THE PHEIDIPPIDES LEGEND

The Patron Saint of Marathoning

The World’s First Marathoner, Pheidippides, Ran His Race 2500 Years Ago and Then Dropped Dead. Or Did He? The “Experts” Rake Through History.

THE LEGEND is simple enough. The stalwart Greek soldiers of the city-state of Athens met the much-larger army of Persians on the Plain of Marathon. Through good strategy and pluck, the Greeks emerged victorious. To allay the fears of the residents of Athens, the Greeks sent a foot messenger, Pheidippides, to Athens to announce the victory. The 25-mile trek was arduous, but Pheidippides persevered and came, sweaty and exhausted, to the gates of the city where he announced, “We are victorious!” But the effort to reach Athens had been too much, and after uttering those joyous words, Pheidippides fell dead.

That’s the legend. As with most legends, the story of the glorious—and fatal—run of Pheidippides has its charms. It provides an heroic past to our present—especially when we’re in the midst of a marathon that isn’t going particularly well. We can either call upon Pheidippides to come to our aid, or we can curse him for originating this exquisite torture. Our favorite story based on the latter is attributed to Frank Shorter, who, in the wake of one particularly tough marathon, was heard to say, “I wish Pheidippides had died at 20 miles.” Hey, we hear ya, Frank.

The legend of Pheidippides makes him the founder of marathoning and the sport’s patron saint—and its first martyr.

And, of course, the legend is all bunk.

But it sure is fun, huh?

Pheidippides, a career foot messenger (or hemerodromos; translated: “allday runner”), has been spinning in his grave for some 2,000 years, as it was some 500 years after the Battle of Marathon that his death at the gates of Athens was created—by a Roman, no less. Pheidippides and his fellow hemerodromoi

would have been mortified to die in the process of delivering a message. Let’s face it: it smacked of professional suicide. Who’d want to employ an all-day runner who couldn’t run all day?

Inactuality, Pheidippides wasn’t a marathoner; he was an ultrarunner. Before the Battle of Marathon he was sent to Sparta, some 150 miles away, to ask for help against the Persians. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves… .

We admit to a weakness for legends—especially heroic legends. So we love the Pheidippides stories—all of them. Which is why we’ ve brought together this special section:

Kenneth W. Williams, with help from Greek Major General Dimitris Gedeon, weaves the Pheidippides legend into a stirring short story. Scientists Dave Martin and Roger W. H. Gynn debunk the legend in an excerpt from their massive book The Olympic Marathon.

Persian expatriate Fred Ebrahimi, working on the theory that the winners get to write the history, presents the Battle of Marathon from the losers’ side.

And Roger Robinson, masters marathoning legend and college English professor, presents the second installment of his “Running in Literature” series, this one containing literary references to Pheidippides, which explain in detail the evolution of the legend. [Note: Robinson’s chronology of the Pheidippides legend runs from page 88 to 96.]

And, most obvious to the reader already, our favorite running artist, Andy Yelenak, aimed his considerable skills at re-creating the famed run by Pheidippides to Athens for this issue’s cover. Whether it happened or didn’t, it sure looks legendary—and heroic.

Thank you, Saint Pheidippides, for getting us safely through one 5 more marathon.

March/April 2002 THE PATRON SAINT OF MARATHONING m 19

THE PHEIDIPPIDES LEGEND

An Honor to Bear

A Short Story, Based on History and Legend: The Soldier/Runner Had One Last Task to Perform Before He Could Rest.

P HEIDIPPIDES FORCED himself to stir. Just to move took a supreme effort. He was amazed at the force of the arrow that had struck him and knocked him to the dust. It seemed the arrow had done little more than graze his arm, but the force of the missile’s descent had spun him and thrown him to the ground. He remembered thinking about the force of the arrow while he was trying to regain his footing and resume his charge toward the Persians. It was such a foolish thing to be thinking about while Persian arrows flew all round him, but one’s mind can do such strange things in battle.

The little olive tree under which he now rested offered precious little shade from the relentless sun. He tried to find a position to allow his weary body to gain a moment’s rest. His weariness was bone-deep, accumulated over too many miles in too few days. He glanced at his hands and saw that they were still stained with blood from the recent carnage. He fought the incursion of the numbness to all of this that tried to take over his brain. This was the first time he had been off his feet in hours.

It was hot—far hotter than it should be in the middle of September. His armor—helmet, shield, breastplate, and greaves—seemed to attract the rays of the fierce sun. September was always a hot month in Greece, but this year it was even hotter than usual. The gentle breeze from the nearby Aegean didn’t help.

The question he’d been asking himself for the past several days zipped through his mind like the arrow that had wounded him: Why in the world did loffer myself as arunner? Was it because General Miltiades had impressed me with his talk of bravery and valor? What was I thinking, to be a soldier and a runner simultaneously? The work was tough, grueling, exhausting, dangerous—but exhilarating.

Pheidippides had decided last spring that he would leave the army when his current commitment was over. He had given Athens 11 years of his life. He was

now 33 years old and wanted to be able to spend some time with his wife and son, who were safely stashed away with her grandparents in Corinth. For a moment, as he pushed himself to an elbow against the crushing weight of his armor, he wondered if he was going to live long enough to see his family again. He smiled grimly. He’d survived the last few days and was still alive after being grazed by a Persian arrow. Perhaps the gods smiled upon his hard work on behalf of Athens.

His mind rushed to Corinth, such a beautiful city, sitting on the hills above the Gulf. Pheidippides had always enjoyed visiting the city. It was peaceful— slow and unhurried. He loved roaming the hills surrounding the Gulf. Mostly he just plain loved to run. He would follow game trails for hours, up and down hills. Never a worry about getting lost; the sea was to the north and the Acrocorinth to the south. His wife was born and raised not far from Corinth.

He hoped that his son was running the hills and fishing the Gulf, as he had done and as his own father had done before him. Pheidippides saw himself standing near the Temple of Apollo, gazing out over the Gulf. What a magnificent sight! With the exception of the Acropolis in Athens, he felt that the Acrocorinth was the most impressive spot on Earth.

He remembered traveling with his family up the hundreds of marble steps to the Acrocorinth—a spot both sacred and safe. Pity the Persian who tried to ascend the Acrocorinth. He would be buried below a flow of boulders and stones long before the heavy spears began coming down on him.

Pheidippides hated war. He hated the battles, the sour smells, and the moans and lamentations of the dying. But he strongly believed in defending his homeland. He despised the thought of his son growing up under the heel of the Persians.

Damn the Persians! Just the thought of that enemy caused him to shudder in anger. And for King Darius, the Persian leader, Pheidippides had a class of hatred all his own. Darius, with his ambitious plans to extend the Persian empire far beyond its boundaries. How dare he sail across the Aegean to attack peaceful Athens!

For a moment Pheidippides grasped at the olive tree, orienting himself before pushing himself all the way up off the ground. What day was it anyway? Maybe the 17th? Yes, yes, September 17. He had almost lost track of time. Yes, yes, because yesterday had been the 16th, when he’d arrived back at the site of the battle. The days before were a horrible blur. Only five days earlier he’d been selected to run to Sparta to seek aid against the Persians from the fellow citystate. It had been a mind-boggling ordeal. None of the runners in the other phili had ever been asked to run such a distance.

He had set out early afternoon of the 12th and had run continuously for nearly 48 hours. Forty-eight hours! Two solid days and nights of running, with

no rest. He covered more than 100 kilometers each day, much of it over hills. Water was scarce, as was food. By the time he finally arrived at Sparta, he was exhausted. But he had met with the Spartans and had delivered the plea from Athens for their help.

He found them willing enough to help, for it would be in their own best interests to keep the Persians out of Greece, but Spartan law forbade them from departing until the moon had reached its fullest. That would be several more days and would most certainly cause the Spartans to arrive after the battle.

He set off on his journey to Marathon. He ran through his exhaustion, through day and night. When he reported back to General Miltiades to deliver the bad news, he was reluctant at first, but then he decided to tell the General of his encounter with the god Pan as he’d come out of the mountains near Sparta. It was almost like the vision of a man in fever, but he remembered it vividly. Pan was very upset with the Athenians, for they were not showing him proper respect. Pan gave to Pheidippides threats to deliver to the Athenians, warnings of the loss of his support should they not increase their reverence of him.

What Pheidippides saw when he had returned to Marathon was frightening in its own way. Scores of Persian ships were beached on the edge of the sea. Smoke from thousands of cook fires told of tens of thousands of invaders camped near the beach while more disembarked. The sight was massive and frightening. In shear numbers, it appeared that the Athenians would stand little chance against the heavily armed infantry and cavalry of the Persians. Athens had no cavalry and certainly no bows that could counter the longbows in the hands of the Persian archers who could strike death from afar.

The prime Athenian defensive weapons were their long and heavy spears. But the small contingent of Athenians and Plataeans had something that made them great. They had visionary leadership. The 10 generals, one in charge of each phili, were seasoned veterans and excelled in battle tactics. That was Miltiades’s strong suit.

From his position on the littered ground, Pheidippides was unsure of what had occurred when the battle began. By all indications, the Persians had lined up exactly as they normally did: elbow to elbow, 30 men deep. By the time the army lined up in their standard positions, the 48,000 Persians formed a line 1,600 meters wide.

Against that massive force, General Miltiades lined up his 10,000 soldiers, increasing their strength on the flanks, with eight men deep, but weak in the center, where it was only four men deep.

The Athenians, more lightly armored than the enemy and trained in athletic endeavors, had made the terrible dash across the killing zone, where arrows from the longbows fell like hail. The hand-to-hand fighting had begun after Pheidippides fell and the center of the Athenian army collapsed. Through this

vacuum, the Persians poured by the thousands. But then Miltiades brought his flanking soldiers around and closed the hole, trapping the Persians. The longbows were ineffective against the expertly wielded long spears of the Athenians.

The dust was still rising from the plain in front of Pheidippides, but he was at an elevated enough position to see that the strategy had worked perfectly. He remembered the screams and moans of the impaled Persians as the sound rose above the clang and clash of armor and spear.

Pheidippides felt fortunate. He was not seriously wounded—only dog-tired and sore. He wound a scrap of cloth around the arrow wound and saw that most of the bleeding had stopped. At least he was still alive, as, he noted, were most of his fellow Greeks.

Not many of them were dead—or not as many as there could have been, or by all rights should have been. Not that this reasoning would matter to the families of the Greeks who had died on behalf of their city-state.

He surveyed the field, where soldiers staggered about, raising dust around their feet, where arrows protruded from the ground, where spears impaled enemy Persians. Of the 10,000 Greek soldiers, Pheidippides estimated that not more than 200 had been killed. On the Persian side, it was another matter. Though it was hard to estimate such numbers, difficult to sort the dead from the dying with a quick glance, he estimated there were more than 6,000 Persians dead before him.

