than last year’s winning time. For more than half of the race, though, through about 21 miles, another Kenyan, Titus Mutinda, was in the lead, in large part because of some confusion. When Mutinda saw local resident Maciek Mierecsko sprint to the lead, he followed him, not knowing that Mierecsko was running the half-marathon, which had started at the same time as the marathon. They ran side by side for about six miles, after which Mutinda slowed down once Mierecsko—who went on to win the half in 1:08:59— yelled to him to slow down because he wasn’t going the whole route. (A quick note: the bibs of the marathon and half-marathon are different colors, as race directors did try to take this factor into consideration.) Mutinda obliged, but he had gone out too fast, and Weru took the lead in the last few miles.

The women’s race was more straightforward. Iowa resident Christy Nielson, 29, won the division in 2:58:45. Nielson had never heard of the Little Rock Marathon until about a week before the race, when a friend called to tell her to tun it. She pulled away at about mile 24 and finished a full minute ahead of the second-place finisher.

LOOKING AHEAD

Overall, with a new, flatter course and influx of elite runners, the third running of the Little Rock Marathon showed signs that the little race is already growing up. It is already having an effect on the city. According to race director Geneva Hampton, “More of our citizens are out on the streets, running and walking . . . looking at the world around them.” In short, the 2,500-year-old sport of marathoning is quickly finding a home in the city. From here, the exciting part is wondering what the future might have in store for the little marathon. Boston had to start somewhere, right?

More Info About the Little Rock Marathon

Little Rock Marathon 501/371-4770 Little Rock City Hall www.littlerockmarathon.com 500 W. Markham, Room 108 2006 Race date: March 5

Little Rock, AR 72201 i

A Tale of Resurrection: From Inspiration to Aspiration to Perspiration.

ational people make major commitments only after long and serious consideration. But since rationality has never been my strong suit, my decision to run a marathon was prompted by sheer impulse.

Not that I hadn’t ever run a marathon. I had—two of them, in fact. But I had trained hard for them, putting in two months of 65-mile weeks for each. But that was 30 years and 30 pounds ago, when I was at the top of my running game.

Now, even though I still run, sort of, when it comes to marathons, I am clearly overweight, undertrained, and way over the hill.

But marathons weren’t the least bit on my mind when I was in Fort Myers, Florida, back in mid-May. Instead, I was visiting my family, catching the rays, and chilling—if that’s possible in 90-degree weather.

Anyway, I was in one of those super bookstores, the ones with the built-in chichi coffee shops, when I happened to spot an odd little magazine called Marathon & Beyond.

Huh? What’s this? I wondered as I skimmed it. It was a running magazine, certainly, but unlike any I had ever seen. It wasn’t slick or chock-full of advertisements, nor did it feature some new diet guaranteed to take hours off my half-marathon times, vitamins that would add years to my life, and the rest of the mumbo jumbo.

Also, the articles were long, in depth, sometimes even controversial. It seemed the magazine actually wanted to appeal to people who had some substance and who really liked to read.

ARTHUR SPEAKS TO ME—AGAIN

I bought a copy, took it to my table, and leafed through it while swilling my coffee. Suddenly, my heart skipped a beat when I ran across an interview with Arthur Lydiard. Arthur Lydiard had been one of my first inspirations to run a marathon

way back when, in running’s Dark Ages (if not its Stone Age). His book Running to the Top had been like a bible to me.

And now here he was, all these years later, still as feisty, outspoken, opinionated, and knowledgeable as ever. And he was still something else, too: just as inspiring as ever. After I read his interview, it hit me: I was going to come out of retirement and run a marathon!

The next day I hied down to Mike Pemberton’s shop, Fast Feet, a running store run by a runner, catering exclusively to runners. And while my description is overdone, his shop is not. It’s small but with an excellent array of gear, and with none of the schlock. So if you live in Fort Myers or are ever there, stop in and give him your business. When it comes to running stores, he’s a one-man army fighting the multinationals.

After buying a pair of running shoes, I indulged myself and bought a pair of real running shorts. My last running shorts were Frank Shorter sportswear that finally fell to shreds sometime in the late ’80s, after at least 10 years of daily wear. After I gave them an honorable burial, I ran in whatever shorts I found lying on the bedroom or bathroom floor, among them soccer shorts, gym shorts, Bermuda shorts, and boxer shorts.

But now that I was going to run a marathon—no matter how slowly, shakily, or sloppily—I was going to run it in genuine marathoner’s shorts. And once that was settled, I considered things of less importance, namely, which marathon from the plethora of marathons available these days, and what training schedule I would follow.

Actually, only one marathon came to mind: the Raquette River Marathon in Potsdam, New York, which would be run on September 5. It would be ideal for me, since it’s about 60 miles away, is run on back roads, and has no entrance requirements other than coughing up some filthy lucre. And most important, the organizers keep it open until the last person struggles in. As I said, it was my kind of marathon.

As for training? As I saw it, no matter what kind of training I did, it would be marginal at best. In my current condition, in 3 1/2 months, I would never amass enough mileage for any kind of serious running. Instead, the best I could hope for was to finish in six hours or so.

| REMEMBER THE IMPORTANCE OF THE LONG RUN

I decided on a schedule built around one long run a week, building up to a 20miler three weeks before the race. On the other days, I would just listen to my body and do the best I could. My main concern was not pushing so hard I would get injured.

When it came to fear of injuries, there was a big split between my friends and me.

Ever since I had a triple bypass eight years ago, most of my friends worry about my heart. But I don’t. First, I’ve essentially been refurbished: the aftermarket addons are better than the originals. Second, I had a stress test in May and everything looked A-OK. And third, to be a bit morbid but completely honest, I don’t think dropping dead at 57 while running a marathon is a bad way to go.

