to the marathon.

A small minority of people said recognizable words, including “Yes!” and “(expletive) Yeah!” and “Let’s go!” even though technically they had already gone.

“Who says sergeant majors can’t run!” yelled one military finisher, presumably a sergeant major, to his comrades in camo.

“This means everything,” said one woman. “Oh, my God, it’s done!” said another.

Some asked questions. “Is this the end?” (It was.) And, “Did I win?” (He did not.)

Just before seven hours had passed, the star-spangled last official finisher, Patricia Simonides of North Point, Fla., came in with a Marine escort, a tradition at all races put on by the Marine Corps.

We tallied our last high-five of the day.

Shelly Tan contributed to this report.