The sights and sounds of the battle continued to come back to Pheidippides in a rush. He remembered passing the body of the young water boy who had been weaving his way among the waiting Athenians, passing out water to sate their thirst before the battle. A Persian arrow had pierced the body of the young boy, and the sight of him lying on the hard ground had further served to incense the Athenian soldiers as they began their charge.

What a battle! A small force had defended their homeland against a far superior force. Some 10,000 versus 48,000 hard, tough Persians equipped with longbows. The Hellenes had fought like wild animals, with only spears.

Pheidippides staggered to his feet as he heard his name called from down the line. It was Epikides calling to him, a soldier he had met on several occasions. He dreaded hearing what Epikides wanted of him. Pheidippides wanted badly to lie back down in the sparse shade of the little olive bush and disappear. He felt incapable of remaining on his feet.

“Pheidippides!” Epikides called. ““The General wants to see you. General Miltiades wants you. He is standing by that outcropping of rocks just south of the hill.”

As he made his way to where the General stood, Pheidippides fought off a nausea of fatigue that threatened to bring him to his knees. He had a suspicion of what lay ahead for him.

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Dimitrios was tired of playing with his sister Melita. Unfortunately, all the other young people had left the village long ago, and she was the only child left. People from the neighboring villages had packed up and moved up to the Acropolis. Everyone was convinced that the Persians would very soon come marching down the road. Everyone knew that the Athenian army had already traveled to Marathon to engage the Persians. Dimitrios had stood in awe as the soldiers proudly marched past his village on their way to their fate, just 30 kilometers away.

Reliable word had also come that the Persian navy was headed toward Athens to attack it from behind, so everyone in the village had packed up and headed for higher ground: the scant safety of the Acropolis. Correction: Not everyone. Not his father, Ephor. No. Ephor wasn’t about to be scared off his land by the threat of an invading force, even if it was the mighty Persians. No force in nature would get him away from the land, the olive orchard, the vineyard that his great, great, great grandfather had tended. No Persian was that strong.

Neither was the old blind man, Spyros, moving out of the way. He lived down the trail from Dimitrios and was Dimitrios’s friend, the source of all Dimitrios’s knowledge about what was going on in the world. Spyros had been an officer in the army until he was blinded in an accident. They talked for hours on end about the new democracy and other developments in the Athenian government.

They talked also about the military, and Dimitrios had long ago decided he would become a member of the army in a few years. It would be an acknowledgment of fate. Spyros often related the story of the day that Dimitrios was born. He was the third child in his family, the first boy after two girls. His aunt had received word of his birth first, and she ran like mad toward the rest of his family and made the announcement, yelling at the top of her lungs, “Soldier!”

Dimitrios made it his business to know each of the soldiers from his village; he attentively listened to their tales of faraway places and great battles.

Before he headed home, Dimitrios stopped at the community well and drew a bucket of water and drank deeply. He also filled the goatskin pouch he always carried with him and tied the leather strings tightly to avoid spilling the precious water.

Just as he turned to head home, Dimitrios glanced down the dusty road and spotted a lone soldier off in the distance. The soldier appeared to be in full battle gear, and he was running, yes, running toward Dimitrios. No doubt aboutit: this was an official “runner,” an important messenger, as no soldier in his right mind would be out in the oppressive heat in full battle gear. He was headed toward Athens with an important message.

Dimitrios had heard tales of such soldiers, men who had the stamina and heart to push their bodies and their minds to the limits of human endurance. Runners were regarded with awe. It was rumored that they received their strength from the gods themselves. Spyros had told Dimitrios some of the stories of these godlike men; he even knew some of their names. Dimitrios remembered Christopoulos from the highlands north of Athens. And there was another, more widely known, but Dimitrios couldn’t quite remember his name.

Runners did not run unless they had a very important purpose. And gazing upon this approaching runner, there was no doubt but that he carried a special message for someone—probably someone in great power in the government in Athens.

But as the brave soldier came closer, it became apparent that he was having difficulty. His gait was slow, his head was down, his arms carried high, as though he were trying to run as much by using his arms as his legs. As the runner came still closer, Dimitrios’s fears were confirmed. The man’s color was ashen, his eyes were fixed at some vague point ahead, and his jaws were clenched.

It was apparent that the man had run from the battleground at Marathon, some 30 kilometers away. He would have had to climb across the mountainous area laying between the plain of Marathon and the basin that surrounded Athens. That murderous stretch was more than 25 kilometers wide. Lucky for the runner, he had that section of road safely behind him. What remained of the route to Athens was fairly flat. Still, the mountains had exacted a heavy toll on the runner. It seemed questionable if he would make it another kilometer, much less all the way to Athens.

Dimitrios glanced at the goatskin pouch the runner carried and saw it was flat. No water. Small wonder. There was probably no one left in any of the villages along the path to offer him water, and, given the drought that had plagued Greece in recent years, no streams and very few wells were still flowing. Besides, warriors like this didn’t have time to idle around and draw water. He was obviously on a very important mission.

And there was another odd thing about the runner. He wasn’t perspiring! It was very apparent that he had sweated, and a lot. There was white salt residue visible on his shield and his breastplate. His clothes were wet, but his skin was dry and pale.

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The news that Pheidippides had dreaded had, unfortunately, come through. He was informed that he was needed to run to Athens as quickly as possible to tell the leaders of the country of the great victory their countrymen had achieved at Marathon.

It was an honor, General Miltiades explained, to bear such wonderful news. He was to depart immediately to arrive in Athens before dark, when the

massive gates of the Acropolis are closed against danger. He was to share his news with no one he encountered along the way, as it was first and foremost for the ears of the city’s leaders. And, oh yes, there was one more matter: he was to run in his full armor in order to demonstrate to people who saw him en route that he had not been forced to relinquish his armor to the enemy in battle.

When Pheidippides reached the first foothills after leaving the plain of Marathon, he felt for his goatskin water pouch. Then the realization hit him: in his fatigue-driven stupor, he had made the terrible blunder of leaving Marathon without filling his meager water pouch! Just a half liter remained, but surely he would be able to get it filled by friendly villagers along the way. . .

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If Pheidippides concentrated very hard, he could distinguish that the little village dog was not a wolf, that the bush ahead of him was nota Persian soldier, and that the wind was not speaking to him. He could stop the hallucinations, but it was much easier to fade away into an earlier time and place far away in order to face the steep grades he was encountering. He knew the contour of this land; it was not friendly to rapid travel.

As he progressed, his thirst seemed to bother him less and less. The desire to drink had abated in the wake of the last time he had vomited. Each time he managed to push back the cobwebs from his brain, he observed that the sun was dropping lower and lower in the western sky. He thought that he must have been running two hours or more, and that would put him a little more than halfway to Athens. But he knew he was confused. Earlier, as he neared the summit of one of the little mountains, he had distinctly heard his father speaking to him. Perhaps if he could just stop for a moment and sit in the shade? But he could not. His training and strong will would not permit it. His pace slowed on the steep grades, but he willed himself to keep his legs moving on this most important mission of his life.

Was that his son ahead on the trail? It couldn’t be. Or could it? Maybe it was a Persian soldier, sent to waylay him. Or perhaps another visit from Pan?

Dimitrios saw the runner stiffen, and he thought for a moment that he was going to strike out at him with the short sword he carried. The runner uttered something unintelligible, aname perhaps, but Dimitrios did not understand. He did realize, suddenly, that this was the famous runner that Spyros had told him about. His name was Pheidippides.

After four kilometers, Dimitrios was still running step for step with the famous runner. He had finally convinced Pheidippides to take some of the water he carried, and for a time it revived the soldier. It was uncanny, but somehow the soldier seemed to know him. Dimitrios assumed that the runner’s destination was the Acropolis since that was the only word he could understand

from the runner’s parched and cracked lips. A few steps after the runner drank the last of Dimitrios’s water, he became sick and lost the little water he had taken in.

Pheidippides was now incoherent and struggling. Twice he had taken the wrong trail and Dimitrios had to grab his arm and set him straight. He had to be careful to grab the runner’s good arm, as his other arm had a horrible cut on it and it was bleeding through the dirty rag wrapped around it. Fortunately, the Acropolis was now visible, probably not more than five kilometers away.

The sun was very low as Dimitrios started up the long grade and marble steps leading to the Acropolis. Pheidippides had seemed content to follow Dimitrios’s lead over the last few kilometers. Dimitrios had wondered whether Pheidippides could regain his footing after the last time he had fallen, but he had bravely pulled himself back to his feet. But he was spent, totally and completely, and the ordeal had left him physically and mentally void except for the sacred message he carried. Dimitrios hoped that the man didn’t pass out before he was able to complete his task.

Dimitrios felt like a warrior himself as the crowd parted for him and Pheidippides to pass. They had made it to the top of the Acropolis and through the heavy gates just before they were closed and sealed for the night. There must

AY, JUNE 23rd, 2002

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have been 20,000 people in the crowd, mostly women, old men, and children. Dimitrios could feel the envious stares of the boys his age as he continued to run interference for Pheidippides.

The marble floor of the Temple was cool. Dimitrios could feel it through the soles of his sandals. He now had the feeble Pheidippides by the arm and was walking him up to the crowd. The elders, temple and political leaders, had quickly gathered, awaiting the official message from the Plain of Marathon. The murmuring crowd stilled as Dimitrios and Pheidippides approached the leaders of Athens.

Pheidippides’s cracked lips moved, but no sound came forth. The anxious chief elder asked him several times to repeat what he had to say. The crowd was hushed as Dimitrios tried in vain to hear and understand what Pheidippides was saying.

It took Pheidippides several seconds to focus on Dimitrios. Dimitrios could feel Pheidippides looking past his eyes and down aroad only he could see, deep into his soul. Dimitrios was certain Pheidippides thought Dimitrios was someone else, someone he loved and was close to—maybe his own son?

“N-i-k-e.” It sounded like “Nike.” Could that be the word?

“Pheidippides! Try again. Tell me. Say it one more time!” Dimitrios saw Pheidippides muster all his remaining strength. And while looking squarely into Dimitrios’s eyes, the word came out. There was no doubt this time, not to Dimitrios, who alone heard it. No doubt whatsoever.

“NIKE! NIKE! NIKE! He said ‘NIKE!’” Dimitrios screamed. VICTORY, VICTORY for Athens! Victory over the mighty Persians! Victory. Nike, Nike!

Dimitrios knew that Pheidippides was dead when he crumbled to the floor of the Temple. He was certain of that. The scribes pushed Dimitrios out of the way and tried to revive Pheidippides, but they soon realized it was too late. Pheidippides, the great all-day runner, was dead. The end of his mission had come.

