Marathon, Man: Death-free for 13 Miles!

This information is offered for those readers who have never run a marathon, particularly those readers who think: “Well, millions of people have done it―even O-prah, for goodness sake―so why not me?” Indisputable logic, true, but remember your mother’s warning: “Wear clean underwear!” No, wait...your mother’s warning was: “Put down that stick! You’ll poke someone’s eye out!” Sorry…actually your mom’s warning was: “If Johnny jumped off a bridge, would you run a marathon?!” Before you consider running a marathon―which, may we remind you, is 26.2 miles (or 54,834 millipedes or a real far distance “on foot”)―you should ask yourself two questions: (1) “Will I die?”; and (2) “Am I out of my right (or left) mind?” The first question will remind you to actually find and read your life insurance policy, which you probably have carefully filed somewhere in some part of the house or in the garage, in a folder labeled “Stuff.” The second question will remind you to make an appointment with a psychiatrist.

On one of the 128 pages in your insurance policy―in the section “Supplementary Other Areas Not Coveredby the Previous Section ‘Other Areas Not Covered Within, Wherein, Herein, Therein, Hereby, Nearby, Heretofore, Aforesaid, Aforementioned, Aforehinted-at, Ipso facto, Pro bono, Sonny Bono (may he rest in peace), and/or Phi Beta Kappa’”―you will find: “…clearly, plainly, intuitively, inductively, deductively, seductively, obtusely, obviously, complexly, and simply in the aspect of your individualized personhood, you are in no way, no how in the matter, molecules, atoms, particles, sub-particles, substance, constitution, Declaration of Independence, whole, part, parcel, bits, pieces, and/or portion covered by this policy concerning any idea, thought, reflection, consideration, contemplation, meditation, intent, gesture, action, reaction, movement, flinch, and/or activity of any sort, type, category, form, variety, mean, median, mode, manner, and/or kind that could, would, should, might, perhaps, maybe, possibly, suggest, ingest, demonstrate, imply, and/or hint that you are INSANE, such as if you attempt to run a marathon.”

The psychiatrist will most certainly not tell you that you are insane, because he is bound (but not gagged) by both the Hyper- and the Hypo-critical Oath, owns Prozac® stock, has “crazy” alimony payments, just bought a new Porsche, and knows that he cannot expect an insane person to pay his or her bill on time. So, he will conduct weekly sessions probing and delving and searching deep into your psyche, psychic, and physique to explain what happened to you as an infant and/or maybe as a child and/or maybe as a teen and/or maybe as an adult that is the “primal causation factoid subjunctive manipulator” related to your “desire” to run a marathon. On alternate weeks, he will “explore” why you should run a marathon and why you should not run a marathon. He will partly perform this exploration while shopping for Rolexes, and at an annual convention at Disney World. However, the main exploration will employ very complicated and sophisticated psychoanalytical techniques, including: using the Internet; quoting Dr. Phil; GPS; “Freudian slips” (and other lingerie); administering the Rorschach Test (more commonly called the “ink blot test,” because when anyone is asked, “What do you see?” the answer usually is, “An ink blot.”); and asking deep probing, delving, searching questions, such as―“What do you think?” “How does that make you feel?” “You do still have Blue Cross, right?”

Anyway, let’s assume that you do have a burning desire to run a marathon; this is most likely because you have a temporary affliction called pedis marathontitis (marathon foot). This ailment is similar to athlete’s foot (pedis athleticus), but obviously effects only one category of athlete, those who run real far for no apparent reason. There are several cures for marathon foot, which we list here in order of difficulty: (1) Easy―follow John Madden’s advice and take “tough actin’ Titanic-tin™”; (2) Moderate―amputation; and (3) Hard―actually run the marathon. Here’s a bit of quick advice about the options. The Easy one is suspect because recent DNA evidence has revealed that John Madden is actually the comedian Frank Caliendo; so, what does he know? The Moderate option would involve surgeons, and the operation could result in having some internal organ removed from you at random, followed by major post-surgery “complications,” known as “fighting your HMO about the bills.” Option 3, Hard, is the most difficult, regardless of the type of shoe you wear. But, when the going gets hard, the hard get running!

At this point we would like to remind you that you could travel 26.2 miles from point A to point B by driving in a car. This concept was recognized several centuries ago by Sir Isaac “Wayne” Newton, who―after an apple fell on his head while he was singing “Dunkin’ Shane” during his Vegas stage show―declared what he called “My Own First Law of Motion,” which was: “A person who could drive or ride in a car (which has not yet been invented, but probably will be during the Industrial Revolution, which I am not aware of, but lots of scientists probably will be in the future) would have to be an idiot to walk or run for any extended distance more than, say, 25 yards.” But we know that some people are just going to run a marathon, come hell or high personal humiliation.

The concept of willingly running to experience personal humiliation can be traced back to the year 490 B.C., when legend records that a Greek soldier―and professional runner―named Pheidippides (“Ippi”) ran about 6,000 miles from a battlefield at Marathon Key, Florida, to Athens, Greece. No, wait…Ippi actually ran about 24 miles from a battlefield at Marathon, Greece, to Athens, bringing news of a Greek victory over the invading Persians, who were intent on overwhelming

Greece with exotic cats and handmade carpets. The legend says that when Ippi arrived at Athens, he proudly exclaimed "Nenikēkamen!" (“We were victorious!”). Some accounts say that Ippi―a “bit winded”―declared the abbreviated "Nekē!" (his girlfriend’s name). Regardless of what he said, as soon as he said it, he dropped dead of exhaustion―quite a dramatic punctuation to having been the first man in history to run a marathon―and he missed the celebration party, including cats tearing-up carpets!