No, my area of concern with injuries is connective tissue. In 35 years of running, Ihave never had a debilitating injury. In addition to the usual aches and pains, I have an iliotibial band that hurts a bunch of the time, but it has never interfered with my running and it has never gotten any worse. My fear is of cartilage or ligament damage, the type that occurs from overtraining. But since I pay close attention to my body, I figured that if I played it smart, I could avoid injury.

A week into my training, I decided to subscribe to Marathon & Beyond, and when I did, I had a brainstorm. Maybe M&B would be interested in an article about my experience—you know, one of those heartwarming, human interest bits about the washed-up old poop coming out of mothballs (if not the cryonic chamber) to see, after all those years, whether he still has his stuff.

When I called, I got the publisher, Jan Colarusso Seeley, and after ordering my subscription, I asked if she thought my proposal stood a chance. She said some articles published in M&B were by submission, so sure, go ahead and send in a proposal. A few days later I did just that, including a few of the columns I had written for the local newspaper, so she could check my style. In all honesty, I figured that I would get rejected. But I had faith that when the editors rejected me, they would do it nicely. Then, as time passed and I immersed myself in my training regimen, I pretty much forgot about the proposal.

The training went as well as I could have expected. As I said, I pretty much did it according to how I felt, paying no attention to time and distance—aside from my one long weekly run. And those went well, until a month before the race, when I ran my 18-miler.

SURVIVING THE LONG RUN—BARELY

I did it, but it was a real drag. Basically, my breathing was fine, but nothing else was. It took me four and one-half hours, slower than I expected, and I felt like hell the whole time. Plus, the next day my legs were sore and ached all over, something that hadn’t happened until then.

I was still sore for the next several days, and it became apparent I was in no shape to run 20 miles the next week. And if I was crazy enough to try, and lucky enough to finish, I knew I would never recover by race day.

So now I had to confront the essential question: Was I going to continue my training, in some fashion or other, and plan to run the marathon? Or was I going to scrap all my plans and say to hell with it?

I mulled over it for several days. Finally, after a bunch of agonizing, I decided to give up.

At this point, I didn’t enjoy the long runs and couldn’t see the sense of having three more weeks of unenjoyable running, and risking injury besides. Of course I was disappointed—with myself more than anything—but I finally accepted my decision and was at peace with it.

Then, three days later, after I had achieved a state of philosophic acceptance that would make the Dalai Lama turn green with envy, what appeared in my mailbox but a letter from Richard Benyo, editor of Marathon & Beyond.

Sweet Lord in heaven! I had forgotten all about the proposal I had sent in 10 weeks before. I opened the letter, quickly looking for key words of rejection like “sorry,” “regret,” “unfortunately,” and the like. But I didn’t see them.

Then I reread the letter, looking to see what euphemisms had been used to conceal the rejection, but I couldn’t find them, either.

Finally, after reading it twice, I realized it was actually an acceptance letter. Furthermore, Rich said he was interested in my attempt “no matter how ugly.” Enclosed was my contract, stipulating terms of submission and payment.

There were two copies of the contract, one to return to him, the other—in Rich’s exact words—to put under my mattress. Not only was I delighted to have my proposal accepted, but I was flattered that he had taken time to find out where I store my important documents.

So how could I possibly give up, now that I would be published in an international magazine and would be a professional runner?

The answer, of course, was that I couldn’t.

A DECISION MADE, SOME RESOLVE GENERATED

And with that, the pressure was off. With three weeks to go, no miraculous transformation with my fitness would take place. So my training plan was simple. No more long runs but as many short ones as I could do, along with hiking, biking, and stretching as I saw fit. In essence, I wanted to maintain the fitness I had, to keep building my endurance, and to take no chance of strain or sprain of any sort.

And then, before I knew it, I was at the starting line of the Raquette River Marathon.

I stood in the back of the pack, and even though several of my friends from home were running the marathon or the half, I wasn’t speaking to them, or to anyone else. I figured once the race started, I would be by myself until the bitter end, so there was no need to turn into a social butterfly for a mere five minutes or so.

Plus, something was bugging me: the broccoli and green pepper pizza I had eaten the night before. It had been sheer delight at the time, but now it felt like a

= ~ Here | am (far left) at the start with most of the hometown crew (left to right): Phil Gallo, Lynda Peer, Bill Peer, Henry Voelkman. Bill and | ran the marathon; the others ran the half.

shot put that was lodged in my colon. When the race director went into his spiel, I listened only to hear where the first porta-potty was. When he said it was at the six-mile station, it gave me my first short-term goal of the race.

The weather was ideal for me, around 75. | like to run in the heat; it’s the cold I dread. A fast runner might be wary of heatstroke, but I can’t generate that much energy, plus I’m scrupulous about rehydrating.

The cold, however, is my enemy. Running in it for six-plus hours, especially if there was wind and rain, would be impossible for me.

The gun was fired, and everyone was off with the usual high spirits and jocularity—everyone but me, that is. I did what I was going to do the whole time—pick em up, put em down, and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Thad only two goals, aside from getting to the porta-potty. One was to finish; the other was to run the whole way. In reality, I figured if I ran and walked the marathon, I would do it faster than if I only ran. But this was a matter of pride, not time. Aside from finishing, I cared only about running nonstop.

After two miles, I never saw another runner, which was fine with me. I thought of that Allan Sillitoe book, The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner—not that I recalled anything from the book itself, it was just the title that held my interest.

“Loneliness” has an interesting etymology. It’s related to the word “alone,” and they’re both derived from “all one”—which pretty much is my running credo. At various times I’ve felt very lonely, but never while running.

BOB SEIDENSTEIN | 1101