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Dimitrios was tired of playing with his sister Melita. He had things to do. He had to do some chores for his father and visit with Spyros. Then, later, he had to run. He was now running every day, and today he was planning to run from his village to Athens and back. Twenty kilometers. He had to get himself into shape. There was so little time. He wanted to be arunner in the army, and he had to train hard. He was going to be a great runner . . . a great PE runner. ‘

THE PHEIDIPPIDES LEGEND

‘ The Marathon

Its Origin and Some Observations

BY DAVID E. MARTIN & ROGER W. H. GYNN

T HE WORD “marathon” did not appear in English language dictionaries prior to the mid- 1890s. Today it refers to a footrace run on a predetermined course—typically 42,195 meters (42.195 kilometers), or 26 miles, 385 yards in length—or to some other event or activity of great duration. Thus, there are “marathon sessions of Parliament or Congress” that extend for many hours. And there is the “Comrades Marathon,” a South African footrace of roughly 90 kilometers (56 miles) between Durban and Pietermaritzburg. A little thought brings to mind many other examples of ways the word is used. The word comes from the name of a village in Greece, roughly 40 kilometers northeast of Athens, known for an important ancient battle.

THE LEGEND OF PHEIDIPPIDES (PHILIPPIDES)

Herodotus tells us that King Darius of Persia landed a force of 20,000 men onshore near Marathon, planning to conquer the Greeks and punish them for helping the Ionians (who lived in western Asia Minor) revolt against Darius’s tule. The Greeks were under the direction of a very competent general, Miltiades, but being outnumbered nearly two to one, they needed reinforcements. Cornelius Nepos, a Roman historian and biographer in the first century Bc, reported that “the Athenians, distressed by this war so near and so great, in their own land, sought aid nowhere other than from the Lacedaemonians (Spartans) and sent Phidippidus, a runner of that class known as hemerodromoi, to report how urgent was the need of aid.” The hemerodromoi were trained distance runners.

A later source (Solinus) gave the distance from Athens to Sparta as 1,240 stades. A stade was the length of a stadium, which in cities such as Athens and Olympia was 185 meters (607 feet), which translates today to a distance of 229 kilometers. On today’s highways, the distance from Athens to Sparta is a similar 245 kilometers. Ancient evidence leans toward the name Philippides for this runner, but there is some manuscript evidence for Pheidippides as well. It is not

clear from Herodotus whether it was an entirely different runner who traveled from Marathon to Athens to announce that soldiers from Sparta were needed or whether this same runner, after arriving and conferring with authorities, continued on from Athens to Sparta.

Herodotus does mention that the runner reached Sparta “on the very next day.” If taken strictly, this trip from Athens to Sparta implies “within 24 hours,” but if taken loosely it suggests “within two calendar days.” Either feat is humanly possible, but both are stupendous efforts, particularly considering that (1) the terrain is hilly and (2) he returned soon afterward (again, it is not clear whether he returned just to Athens, with an additional runner dispatched to Marathon, or whether the same runner covered the entire distance). Interestingly, ever since 1983, an ultradistance competition has been staged between Athens and Sparta to commemorate this legendary run. This so-called Spartathlon is held in September, with worldwide participation, and the current course record for the one-way trip from Athens to Sparta is 20 hours and 25 minutes by a Greek, Yannis Kouros [see the May/June 2001 issue of M&B].

Due to a preoccupation with a religious festival, the Spartan support forces did not reach Marathon in time to assist General Miltiades in his struggle (Martyn 1997). Fortunately for the Greeks, they were not needed, as Miltiades faced the Persians squarely and soundly defeated them. In the battle, the Greeks lost 192 men, while the Persians lost 6,400. A large tomb, allegedly holding the remains of these 192 Greeks, can still be seen at the site of the old battlefield.

According to legend (but not mentioned by Herodotus), after the battle an Athenian soldier gifted at running, again known as Philippides or Pheidippides (potentially the same individual who had run to Sparta), was sent to announce the news of the victory to the king in Athens. Reportedly, after his arrival and gasp of the single Greek word “Nenikhkamen” (“We have won!”), the soldier collapsed and died. Others who relate the legend say the phrase he uttered best translates to “Rejoice, we have conquered.” Because it was in Greek, the translation will never be quite precise. It’s curious that this final run from Marathon to Athens was omitted by Herodotus in his reporting of events (Kyle 1998), as it would have been the perfect end to a great story.

The legendary run from Marathon to Athens could have taken one of two routes (Ioannides 1976). The longer choice, about 40 kilometers (25 miles) in length, is flat initially, extends south along the sun-baked seacoast past Mati and Raphena, then turns west and eventually crosses the mountains surrounding Athens. Cresting in Stavros at an elevation of 240 meters (788 feet) above sea level, the final several kilometers then descend into the city. The shorter route, about 34 kilometers (21 miles), proceeds immediately westward into the mountains outside Marathon, climbing to an elevation of 350 meters (1,150 feet) in the first 9 kilometers. Passing the Dionysos stream provides a source

of fresh water. A long gentle descent toward the southwest through cooler pinefilled forests then allows entry into Athens via the suburbs of Kifisia and Amaroussion. Thus, the total ascent using this latter route is greater, but it occurs during the early portion, when runners are fresh and the route is 15 percent shorter in total distance.

THE MODERN OLYMPIC GAMES

When the ancient Games of Olympia were about to be reborn in Athens during 1896 in the form of a global sports competition, it became appropriate for this legendary run from Marathon to Athens to assume a modern reality as part of the sport competition program. The plan was to have a competitive long-distance footrace over roughly 40 kilometers (~25 miles), called “the marathon race,” starting at the Marathon battlefield and ending in the Panathenaikon stadium, which was rebuilt for these games. Two days later, there would also be a “marathon cycle race” of 87 kilometers (54 miles), starting in Athens, going to Marathon, returning, and finishing in the New Phaleron Cycle Track. A very brief historical perspective on a few relevant issues may help readers appreciate the setting in which these modern Olympian Games found themselves. First, during the ancient Greek national sports festivals—at Olympia, Nemea, Delphi, and Isthmia—long-distance running events were not included, so a competitive long-distance race in an Olympic Games context was an entirely new concept. The primary running competition in these early Games was the stade—a sprint along the length of the stadium. There also was a diaulos, or down-and-back. The longest event had been the dolichos, or 24 stades, which would not have exceeded 4,800 meters (about three miles). Second, although the ancient Greeks limited their stadium games to shorterdistance dashes, long-distance running and walking were increasing in popularity during the second half of the 19th century, particularly in the British Isles and in America, creating a sport known as pedestrianism (Quercetani 1990). Contests to see how far a person could walk, or run-walk, in an hour, a day, or a week became fashionable (Dodd 1997; Cooper 1998). Professional contests were held in which sizable sums of money were exchanged in betting. Amateur distance racing was also important at the public school and university level, again particularly in England and the United States. In England, especially, track and field competitions with specific established rules provided a basis for competitive sport to develop. In the United States, using such rules, the National Association of Amateur Athletes of America (NAAAA) initiated an annual men’s championship over five miles in 1880. This series has continued to the present day, changing names to match variations in the name of the national governing body under whose direction the event was conducted.

Third, nearly a dozen local-level national sports festivals with the name “Olympic” attached to them occurred in Europe during the 1800s (Ruhl 1997), notably in Greece and England. It was the Frenchman Pierre Fredy, the Baron de Coubertin, who successfully brought into reality the idea of having nations come together for friendly sport competition. However, at least two other gentlemen deserve considerable credit for developing an environment that permitted de Coubertin’s enthusiasm to flourish (Young 1996).

William Penny Brookes, an English physician, writer, and sports enthusiast, organized in 1850 a local sporting competition in his home village of Much Wenlock. His Much Wenlock Games grew into an annual festival, and an expanded version called the Olympian Games started in London in 1866. Meanwhile, in 1859, Evangelis Zappas, a wealthy Greek of Romanian descent, organized the first Zappian Olympic Games in Athens (Chrysaphes 1930). There were four such games open to Panhellenic participants—that is, Greeks or people of Greek descent from Asia Minor and Italy. On November 15, 1859, at these first Zappian Games, a dolichos event (24 stades) took place. At the second Zappian Games, on October 18, 1870, the longest race was the diaulos (two stades). On June 22, 1875, a diaulos was again contested at the third Zappian Games. Only the stade was contested at the final Zappian Games on April 13, 1889.

Brookes and Zappas were aware of each other’s activities, and they shared their experiences and ideas with a view toward improving the quality of their respective festivals. According to Young (1996), in 1880 Brookes may have been the first to suggest the idea of an international Olympic Games held in Greece every four years. His problem was finding someone in Greece to help him implement the concept. In failing to do so, he was unintentionally upstaged by Baron de Coubertin, who later also envisioned a similar festival but who was better connected in Athens.

Born in 1863, de Coubertin developed during the 1880s an academic interest in how school systems could best develop optimal social values among children. He was particularly intrigued by the English and American public school systems and how their philosophy of integrating physical exercise with academics differed fundamentally from that in France. In England, sport was seen as essential for teaching fair play, ethical conduct, and personal interaction and, as such, should intertwine with academics. The French view was that physical activity stifled intellectual thought.

At this same time, de Coubertin perceived a degradation in the role of sport itself as a positive social force. Two issues in particular worried him. One was a developing dislike by athletes in one sport for those playing other sports— caused, as he saw it, by too much intensity in focus. Another was the commercial invasion into sport, particularly the specter of the outcome of competitions

being influenced by paying athletes to lose. De Coubertin sought to “purify and “unify” sport rather than allow it to become a purely commercial enterprise.

To stimulate more discussion of these problems and differences, de Coubertin organized an international conference on physical education for November 25, 1892, in Paris, during which he proposed a “restoration” of the Olympic Games (Mallon and Widlund 1998). His idea received a lukewarm reception. Undaunted, he organized another meeting starting on June 16, 1894, and lasting nine days at the Sorbonne. This meeting became the inaugural Olympic Congress, wherein de Coubertin hoped to solidify a conceptual framework for his proposed reorganization of the Olympic Games. As de Coubertin declared (1896), the mission of this Olympic movement was “[to] create competitions at regular periodical intervals at which representatives of all countries and all sports would be invited under the aegis of the same authority, which would impart to them a halo of grandeur and glory, that is the patronage of classical antiquity. To do this was to revive the Olympic Games: the name imposed itself: It was not even possible to find another.” While William Penny Brookes had proposed such an idea years before, de Coubertin had a friend in Athens, Demetrius Vikelas, who helped make it happen. Vikelas became the first president of the International Olympic Committee, serving from 1894 through 1896. He was appointed by, and then succeeded by, de Coubertin himself.

Athens was the logical venue choice for the initial modern Olympic Games, with Paris the appropriate follow-up. The ancient Greeks probably never envisioned a worldwide sports competition—and it was a novel concept to contemporary Greeks as well. They warmly welcomed the idea as a logical outgrowth of their several national “Olympian Games” organized earlier in the 19th century.