But of course that was in 490 B.C., which happened to be the only time that the Greeks and Persians were fighting at Marathon, and it was long before specialized running shoes, Gatorade™, “carbo loading,” paramedics, motorized transportation, Icy-Hot Patches, and heart defibrillators. Ippi may have run in the wrong century or may have just succumbed to bad luck. Dr. Donald A. Redelmeier, a professor of medicine at the University of Toronto, supported the latter notion in an article in the New York Times, wherein the doctor noted: “…half the people who died in a marathon did so while running the last mile, and almost no deaths occurred in the first 13 miles.” For the novice marathon runner who would prefer to remain alive, the message seems fairly obvious: (1) Do not run during a war; (2) Run only 13 miles―known as the “half marathon” or the “no-death marathon”; and/or (3) Do not run the last mile. (Note: The Geneva Convention does allow a runner to stop running when he/she “hits the wall.” All runners know about the wall and can clearly see the pesky bricks right in the middle of the road at about the 20-mile point, but for some inexplicable reason―perhaps confusion about whether the Geneva Rule applies only in Switzerland―most runners still run smack into it! Hitting the wall results in death for some marathoners.)

The careful reader has probably noticed that in 490 B.C. Ippi ran about 24 miles, but modern marathons are 26.2 miles. The reader may ask: “Hey, where’d the other 2.2 miles come from?” Of course the obvious answer is: the Queen of England. Due to her heavy robes, crown, and jewels―as well as her affection for silk shoes―Queen Alexandra was not an avid runner. But she did so very much enjoy the “sinewy strides of such valiant road warriors,” that at the 1908 Olympic Games in London, 2.2 miles were added to the marathon route to cover the ground from Windsor Castle to White City Stadium, so the race could finish in front of royal family's viewing box. Periodically, as runners passed the box, on-lookers shouted, “God save the Queen!” because on several occasions Alexandra started doing warm-up stretches, apparently intent on joining the runners.

Ironically, history somewhat repeated itself at the 1908 marathon. As we know, in 490 B.C., Ippi―recall that he was a soldier and a professional runner―completed his run, collapsed, and died. In 1908, on his final lap around the stadium track, Dorando Pietri-“Dish”―a baker and a professional runner from Carpi, Italy―exhausted and dehydrated, became dazed and confused, ran in the wrong direction, and then collapsed. Officials helped Dorando to his feet, but he collapsed again…and again…and again. Finally, a race official lifted up Mr. Pietri and helped him across the finish line. Dorando was disqualified for having received assistance, but the queen awarded him a gilded silver cup as a reward for the resolute courage he displayed in simply refusing to die. Signore Pietri-“Dish” surprised the queen when he presented her a toasty loaf of bread that he had baked while running!

Dorando had entered London’s White City Stadium as a complete unknown; in fact, during his final excruciating lap he didn’t even know who he was, although several members of his family did recognize him, and yelled, “Dora-dee-eh-splora…betta steek to dah bay-king!!” But when the news of his staggering, falling, staggering, falling, and dragging marathon finish spread around the globe, he became world-famous and an international celebrity, and earned considerable mula (dough―pun intended). Unfortunately, it seems that Dorando was just not a lucky man; after all, his name was not Dorando O’Reilly. He made considerable money by presenting motivational running/baking seminars, but that venture soon “hit the finish line” because many runners did not enjoy baking and many bakers did not like running for 26.2 miles, especially with ovens. He then endorsed the Gilded Silver Cup™ running shoe brand, and Marathon® yeast; but the goblet-shaped shoes were slightly uncomfortable, and the yeast somehow did not make bread run any faster, while it did make it much longer to rise. So Dorando bought and operated a hotel. The hotel died during a complicated surgery, and Dorando later admitted: “Okays, I-ah am not ah doctor-ay, but I-ah am bankrupted.” Concerned about being arrested for practicing medicine without a license―but realizing that he did have a driver’s license―he relocated to Sanremo. He could have run the approximately 500-mile trip, but he figured the polizia would probably choose to drive cars. Over the years, Dorando realized that cars were an efficient way to get somewhere, and that if he had a TomTom® or Garmin® in 1908 he would not have run in the wrong direction on that final lap. But he also thought that if he had run in the correct direction, he would have never become world-famous, then fail as motivational speaker, fail as a product pitch man, fail as a hotel owner, and find himself penniless.

Once safely in Sanremo and convinced “dat dee carz are eez-e-er to go dan dee feets,” Dorando managed a car workshop; and he hoped that his luck would change. But his name still was Pietri, not O’Reilly. At the shop on February 7, 1942, Dorando experienced a sort of déjà vu (because Sanremo is near the French border). He took one of the repaired cars out for a test drive and soon found himself exhausted and dehydrated, became dazed and confused, drove the car in reverse once around the shop, and backwards into the garage, and then collapsed and died. One can only wonder what reward the Queen of England would have given Odnarod.