42,000 People Running a Marathon; and Me

(This piece contains a slightly more than moderate tone of sarcasm.)

He died.

That’s how the story of the creation of the marathon ends. The Athenian Pheidippides ran from the battlefield near the town of Marathon to Athens to announce the Greek victory over Persia in the Battle of Marathon. Then he died. Supposedly he collapsed from exhaustion, of all things.  Who would’ve thought? (Thanks Wikipedia.)

So someone tell me at what point other humans started thinking this was a good idea? I mean if we’re going back to ancient times anyway, let’s just play gladiator, too.  That sounds good. Many of them died, so it makes for a good challenge.

And I joined the club and thought for some reason a marathon sounded like a brilliant idea. So, on November 1, 2009 at 9:40 a.m., on the sound of a gun, my New York City Marathon experience commences. Nervous? Yes. Scared? Yes. Excited? Of course.

In all reality, though, my NYC Marathon experience began months ago. All summer I ran to ensure my readiness for two weeks ago – the 12 week mark. Now, two weeks into “official” training, I’m nearing conclusion of my second 100 mile week. Crazy? Yes. Borderline psychotic? Yes. But it’s the only way I know.

Two 100 mile weeks down and more to go. It’s that reason why so many people now run Pheidippides death march. Why people put the Marathon on their list of things to do before they die. Why those people call those running marathons crazy and psychotic. That reason: to test our limits physically and mentally. To see how far our bodies can carry us. And, quite frankly, we have some sick satisfaction when we get called crazy and psychotic. It makes us feel good or something.

The other day I read up on some of the prerace information I’m supposed to know. It’s refreshing to know I’ll be one of 42,000 crossing the start line that day. That’s really the only thing I could focus on. All of the questions like, “Where to arrive in the morning. Which corral to stand in. Where to drop your back. What transportation to take to the start line.” revolved around the 42,000 number. Something tells me I can just follow the crowd. Ask lots of questions. And pray I end up in the right spot.

Pinning my bib number that morning to my singlet is usually what I worry about.

But I am excited, truly, despite the mild sarcasm of this piece. The chance to run NYC Marathon is a dream of many and of mine. Little doubt exists in my mind that it will be an amazing day. If I run great, I get to say I did it at NYC. If I don’t run great, I get to say I ran NYC. Not terrible either way.

I don’t yet know how my training will go. It’s a good start so far, yes. But in the sport of running, injury always lurks just around the corner.

I hope to toe the line on the morning of November 1. I even hope I get to feel what miles 20-26 feel like, even though I’m terrified for that same feeling.

Maybe the better word than crazy or psychotic is idiot. And I’m okay with that.

But one part of my marathon experience remains missing. For all the reasons I want to run this for myself, to see how far I can go, I, at the same time, want to run this for something bigger. It’s hard to imagine all the time I will put into this just for me. My goal is to find a way to raise money or awareness for something I’m passionate about.

I’ve exchanged a few emails with the people at Save Darfur, but nothing yet. If anyone has ideas, please let me know!

Pheidippides only ran the 26 miles – and thus died – for something bigger. Maybe that’s the bigger lesson.

Oh, and as much as training and the marathon will hurt, I probably won’t die.