CREATING THE FIRST OLYMPIC MARATHON FOOTRACE

The idea for the marathon race did not originate in Greece but was conceived by Michel Bréal, an associate of Baron de Coubertin. Bréal was born in 1832 in what then was Bavaria; his parents were Jews of French descent, but they spoke German at home (Lennartz 1998). After the death of his father, when he was five, Bréal and his family moved to the French Alsace, where Bréal quickly learned French. In fact, he learned several languages as he progressed through his years of academic study, majoring in philology and mythology. His interest in mythology brought him to a consideration of Greek culture, and he became fascinated with the ancient Greek Olympic Games. He eventually became head

of France’s educational system, and this, combined with his interest in ancient

mythology, inevitably led to his attending the Sorbonne Olympic Congress. Being well versed in both sport and politics, Bréal believed that the Greek

enthusiasm for hosting these Olympic Games would be enhanced even further

by the inclusion of a sporting event relevant to Greek history. Bréal outlined his ideas in a handwritten, four-page letter to de Coubertin, written in French. A rough translation of the key paragraph is “Since you are going to Athens, see if you can’t organize a marathon race from Marathon to the Pnyx. If we knew the time that the Greek warrior took, we would be able to establish the record. For my part I would beg the honor of presenting a Marathon Cup” (see the engraved silver cup shown in the photo).

The Pnyx is a steep hill in Athens then used as a social congregating place. Perhaps Bréal envisioned the race as starting or finishing there—we don’t know. And also, of course, no one knew how long it took Pheidippides (or Philippides) to cover whatever route he used from Marathon to inform the king of victory, so it wasn’t possible to identify a record time to be broken. Nonetheless, the event was placed on the program, and the first Olympic marathon was set to be run.

The silver cup of Michel Bréal, presented to the winner of the first modern Olympic Games marathon at Athens.

JULIAN VERSUS GREGORIAN CALENDARS BRINGS OLYMPIC CONFUSION

The date of the first Athens Olympic marathon is given in the 1896 official Games report as Friday, March 29. This date is also reported in local Greek newspapers of that period. Other authoritative sources (Wallechinsky 1996) use April 10. Both are correct, which points to one of the many confusions surrounding documentation of Olympic details. At the time, Greece was using the Julian calendar, whereas much of the rest of the Western world (including most of the world today) was (and still is) using the Gregorian calendar. Some

explanation is useful.

The first modern calendar was put into use in 45 Bc by Julius Caesar, who decreed there should be three years of 365 days each and then one year of 366 days, in perpetual cycle. Known as the Julian calendar, this started the practice

March/April 2002

‘COURTESY OF KARL LENNARTZ

of adding one day to the end of February every fourth (leap) year. Although an improvement over previous systems, this scheme is inadequate because one solar year (one revolution of the Earth around the sun) requires 365 days, 5 hours, 48 minutes, 46 seconds—about 11 minutes shorter than 365+ days.

In 1582, Pope Gregory XIII proposed a correction to the Julian calendar. The new, improved version became known as the Gregorian calendar. First, to correct for all the days that had accumulated since the start of the Julian calendar, it was decreed that 10 days would be removed from 1582. The day after October 4 thus became October 15. The pope then also instituted a so-called Leap Year Rule: one day is dropped from each centesimal year (ending in 00) whose number cannot be divided by 400. Thus, a day was dropped in 1700, 1800, and 1900, and they were not leap years. A day was not dropped in 2000, so February of 2000 had 29 days.

After the decree in 1582, primarily Roman Catholic countries initially adopted the new calendar. Protestant countries joined later. The American colonies switched in 1752, when the entire British Empire changed. By that time, however, an 11-day adjustment was required. Many countries were slow to adopt the Gregorian calendar. Japan adopted it in 1873, China in 1912, and Greece not until 1924. By the time of the 1896 Olympic Games, the adjustment was 12 days, which explains why Athenian newspapers were 12 days behind newspapers from many other parts of the world. Thus, the date of March 29 on the Julian calendar used in Greece during the first Olympic Games corresponds to April 10 on the Gregorian calendar.

Some other dates for these first Olympic Games are also relevant. The Opening Ceremonies were on Sunday, March 24 Julian (April 5 Gregorian). For a specific reason, de Coubertin wanted the competitions to start on the following day. In 1896, the Christian and Eastern Orthodox Easters coincided, and thus his “resurrection” of the Olympic Games on Easter Monday for both religions was especially symbolic (MacAloon 1981). This day was also the Independence Day of Greece. The marathon occurred on the fifth day of competition and was the last contested event in athletics (track and field). The final day of competition was April 3 Julian (April 15 Gregorian), with the Closing Ceremonies one day later.

REFERENCES

Chrysaphes, I. 1930. The modern Olympic Games. Athens: Gergiadon Publishing Co.

Cooper, P. 1998. The American marathon. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press.

Dodd, E. 1997. The great six-day races. Marathon & Beyond 1(1): 73-89.

de Coubertin, P. 1896. The Olympic Games of 1896. In The Olympic Games, 776 Bc1896 ap. ed. C. Beck. Translated 1966. London: H. Grevel & Co.

Herodotus. The Histories. Book VI. Translated by G. Rawlinson. Everyman’s Library. New York: Random House.

Ioannides, I. 1976. The true course run by the marathon messenger. Olympic Review 109-110: 599-602.

Kyle, D. 1998. Dictionary of world biography: The ancient world. Edited by F.N. Magill. Hackensack, NJ: Salem Press.

Lennartz, K. 1998. Following the footsteps of Bréal. Journal of Olympic History 6(2): 8-10.

MacAloon, J.J. 1981. This great symbol: Pierre de Coubertin and the origin of the modern Olympic Games. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Mallon, B. andT. Widlund. 1998. The 1896 Olympic Games. Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Co., Inc., Publishers.

Martyn, S.G. 1997. Book review. Olympika 6: 129-136.

Nepos, C. Miltiades, 4.

Quercetani, R.L. 1990. Athletics: A history of modern track & field athletics (18601990). Milano: Vallardi & Associati.

Riihl, J. 1997. The Olympian Games at Athens in the year 1877. Journal of Olympic History 5(3): 26-34.

Solinus. Collectanea rerum memorabilium. Book I.

Wallechinsky, D. 1996. The complete book of the Summer Olympics, 1996 edition. New York: Little, Brown & Company. “

Young, D.C. 1996. The modern Olympics: A struggle for revival. Baltimore: est Johns Hopkins University Press. ¢

Note. This essay is from The Olympic Marathon by David Martin and Roger Gynn. Copyright 2000 by David Martin and Roger Gynn. Excerpted by permission of Human Kinetics, Champaign, IL. Available in bookstores or by contacting 1-800-747-4457 or www.humankinetics.com.

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THE PHEIDIPPIDES LEGEND

The “Real” First Marathon

The Winners Get to Write the History Books, But They’re Very Often Wrong.

O NE OF the least-debated historical subjects is the origin of the marathon. But Herodotus, the Father of History, was Greek and told a very onesided story. You’ve surely heard the saying that “the winners write the history books.” It’s unfortunate that over all these years, the Greek version has been made readily available, while the “real” story has been, shall we say, underlooked.

You’d think considering the relevance of the subject, especially in this day and age when everyone and his Aunt Bertha are running marathons, there would be deeper study of the world’s first marathon run. Even the very completely complete The Olympic Marathon by David Martin and Roger Gynn, published in 2000, gets it all wrong.

Noting the vacuum in reliable scholars on this subject, I felt sucked into the debate and appointed myself a committee of one to research the first marathon.

MY OWN FIRST MARATHON

When I ran my first marathon in 1987, I looked into the origin of this most grueling of sports. I felt that by learning of its origins, I could better understand its strange attraction to people in literally every backwater in the world. First, I checked my handydandy encyclopedia—always a good starting point. After reading a brief description and the one-sided historical “facts,” tears welled in my eyes, and the page began to blur. As a former American president often said, “Here we go again.” This was yet another put-down of Iranians (then known as Persians), this time by Herodotus, a guy you’d think would know better. But I guess everybody throughout history had a political agenda they were pushing.

Being of pure Persian ancestry, I felt compelled to run a marathon the hard way and not be overshadowed by the performance of the alleged first marathoner,

that Greek guy Pheidippides. I refused to stop for water or rest during my training in the blistering Oklahoma summer of 1987, not even on my 20+ milers. I feared that if I took water or rested, I would tarnish the sanctity of my endeavor and not measure up to the Greek’s standards. I was afraid the race officials would disqualify me and pull me from the race if I was spotted taking a drink or a walk break. Not until I crossed the Verrazano Narrows Bridge and spied all the crumpled paper cups strewn all over the Brooklyn pavement was I convinced that it was okay to drink and walk during the course of the race. It was then I began to question the authenticity of the Origin of the First Marathon, as Herodotus has led us to believe it.

THE PERSIAN REBUTTAL

As I got to know other runners in my hometown and began to train with them, lasked them about their knowledge of the first marathon. I received two kinds of responses: either they knew no more about it than I did, or they flat knew nothing at all about it. At that point I realized that the brainwashing about the subject had completed its cycle—nothing remained to be done but put the brains in the dryer along with the Downy, and no one would ever question how the wash was done.

Well, then: you have all read about or heard the Greek version. It’s now time for the Persian rebuttal.

Imagine the scene if you can: the year is 490 Bc, a clear mid-September day with low humidity and temperature in the low 70s on the Marathon Plains, 25 miles from Athens, Greece. Twenty-five thousand Persian fighting men land by sea on the Plains of Marathon in one of the greatest gatherings of its kind to that date. The Greek army of 10,000 arrived from Athens and spent the night trying to figure out how to push back the dreaded Persians without getting themselves annihilated. A little, skinny guy named Pheidippides, who was the Little Big Man of his time, climbed a huge olive tree and camouflaged himself within the thickness of the late-season branches. He was the only one left to tell the Greek version of the story.

The Greek army was no match for the warlike Persians. The Athenians had hoped the Spartans would be able to join them to help repel the Persians, but there was a full moon, which meant a pagan festival, and the Spartans elected to stay home and enjoy the annual Harvest Festival and State Fair.

At this point, I would appeal to the sensibility, intelligence, and common sense of my readers/marathoners. If the Athenians had won the War of Marathon, would it not make sense that the first thing they’d have done would be to get down and party, rummage through the dead Persians, relieving them of the

spoils of victory, and only then, when the fun was over, send someone to Athens to let them know all was well? As any warrior will tell you, that is the normal course of war. The Greeks, however, would have you believe that the Little Big Man immediately took off at a gallop, running 25 miles to the gates of Athens, bleating out his message of victory as he expired from exhaustion. It has never made sense to me. :

According to my more impeccable sources, here’s what really happened: Pheidippides, the little coward, witnessed the certain defeat of the Greeks, leapt from his concealing olive tree, and sprinted toward Athens like a scared rabbit to spread the bad news.

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MICHAEL HUGHES

After the battle was won by the Persians, King Darius gathered his troops together and instructed them to hustle on to Athens to get the booty hoarded there, for everyone knew the Athenians were a wealthy people (after all, they were the Greek salad makers to the world).

THE FIRST MARATHON RACE

The fact that the first Persian to the gates would reap the greatest reward in booty made the race from Marathon the first professional marathon race in history. The race was also ecumenical. There were no age brackets, no handicapping, and no qualifying time needed to compete.

