Before the race, she had insisted on not knowing the course route.
"If it's a hill, it's a hill," she said. "I'll have to run it.
So no one had told her that the last several miles of the Oklahoma City marathon course go gradually uphill toward the finish line.
Discouraged by the heat and the elevation changes, Hunt started walking again. The pain of the race was setting in. Maybe her legs weren't invincible after all.
But a woman from Tennessee came to her rescue.
She approached her and asked about the Boston number on her back. Hunt told her the story: the training, the bombing, the disappointment. And the fear. How it was too soon for even a serious marathoner to be running a race again.
How she was really just a beginner.
"She was like, 'well, run with me,'" Hunt recalled.
"It definitely helped."
So did the cheers from anonymous fans.
Soon, Hunt was approaching the mile-marker in the race where the bomb went off in Boston, when she saw the cloud of smoke rising from the city and the runners frantically turning the other direction and running in panic, fearing for their lives.
Instead of being afraid, she felt motivated.
"Once I hit the point where I stopped in Boston, I was like, 'No more walking. I'm running this. This race, this is for Boston. I'm finishing.'"
'On top of the world'
I saw Hunt on the home stretch, headed for the core of downtown Oklahoma City, with a smile plastered across her face. Fans stood on both sides of Broadway Avenue, ringing cowbells, shouting "woo!!" and "you got it!!" and "let's go!!!" All of that stuff would seem annoyingly over-energized on any normal Sunday morning. But here it was infectious. I found myself joining in, cheering hardest for the people who were walking or jogging the slowest, those who looked like they would barely make it. I saw one man stop to vomit and then continue toward the finish. I mean, wow.
No one seemed concerned about bombs or terror.
"We all run for a reason here!" an announcer said. "We run to remember!"
Hunt said she left the traumatic memories mostly behind on that last stretch.
When she crossed the finish line, after having that experience robbed from her in Boston, and knowing that so many people had so much more taken from them on that day, she threw her arms into the air. Tears came to her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away. She's too tough for that. "When I saw (the finish) I couldn't stop running," she said. "Even though I was dying, I wanted to keep going."
She added: "I'm on top of the world right now."
The thing that kept her moving was the aid of complete strangers.
'A step in her healing'
Earlier in the week, before the marathon, I met with Ernestine Clark, 69, who was in a library near the Murrah Building when it was bombed. I'd read about her story online and was amazed by the steps she'd taken to create something positive out of a horrifying experience.
I wanted to learn something from her about paying it forward. I thought it might help with my Run for Boston project, which essentially is trying to bring strangers together to support the people of that community.
And I also thought it might help Hunt.