The first to the gates had their pick of all the available virgins they could deflower, all the virgin olives they could eat, and enough virgin olive oil to fill

Fred Ebrahimi THE “REAL” FIRST MARATHON #43

a swimming pool. These prizes were, after all, the original reason for the invasion—well, that and the fact the Athenians were getting under King Darius’s skin because every time he went to whup a Greek city-state’s butt for going against his wishes, the meddling Athenians would jump in and help out that city-state.

With more of an incentive to run like the wind than Pheidippides had (who was, after all, burdened with a big bag of bad news… .), the lead Persians caught up to Pheidippides shortly before he reached the gates, thereby depriving the Athenians of advanced warning of the invasion.

The Persians invaded Athens, and the pace of the party and pillaging increased 10-fold from the slim pickings at Marathon. In the world’s first postmarathon party, the finishers reveled in their glory and newfound status as conquerors of the new race distance. The Greeks did the best they could to placate the victorious Persians, contributing the ouzo, the predecessor of the martini, while also putting together a feast of olives, bananas, feta cheese, and lavish pocket sandwiches. By this they hoped to fill the bellies of the Persians and make them sluggish in their celebrating.

| MICHAEL HUGHES

UNVEILING THE TRUTH

I came upon the true story of the first marathon through plain old diligent research. Before returning to the old country to do firsthand research, I talked with a childhood friend, Faramarz, another purebred Persian like myself. He is also a runner and has been a participant in many large European marathons. I outlined to him my fact-finding trip to the motherland, and he admitted his admiration for my courage in taking a chance with my life for such a noble cause. (It just happens that, for reasons I’d rather not get into here, I’ ve for years been persona non grata in my native Iran.) He assured me that if I could debunk the Greek myth of the marathon, I might well be forgiven in my native Iran for my misguided allegiance to the Great Satan and might even receive the Persian equivalent of the medal of citizenship and honor. That would at least temporarily save me from a public stoning as a stooge for the evil Uncle Sam.

Since the entire ancient history of Persia is carved on several granite cliffs in the ancient Persian language of Conifer, I had to prepare for my trip by going to night school. Conifer is to Persian much like Ebonics is to the King’s English. In order to find a place where Conifer is taught, I had to enroll at an Iranian inner-city night school in west Los Angeles, where a million displaced Iranians reside.

The cliffs are similar in shape and height to Stone Mountain in Georgia, and the history is written in very small type since it contains, in compact form, several centuries’ worth of history. It requires a scholar to bend back as far as possible and use binoculars to read the text. To condition myself to take on such a task, I spent four hours each day for a full month at Home Depot reading the fine print of the product description and prices of merchandise on the top shelves. By the end of the month, I had acquired the same flexibility as Linda Blair in The Exorcist—or even more so, as I could now count the moles on my back.

OFF TO IRAN FOR THE FACTS

Armed with a hard-to-find Conifer dictionary and assorted surveying equipment, I took my never-used geology degree and headed to Iran ona fact-finding mission.

When I arrived in Tehran, my old friend Faramarz picked me up at the airport. After discussing my plan and seeking his advice, I accompanied him to the sacred mountain, where we boarded a Bell helicopter (which, incidentally, was made in Iran during the Shah’s regime) and headed south to the 500 Bc capital of the Persian Empire, known as Persapolis.

First, we studied the cliff writings and took photos of the carved history for later study. Translation of the material revealed what we had suspected:

Herodotus was a fraud. He was no better than his modern biased media wonks. He had written the history as he wished it had happened, and not as it was. The indisputable facts are substantiated by tangible evidence discovered by those great historians, Faramarz and myself.

Wonderful additional facts emerged from the translations of the Conifer carvings. Persians had an insatiable thirst for Shiraz, a wonderfully diverse grape that would eventually evolve in several directions, becoming Chardonnay, Cabernet, Pinot, and a great vodkalike spirit called Araq. The kings of the Persian Empire attempted to strike a deal with the Greeks for free trade. The Greek citizens against WTO (World Trade Organization) rushed to downtown Athens and set the vendor carts on fire. Any product sporting an imported label was looted. The minority isolationist leader in the Greek Parliament, a fellow named Patrick, led the fight, and the House eventually turned down the deal. Darius the Great, the Persian monarch, gave the hand of his daughter to Mardonius, the ruler of Macedonia. This act of goodwill kept the flow of olive oil and Greek olives going until the Athenians interfered with the shipments. That action was one of several that precipitated the Battle of Marathon.

When Faramarz and I flew over the remains of Persapolis, we noticed a very peculiar pattern of qanats. Qanats, invented in ancient Persia, are a most ingenious way to transport water from one point to another. A well is dug to the water table in the fluvial plain, and once the water table is reached, a tunnel is dug toward the point where the water is to be used. Every half mile or kilometer, another well is dug to allow the flow into the new well. It was not unusual for water to be transported in this manner for hundreds of miles. This subterranean transportation also minimized the evaporation of a precious commodity in the high and arid Persian plateau. This technology, later adopted in Afghanistan, is now providing the hiding places for the Taliban.

Gazing down, Faramarz and I were struck by the unusual pattern of qanats leading to Persapolis. Exactly 25 qanat openings were visible from the helicopter, arranged in a kidney shape, starting from the center of Persapolis, going out and away from the city, but circling back to the center of town. Even more startling, when we measured the distance between each qanat, it measured one farsang, the approximate value of a mile. Undoubtedly, this was the site of the first marathon to be run on a designed and measured one-loop course.

GARBAGE MAKES THE MATTER MOOT

Further examination of the course yielded more amazing artifacts. An enormous number of broken clay water cups were strewn around the qanat openings and along the trail to the next qanat. This pattern continued all the way to the final qanat, which served as both the start and finish of the loop.

We also discovered fossilized banana peels and other typical discards: remnants of sandals complete with goat bladders as insoles (apparently the first aircushioned footwear).

At farsang intervals, we found remains of jars containing residue of petroleum jelly. Clearly, volunteers offered lubricating substance to the participants, as is done in modern marathons. (This is not surprising since the first freeflowing petroleum was discovered at Persapolis more than 5,000 years ago.) In fact, the eternal fire at this location led to the rise of civilization and eventually spread to other continents.

Radiocarbon dating confirmed that many of the objects were from the 489 Bc era. This was, to our way of thinking, direct evidence that the Persians celebrated their victory at Marathon on an annual basis. Examination of mounds of artifacts substantiated our findings that this annual event, a celebration running of the “marathon,” continued until the Arab invasion of Persia some 1,300 years ago. From that date onward, we found no evidence of marathon races, indicating to us that the Moslem invasion put a stop to all partying and introduced to the populace—or, more likely, forced upon the populace—a fundamentalist way of life not far different from the life the ayatollahs of today dictate. A sad state of affairs. This past 1,300 years of suppression of athletic activities in Iran would give credence to Herodotus’s version of events if you failed to seek evidence beyond that time period.

But let’s be logical about this. If the Persians had lost the Battle of Marathon, why would they then come home and inaugurate an annual repeat of the same agonizing experience? If you’re a marathoner, you know the answer to that. After a successful marathon, no matter how difficult, you can’t wait to do another one.

ADDITIONAL STUDIES

At this writing, [have been informed that my fact-finding mission has spawned several institutions of higher learning to embark on their own research. Both the Addis Ababa Poly Institute in Ethiopia and the Rift Valley Agricultural and Mechanical University in Kenya are world centers for the study of long-distance running, and they have since conducted extensive research on the question of who won the Battle of Marathon. Their studies have extended as far back as the Pleistocene Epoch of the Cenozoic Era. This research, covering somewhere between | and 3 million years, though a very noble endeavor, does not serve the modern age. In all likelihood, their research will be challenged as soon as it is published by that other bastion of running, the University of Kansas. The creation science professors with God on their side will oppose the findings. The two major institutions’ research will be doomed and may possibly

Fred Ebrahimi THE “REAL” FIRST MARATHON Hf 47

throw the sport into an international cultural war. One cultural war in Kansas is enough. The clash will likely be loud enough to obscure our focus on the origin of the marathon. Which once again will leave my own research as the only modern, credible crucible of fact on the subject.

The Greeks have no substantiated evidence except the story told by Herodotus—writing that amounts to feel-good fiction to be read out loud to put children to sleep.

Perhaps it is time to revive the Persapolis Marathon, to run it on its original course, to run from qanat to qanat, to celebrate the first-ever annual marathon (run from 489 Bc to roughly Ap 700) created by victorious Persians to celebrate their glorious accomplishments on the Plain of Marathon in 490 Bc.

T have sent a letter to the ayatollah suggesting this very thing. I am not expecting a timely response. Still, if the marathon continues to grow in every corner of the world at its present rate, Iran is going to want to reclaim its rightful place as the ultimate creator of this divine event.

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Goodies and Awards

‘We do not spend our budget on purses for an elite few – we spend it on each entrant. Our Marathon runners and walkers receive high-quality, long-sleeved finisher’s shirt, medal, poster, food and drink, space blankets, and a great goody bag. Our related event participants also receive shirts and an assortment of goodies.

Last year over 1,250 awards were given out. We have five-year age divisions, masters, Clydesdale, state and country competition, as well as team, race walker, wheelchair, and other special handicapped categories.

An Event for Everyone

You do not have to be a marathoner to enjoy the Portland Marathon because there are seven other events that take place on marathon morning or during the weekend.

Our Five-Miler is an excellent event for beginning and competitive middle distance runners. The Mayor’s Walk is 6.2 miles of fun along the last 6.2 miles of the marathon course. The Kids’ Marafun is a noncompetitive approximately two-mile event for kids 12 and younger and anyone else who wants. to join them. The 26.2 mile Marathon Walk allows the walkers to share the thrill, excitement and the same perks as their running counterparts.

Our other weekend events include a first-class race directors’ conference, a spectacular sports and fitness expo, the best pasta party in the west, and a great post-race/awards party. In short, we offer an event for everyone in the family. Course and Weather The marathon course is rolling with a few long gradual hills on the first part of the course. The route wanders through downtown Portland, China Town, Old Town and neighborhoods with tree-lined streets.

There are plenty of dramatic views of the |

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The second half of the course can easily produce a “negative split” for our runners. An average of 33% have set PRs! The weather is normally in the low 50s. It is the best time of year to be in Portland. Organization

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Running With the Dragons

An American Marathoner Runs in China and Finds It’s Different—But the Same.

[rs A Sunday morning in Beijing, and the 2000 Chicago Marathon is 10 weeks away. I’m two hours and 29 minutes into a two-hour and 30-minute training run. I’m guessing that at my pedestrian speed it’s been 16 miles, but since you don’t get mile markers in China, I just check in with my gut and keep going. I glance at my running watch with satisfaction: 2:29:30. Thirty seconds from now, I can go get a cold bottle of water and hail a taxi back to my dorm room at Beijing Normal University, where I’ m enrolled in a Mandarin language course sponsored by Princeton University’s Chinese department.

Suddenly my toe hits a section of concrete jutting up from the pavement. I trip, my Walkman goes flying, and in a second and a half I’m sprawled on the dirty concrete with a gashed-up knee. What feels like 10,000 Chinese eyes are suddenly pointing my way, and everything around me gets very quiet. The locals look at me as though I’m an interplanetary visitor who’s just crashlanded in their town.

And in some way, maybe I am. Here I am, an Italian-American female runner in Beijing, dressed in Western-style running shorts, a Jogbra, fancy running shoes, and sporting a fresh new bloody knee in one of the city’s biggest parks.

Leave it to me to figure out the best way to get noticed halfway around the world.

WHERE IT ALL STARTED

This story is about running in a new place. It’s also about rediscovering old places when you bring running to new places. Like the dirt track that you find behind a run-down building on a Beijing University campus. All of a sudden you’re 13 years old again, running the very first mile of your life on a gravel

track behind the local junior high school. You remember how awkward you were and how you joined the track team because it was the Thing To Do when you were in the 8th grade. Then the teacher put you in the mile race because, well, that’s what they did with the slow kids.

Yes, Iconfess. I was a Slow Kid. I’m still a Slow Kid, age notwithstanding, but I’m also a Kid Who Just Loves to Run. My five marathon finishes attest to that. But it’s not just the finisher’s medals hanging in my bedroom that prove my love for the sport. It’s the fact that, wherever I go in the world, I’ ve just gotta take my running shoes. China was no exception. Especially when I had a marathon coming up.

BRINGING RUNNING TO CHINA

If you’ ve never packed your running shoes when going overseas, then you’ ve never traveled with the likes of me. I’ve been studying strange and exotic languages (or at least languages that seem strange and exotic to your average North American) since my college days.

It started with five years of Russian, including a stint studying (and running) in the former Soviet Union in the early 1990s. Then it morphed into Mandarin Chinese four years ago. Just to let you know: I’m completely lacking in any sympathy for communist governments. It just sort of happened this way, that in the fall of 1989—1ight before the Berlin Wall was brought down, beginning Eastern Europe’s irreversible slide into democracy and market economics—I enrolled in first-year Russian in college.

Eventually I took it on as my major, and I traveled to Russia three times in the next five years. In the fall of 1997, having been thoroughly fascinated by both the martial and healing arts of East Asia, I decided it was time for a new adventure. At that point I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to do with Chinese once I had it, but the Far East had been beckoning for quite a while, so I decided it was time to check it out and see what awaited me over there.

This is what I called the Door Number One school of going through life, and I think it might have a little bit to do with why I’m a marathoner. It’s a simple philosophy, really.

When you get to a door in life, why not just walk through and see what’s on the other side?

When I first started running, I suspect it would have been hugely demoralizing if I had ever really gotten the gist of the thing—which of course was that if you finish last in a race, you are supremely uncool.

But for some reason, that little gem of wisdom never hit my tender running ears. I just ran. When high school came around and I could suddenly run 3.1 miles ina single race in cross-country, I thought that sounded like fun, so I went

out for the team. Then one day I finished last in a race and got made fun of by one of the boy runners. (I’ ve always wanted to send him photos of my marathon finishers’ medals, by the way—not that I’m bitter or anything.) Another time a coach brought up a new, juicy goal: a 10K road race. Not a high school crosscountry race but a real all-comers road race. Did that too. And on I went until one fine day in April 1990 as a college freshman, I lined up with all the other bandits at the back of the pack at the Boston Marathon and ran until my legs gave out at mile 14. The bug had bitten, and this sickness was contagious.

So what does all this have to do with China?

Well, I started running because it was there and because I couldn’t think of a good reason not to do it. And I came to China for the same reasons. By the summer of 2000 I’d run four marathons, taken a nice chunk off my PR, and started to dream about coming back to Boston officially (besides the 1990 Boston start, there was also a little matter of the 1993 race, which I actually finished, again as a bandit).

This particular running adventure started the day I decided to apply to graduate school in Chinese. The link between sport and China for me was clear: from my beginnings as a runner, I had gradually become more and more interested in health and fitness issues.

I took certification as a personal trainer and group exercise instructor, and then I thought, wouldn’t it be cool to be able to study Chinese medicine, with the goal of writing about alternative medical practices for a mainstream audience?

That meant one thing: I had to actually go. To China. To study Chinese. The same year I was training for my first Chicago Marathon.

Gulp.

This was going to take some work.

SETTING STRATEGIES

The blast of heat outside Beijing International Airport told the tale: when you bring your running to anew country, you need to learn the rules of engagement. As I wheeled my baggage to the curb, I sucked in the hot air and realized it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. It was June 17, 2000. Those rules were going to get learned quickly.

(By the way, I also noticed a few posters around the airport reading “New Beijing, Great Olympics” and sporting a great emblem: a flower-burst in the Olympic colors that I’ ve since learned is a depiction of a person doing tai chi. Little did I know at that time that Beijing was in the running to be designated as a Candidate City for the 2008 Summer Games. But we’ll get to that a bit later.)

So without further ado, here are the rules as I learned them in those first weeks running in China:

1. Do your homework.

2. Deal with the traffic and pollution problems.

3. Find appropriate running venues.

4. Take care of your health.

5. Make sure you’ ve got the right running gear with you.

And now for the specifics.

THE RULES

Rule number one for running in a new country is simple: do your homework.

Culture, weather, availability of clean water, and sports facilities—everything affects your ability to train properly. I went running for the first time in Beijing two days after I arrived (good) but waited until 6:30 a.m. to get started and chose a road clogged with traffic at that hour (not good). The first couple of days were just about getting my bearings and knocking off the jet lag, but I knew things were going to have to improve—and quickly.

The good news is that when I reach a new destination, I never doubt in my heart that running there will be possible. It may not always be easy; it might even be a severe pain in the neck to get yourself going sometimes, but it will always, always be possible. Of such determination is a successful marathontraining schedule in Beijing born.

The first obstacle [had to overcome while training in the middle ofa Beijing summer was simple: all that heat. By 8:00 in the morning you’re looking at temperatures of 75 degrees or worse. Part of the reason it gets so hot so early is that China doesn’t use daylight saving time, so the skies begin to lighten up by 4:30 a.m. So [had to get up earlier than usual. Okay. I could do that.

Rule number two deals with a double-edged challenge not unique to Beijing: traffic and pollution. Just about every large city in the world has problems in this area, though Beijing takes the cake—it’s a very tough place to try to breathe clean air. Remember never to put yourself at risk, whether it be running in traffic jams or in obviously polluted environments. It’s no secret that Beijing has some of the worst traffic problems around. When you add in soot from the factories and dust from the little land mass next door called the Gobi Desert, you’ re talking about some severe air pollution. It makes running on the roads extremely unpleasant, even early in the morning.

This leads to rule number three: find appropriate running venues.

If there’s traffic on the road at 6:00 in the morning, get off the roads by then. Or look for running routes that circumvent the traffic entirely. I did two things

to combat this problem. First, I found the track at Beijing Normal University. Who knew that in a city of massive congestion you could also find a suitable 400-meter track at just about every university and school campus? You might have to have university affiliation to get in—or get a Chinese-speaking friend to help you—but they’ re there.

The second thing I did was find a park where I could do my long runs. Beijing may suffer from overpopulation and stuffy air, but it’s also the home of the emperors, and the emperors liked their parks. I like the piece of advice Iread a few years back about running while traveling: get a good city map and look for the green. In my case, the closest green to home base was Beihai Park, just six kilometers from my dorm room.

The final two rules have to do with personal care. First, mind your insides: drink lots of water and eat healthfully. And finally, make sure you’ ve got the proper gear to run in and that you allow yourself to recover well. This was where Beijing really surprised me. Long runs in Beijing (once you’re inside the park, of course) are easier by far than runs in the West in two important respects: water and bathrooms. Public toilets are everywhere (bring your own toilet paper; I tucked a package of tissues into my running shorts before heading out) and so are kiosks selling water, other beverages, and Popsicles. I carried a wristband that held keys and money, so hydration was never an issue; I could pick up a fresh bottle of water no matter where I was in the city.

Then there was that little knee-scrape incident in Beihai Park.

Nota second after I fell, no fewer than five Chinese women approached me. One held a medicated Band-Aid, another a package of wet-nap tissues. A third dispensed running advice: “You fell because you were too tired. You need to stop for the day and go home.” In the end I was cleaned up by my hosts and sent on my way but not before learning yet another important safety lesson: carry bandages when you can because you never know when you’re going to need them.

If you’re heading to mainland China, running gear is best brought from home, from shorts and Jogbras to running shoes and energy gels. There are a few fancy (read: expensive) shops in the larger shopping districts that sell imported running shoes from major Western companies, but there’s no guarantee you’re going to find the model you need. Name-brand clothing and shoes sold in small kiosks and street shops are knockoffs. Tuck an extra pair of running shoes into your carry-on bag before you board the airplane, and everything should be okay.

As far as nutrition in Beijing goes, there are going to be challenges, not the least of which is the fact that menus are rarely translated into English unless you want to eat at Pizza Hut and Outback Steakhouse every day. But if you

think Chinese food in the West is good, wait until you taste the real stuff. It’s amazingly yummy, and if you make the right choices it can be super healthy as well.

One warning, though: watch out for street stalls serving Things That Are Fried. The proprietors of such establishments sometimes change the cooking oil during the day, and sometimes they don’t. My one case of Montezuma’s revenge—level diarrhea was brought on directly by a little piece of fried bread that looked oh-so-good in the window but turned out to have been fried in threeday-old oil. No fun there. A bottle of Pepto-Bismol and a night spent on the toilet later, I was back out in the world. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

BUILDING A WORKOUT SCHEDULE

So now that you’ ve got the tools, you actually have to go out and run. Here’s how I put a marathon-training schedule together using all those Chinese building blocks.

Sundays were my days for long runs. During the week, on whatever little free time I could squeeze in between classes, I would get out for at least two 30to 40-minute runs. A third workout session would be devoted to the track. If I had the energy, I’d get up ona Saturday morning for a tempo run. But I didn’t always have the energy (jet lag plus hot weather equals a very tired marathoner after a while), and I did my best not to beat myself up over it.

Long runs were the best day of the week. First, ’d tuck a few renminbi (the Chinese currency, abbreviated RMB; the exchange rate is about 8.2 RMB per American dollar) into my running shorts, along with a package of tissues for

Sundays were the author’s long-run days. Now that’s hill training: taking in the vistas at the Great Wall after arun.

the obligatory mid-run visit to the public bathroom, trot outside my dorm room at Beijing Normal University, and hit the streets.

My target was Beihai Park, the aforementioned oasis of acity park near campus. I knew the distance because I would treat myself to a taxi ride back to campus after my run and the ubiquitous red Chinese cabs in town charge a flat 10 RMB for the first five kilometers, then another 1.2 to 1.6 RMB per kilometer after that. My bill was around 12 RMB, depending on the route the driver took.

Once inside the park, I would dodge tai chiclasses, elderly women performing dances with fans, and couples taking ballroom dancing lessons—all of which were happening at 6:00 in the morning.

There were always a few other runners there—mostly men, all in thinsoled Chinese sneakers, circling the lake inside the park. I doubted that anyone else was training for a marathon, but then the Beijing Marathon pours 30,000 runners out onto the streets every October, so what do I know?

There was no time to ask these guys what they were up to, though. When you’ ve just figured out how to beat the pollution and crowded streets of the capital of the most populous nation in the world, life gets pretty simple.

The author escaped the city’s polluted air by running in its many parks, but thatalso meant dodging tai chi classes at 6:00 in the morning.

CULTURE SHOCK

When I first went to China, I wondered if I would find any sort of running culture there. I wondered if I would be stared at as I tooled around the streets of Beijing in my Western running gear, if I would be arrested for indecent exposure, or simply laughed at by the locals. As it turned out, none of that happened. I had no idea that I would be welcomed, that people would give me a thumbs-up sign as I passed them while running through the parks, and that running would become a way to connect with this culture as surely as it had been in America.

Then there were the surprises: the things that seem ordinary to the outside world but feel enthralling to you because they’re new. That’s what happened the day I found the track at Beijing Normal University. There was nothing fancy about this track—it was a dirt track, plain and simple, with soccer nets set up on the infield for China’s true favorite sport.

I set out running on my first morning at the university with no real plan; I knew that the university had an enclosed campus of sorts, so I thought this would be a good way to explore a bit. Whenever I hit an intersection, I just turned one way or the other—no thought, really, into where I was going or where I would end up. Then I made a turn around a large classroom building and noticed a clearing. A second later, I realized I was looking at a track. A running track. And suddenly, the world got just a little bit bigger.

There are runners here too, I thought, and I just found their home.

Happily I circled the track a few times—and then came a clap of thunder. On this first morning of track running in China, the first rain of my stay in Beijing came as well. A welcome rain, for even at 6:00 a.m. the temperature was 75 degrees and rising, with humidity to match.

I skipped through the mud like a piglet on a happy day, then realized that I was making a bit of a show of myself. Gathering underneath the awning of the big classroom building were the people—all of them Chinese—who had been

Back to basics: the dirt track at Beijing Normal University was simple but effective and made the author’s training for the 2000 Chicago Marathon a bit easier.

~~ MarchiApril 2002

walking, running, or doing tai chi before the storm hit. I sheepishly walked back to where they were standing and took a place alongside them until the rain subsided. My socks were muddy for weeks, but boy was I a happy girl.

When you first thought about running a marathon, did you doubt that you could do it? That anyone could do it? If you did have those doubts, then what led you to cross the abyss and say, Hey, I believe it can be done?

Ask 10 different people and you’ ll get 10 different answers: faith, belief in oneself, trust in one’s ability to achieve great things in sport. But I think it all boils down to one thing. We all believe in magic. We all believe in the ability to do something we haven’t done before. When I made that last turn on winding roads around the university campus and suddenly the track appeared before my eyes, I knew I believed. After six days in this new country, I realized that there were others out there just like me. And suddenly China wasn’t a foreign place, and these fellow runners were my brothers and sisters, and there was a track workout to be done, and, by God, I was going to do it.

NEW BEWING, GREAT OLYMPICS

While we’re on the topic of magic and miracles, let me allude to one extraordinary incident in my time in China that solidified my belief in the power of sport to communicate universally.

After the summer of 2000, I came back home to Boston and prepared my graduate school applications. (I also ran an 18-minute PR in Chicago, proof positive that my workout plan in Beijing did the job.)

I started to plan my return to China in the summer of 2001, to bone up on my Mandarin before facing the rigors of graduate school research. This is where those Olympic posters at the airport become relevant. When I first came to Beijing, I had no idea that the city was even in the running for the 2008 Olympic Games. And I certainly had no idea that just a year later I would return to China to witness the birth of a new era in sport: Beijing winning the vote by a landslide, marking the first time China will host the Olympic Games.

It was July 13, 2001. The entire International Olympic Committee meeting was broadcast over Chinese national television live from Moscow—all 12 hours’ worth of it, from the five candidate cities’ final presentations to the actual vote.

The Chinese delegation offered up a stunning presentation in English, French, and Mandarin. Their plans for the city include many improvements that will surely raise the standard of living for the average Beijing citizen: a new highway circling the city to alleviate traffic congestion, more buses converted to use natural gas, reduction of pollution, and a state-of-the-art railway system connecting the airport to the city center.

Mary Nicole Nazzaro RUNNING WITH THE DRAGONS #59

In the United States this past spring, I took the pulse of my friends in the Olympic sportswriting business: did Beijing really have a shot at getting the 2008 Games? Most said yes, a few said no, but you better believe that when IOC president Juan Antonio Samaranch went to the podium in Moscow with that envelope in his hand, my fingers were crossed for Beijing.

Then came the vote.

Beijing landed a clean majority in the second round of voting after Osaka was eliminated in the first round. If you have never seen television commentators burst out crying while reporting a story, you weren’t watching TV in China that night. There was a huge outburst of cheers from everywhere—from the crowds at a televised celebration in the western part of Beijing to the TV studios to the small cafe on campus near my dorm room.

The sports station broadcast the phrase shen ao cheng gong on the air: “The Olympic bid was successful!”

I jogged over to the Internet cafe to file a story for Runner’s World Online and then learned that an all-night impromptu party was being held atTiananmen Square. It was 12:30 a.m. when I heard the news. My decision was split-second. [had to go.

TIANANMEN SQUARE REDUX: WE ARE ONE COUNTRY

The Chinese flags are out in full force, and the cheering resonates from every street corner. It’s 1:00 on the morning of July 14. It’s been three hours since Beijing was awarded the 2008 Games. The firecrackers, cheers, and screams of delight from Beijing citizens when the vote was announced have melded into a single symphony of joy, one that I can hear cycling the whole distance from my university dorm to Tiananmen Square.

TP’ mriding my bicycle—a little purple one-speeder, just enough for commuting purposes in this town—and I’m headed to a place that the modern Western world remembers for just one thing but that resonates with millions of Chinese citizens for its history as the home of the emperors. “We have one house,” someone sings, and the crowd joins in. “Its name is China!” they sing back. “Long live the Olympics! Long live China! Long live Beijing!” they cheer.

It has been 12 years, one month, and 11 days since the pro-democracy movement in Beijing was crushed by the Chinese government. Seven years from now, the sporting world will come to Beijing for the Olympic Games. The streets are packed full of people. The police have shut down the streets to cars so that people can walk safely to the square. And once I hit Tiananmen, I’m overcome by the music, the songs, the dragon dances, and the pure happiness of the moment.

Young party goers celebrate in Tiananmen Square after learning that China was awarded the 2008 Olympic Summer Games.

By the time I’ ve made it back to the university at 5:00 A.M., ?’mfully aware that this country has been reborn on this night. The IOC has given Beijing—and all of China—an affirmation, anda decisive one at that. Not one, I believe, of validating the current human rights situation in China or a cynical nod to the 1.3 billion Chinese citizens who represent the world’s largest consumer market. But an affirmation of hope: we believe that you can do this. The crowds continue to sing and cheer all through the night. And for a moment, I feel as much a part of this party as anyone here.

Can sport sometimes accomplish what political struggle cannot? The 2000 Olympic Games in Australia lent an international spotlight to the plight of the Aborigines, a struggle perfectly symbolized by Cathy Freeman and her spectacular gold-medal 400-meter run.

This year the Western press skewered China’s human-rights record in the weeks leading up to the IOC vote; Canada’s Globe and Mail even took a potshot at the state-sponsored televised celebration, noting that it was an invitation-only affair to which the Western press was not welcome. (That wasn’t true, by the way; that night I talked with an American journalist at Tiananmen who had just come from the official celebration.)

Ican’t say that China’s human-rights record will improve to a level that the United States government will be happy with by 2008; I can’t even say that China won’ t follow the lead of the former Soviet Union and turn the Games into a triumphant celebration of the superiority of socialism. I can tell you, though, that there was nothing state-sponsored about the Tiananmen Square celebration. There was only joy.

A middle-age couple approached me and excitedly shared their thoughts: “Do you realize that now people from the West will have the opportunity to visit

MARY NICOLE NAZZARO

China and to really understand our culture?” they asked. “Bring your mother! Bring your family! We will see you in 2008!”

Say what you will about the Communist Party, but even they can’t choreograph a moment like that.

There was one other thing I knew as the sky began to turn

blue in the Saturdaymorning glow of the M&B travels far and wide: the author with schoolchildren in Anhui Province.

Beijing Olympic win. It was that on this night, my athletic and writing life had come full circle. From 13-year-old turtle of arunner, I was an Olympic sports writer now, a fivetime marathon finisher, and a graduate student in Chinese. And Beijing was an Olympic city, and the citizens were basking in the joy of the moment.

You think I’ll be back in 2008? Bank on it.

IF YOU GO

Traveling to Beijing requires advance planning, particularly if you expect to run while there. Along with your gear, be sure to pack energy bars and gel and anything else you think you might need while running; such products are hard to come by in China. Gatorade is sold at some stores in Beijing at reasonable prices (about 6 RMB—75 cents U.S.—for a small bottle).

Getting Around the City

Getting around Beijing will be a whole lot easier if you understand at least some Mandarin Chinese. If you don’t, you can still figure the place out, but if you have a Chinese-speaking friend willing to run with you, life will be easier. As the 2008 Olympic Games approach, more and more Beijingers will be learning basic English phrases. If you’re alone in the city for any reason, make sure that you take a card with your hotel information, written in Chinese, if you go out. You can always show the card to a taxi driver and they’ Il get you where you need to go. Also, if you’re staying in a hotel for foreigners, the desk staff

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will be able to speak basic English as well. Note that tipping is not customary in China for taxi drivers or in restaurants, though fancy Western-style restaurants in hotels may add a service charge to your bill.

Guidebooks and Maps

Any of the major guidebooks on Beijing will be of use to you. I’ve used the Lonely Planet Guides and the Rough Guides myself, but I’ve also seen plenty of other great books. A city guide of Beijing is extremely useful, even if you also want to purchase a guidebook covering all of China. A tourist map, showing names of streets in both Chinese characters and pinyin (phonetic spellings), is available in any large bookstore for 8 RMB (U.S. $1.00).

Gyms and Workout Facilities

Most Western-style hotels have in-house workout facilities, and some of the best also have swimming pools, massage therapists, and other amenities. Expect to pay Western prices for access to workout facilities unless you’re a guest in the hotel. Some universities also have workout rooms, though access to these facilities may be restricted to students enrolled at the university. One of the niftier aspects of Beijing is that when you go to a hair salon for a shampoo (xitou), they give you a great upper-body massage (anmo) as well, and for an unbelievable price (about 10 to 20 RAB—U.S. $1.25 to $2.50—depending on the location).

Running Tracks and Parks

There are lots of running tracks in Beijing. Every university campus should have one, as should most high schools. Ask your Chinese friends or the staff at your hotel, and they should be able to direct you to the nearest one. City parks are also great places to run—try to get there as early as possible to beat the tourist crowds.

Besides Beihai Park, to the northwest of Tiananmen Square, you can also get in a great run at Tiantan Park, south of Tiananmen by a few blocks. If you’re up for a little more traveling, go out to Yiheyuan (the Summer Palace) in western Beijing. Park admission prices generally range from 5 to 35 RMB (U.S. $0.60 to $4.25).

Beijing is a city of great culinary adventures. Westerners might find the oil content of most foods a bit more than what they’ re used to, but many dishes can be prepared steamed.

Some of the healthiest options for runners include jingcongpaoji (chicken with scallions in brown sauce), gingzhengyu (fish steamed with soy sauce, ginger, and rice wine), and of course, the ubiquitous bowl of mifan (steamed rice). If you want jiangyou (soy sauce), you’ll have to make a special request; unlike in the West, you won’t find it on the table in an authentic Chinese restaurant.

Safety

On the whole, Beijing is a safe city, though as with any major metropolitan area, you re best off traveling in groups at night and having at least one personin your group who speaks Chinese.

Keep your passport and any other important travel documents ina safe place at all times, and always watch your wallet or purse when you’ re on the street.

When buying souvenirs from street stalls, bargaining is expected, and asking prices are astronomical if you’re a foreigner. Offer one-third of what the proprietor tells you and go from there.

Major Events

The Beijing International Marathon is held every October. Tour groups, which offer travel packages including hotel accommodations and meals, are probably the best way to travel to China for an event. For more information, visit the Marathon Tours Web site at www.marathontour.com/beijing. The Great Wall Marathon will be held on May 25, 2002, in Tianjin Province, China. Race information can be obtained at www. great-wall-marathon.com. And, of course, there’s the 2008 Olympic Games. It’s a little early to be planning your trip (unless you want to get started learning Mandarin now), but you’! want to keep up with www.nbcolympics.comas the time f gets closer.

Back Issues of M&B

Back issues of M&B are available. They are $5.00 each, plus shipping.

U.S. shipping: $2 for 1-2 issues; $3.50 for 3-12 issues; $7 for 13+ issues. Foreign/Canada shipping: $5 for 1-2 issues; $7 for 3-6 issues; $15 for 7-11 issues; $24 for 12+ issues.

Mary Nicole Nazzaro RUNNING WITH THE DRAGONS M65

Marathon Lessons from the “King of the Roads”

A Chat With Bill Rodgers About What It Means to Be a Marathoner.

By DAVE KROMER

\ N ] ELL, IT’S early Sunday morning, and here I am back out on the roads.

There are those who view Sunday mornings as a sacred time of worship in a godly sense, yet to a runner, Sundays may also provide another form of special—even spiritual—meaning. For this is the day of the week on which many true believers can be found out there sacrificing their bodies and souls on the road-racing scene. Others are cruising the streets on their weekly long runs in preparation for their next 26-miler.

Speaking of marathons, as an employee of Bill Rodgers Running Center, I have frequent opportunities to bounce the greater meaning of our sport off one of the world’s most famous marathoners, Bill Rodgers, to ask him to reflect upon some of the memorable experiences of his brilliant running career so we can theoretically apply them to today’s runners and their goals. Certainly, we can learn something about long-distance road racing from the valuable insights of this great champion, aka the “King of the Roads.”

IN THE BEGINNING…

“Long runs began when I was a collegiate runner at Wesleyan University [1966-70] when Iran with Amby Burfoot and Jeff Galloway,” Bill recalled. “At that time I never envisioned running the marathon distance. Amby took me on my first long run, a 13-miler, as an 18-year-old freshman. As a sophomore, Ican also remember a 25-miler I ran with him. I felt fine for 23 miles, then he quickly dropped me over the last two miles. Two months later Amby went on to win the 1968 Boston Marathon as a senior. To this day, I still enjoy doing long runs with my friends.”

Amby Burfoot (center) initiated Bill Rodgers to long runs when they were teammates at Wesleyan University in the 1960s.

Having beena runner for many years, Ihave seen and continue to see this theme play itself out, over and over again. Runners inspiring others to take on the challenge of the marathon. One might say that in many instances the population of runners in training for the marathon is like a brotherhood. In fact, it wasn’t until a group of guys from a local running club talked me into joining them for their Sunday morning long runs that I became seriously interested in racing the marathon. The ease with which we covered distances of 15 to 20 miles each week, when compared to my previous efforts to complete runs of this distance solo, was a revelation for me. Our runs were high quality, very enjoyable, and time just flew by. Many words of inspiration were freely given and gratefully received along the way. We fed off each other physically and mentally. And we communed with the world around us in a way that driving through it while encased in the steel body of a car never offers.

At Bill’s store, it’s quite common for customers to mention their lifelong dream to run in the Boston Marathon. My response to this statement is that although a runner may be quite understandably intimidated by the prospect of running a marathon, the fact of the matter is that the Boston Marathon is filled with regular people, just like you and me. Provided that you do the required training, you can do it too. Take on the challenge of the marathon by recognizing the rewards of training with others toward your goal. There is strength in numbers.

THE SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS

Whether you achieve your goal or fail in a particular effort, those first few days of training after such a race are always a time for reflection. Your brain can get jammed in an instant replay mode. That newly born memory can keep skipping

Dave Kromer MARATHON LESSONS Mi 67

and playing itself over and over in your head, like a broken record. (Does anyone remember what broken records are these days? Okay, how about a scratched CD?) I asked Bill to describe how he felt immediately following one of his great marathon performances. “The degree of elation after achieving success in a big marathon is like an aphrodisiac,” he admitted. ““You crave more of it again and again. That potent feeling which results stays with me for weeks, until I begin to focus in on the next big challenge. Even now, I can still remember both my successful as well as my unsuccessful races as clear as can be.”

Success is indeed a powerful, addictive force. The satisfaction and surge of motivation that result from accomplishing what you set out to do, particularly over a challenging, long-distance race such as the marathon, definitely makes itall worthwhile. For some, a goal as modest as just covering the distance yields the most satisfying moments of a lifetime. Those hard training miles month after month out there in the dead of winter and in the heat of the summer are worth it. Savor those minutes, hours, and days while memories are fresh. Use your success as motivating fuel for taking on the challenges of new goals. The power of positive visualization is unquestionable.

THE LEARNING EXPERIENCE

While success in competition is the goal of every competitive runner, over the course of their running career even great champions experience times when things don’t go as well as they had hoped or expected. I asked Bill to tell me about such an experience.

“The worst situation was in the 1976 Olympic Marathon when I finished 40th after being the prerace favorite, ranked number one in the world the year before,” he related. “I can remember the feeling of legs cramping and falling behind the leaders, everyone passing me in the last half of the race. It was a very tough time for me, and the disappointment has never really completely gone away. The effects of my frustrating performance were diminished when Fred Lebow invited me to run with the 1972 Olympic gold and 1976 silver medalist Frank Shorter in the first five-borough New York City Marathon [in fall 1976].”

Bill went on to win the New York City Marathon from 1976 through 1979 and the Boston Marathon from 1978 through 1980, having previously won Boston in 1975, among other notable accomplishments on the roads.

It is always important to remember that every time you put on those racing shoes, many variables come into play. Some you can influence, but others are beyond your control. Your training in recent weeks, health, diet, weather conditions, and hydration along the way are factors that will most certainly affect your chances for success over the long run. Juggling these factors successfully when racing over distances of 26 miles or more can certainly be a challenging

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Dave Kromer MARATHON LESSONS 69

Billwent from one of the worst situations of his running career—finishing 40th in the 1976 Olympic Marathon after being the prerace favorite (left)—to winning the first of his four consecutive New York City Marathons in 1976 (right).

task. There will be days when things go well and you achieve success, and there will be other days when things unravel and fall apart. What arunner learns from a disappointing performance and accomplishes in the future is the true measure of character. If you have a bad race, try to be rational in your analysis of what went wrong. Learn from your experience, be positive, and move on from there to your next race.

THE STRATEGIC SIDE OF RACING

When it comes to racing, both the strategy that you employ and your response to the strategy of others will significantly influence your results.

Not running your own race and drafting off others who are running faster than your planned race pace, or making too many energy-draining surges are common examples of tactics that can destroy your chances of success. There are those who prefer to go out hard in the marathon, hitting the halfway point with a cushion, gambling they can get a PR by holding on to the finish line. Others take the more moderate approach, believing that conservatism and negative splits will yield the surest path to their goal.

In that twilight zone world of marathon racing, there are times when you may be lucky enough to be running with your friends or teammates, totally under control. Other times you’re in the company of strangers. There will be

days when you end up being the stalker, methodically picking off others who went out too fast and thus crashed and burned. Other days you may be the one being stalked. Know thyself. Learn through experience what your tactical strengths and weaknesses are. Use this knowledge to your advantage by implementing your strategy accordingly.

Bill traditionally liked to lead in a race. From the front he could control the pace and intimidate other racers. But Bill did not run his best in hot weather, and he knew it. In the 1979 New York City Marathon, it was very hot, and the leaders never saw Bill because he stayed back, under control, running his race until the final miles, when the heat had wilted everyone else, and he cruised to the front as the race ran through Central Park on its way to the finish.

Lasked Bill to comment on the unpredictable, strategic side to racing. “In my early days I had races which I thought I’d win and ended up being the runner-up,” he said. “Once at the national 20K in Gardner, Massachusetts, I had expected to win, but surprisingly ended up in second place. I was really disappointed.

“Thad a similar experience in the Manchester, Connecticut, Thanksgiving Day race. These races taught me that you must always try to keep calm and accept defeat or a poor performance gracefully. After a race it is time to compliment others on their fine efforts. If you have a bad race and get beaten,

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Rodgers (#1) hammers in the Holyoke, MA, Thanksgiving Day Road Race in the mid 1970s.

remember that things may well be reversed on another day.”

‘You need only look beyond these early days to the many duels that Bill had with such marathon greats as Toshihiko Seko in the 1979 Boston Marathon to see that Bill Rodgers was to become a master strategist who certainly earned his title “King of the Roads.”

Don’t take things too seriously. Keep calm and accept the unpredictable strategic side of long-distance racing. Remember, it’s only one race.

LIFETIME RUNNER

Although some runners might enjoy repeated success in their racing exploits, the majority of us achieve exceptional performances with much less frequency, particularly as we get older. But, regardless of your rate of success, somehow it must be worth it, or you wouldn’t have stuck with it all these years.

Above and beyond your age, fitness, or level of ability, you just never know when you’ re going to have one of those special days where everything falls into place—days when you run the race of your life, exceed your expectations by a long shot, and everything seems so effortless. Although days such as these may occur with less frequency than you desire, the satisfaction that comes from such experiences just may be enough to make it all worthwhile.

Bill’s comments certainly sum things up: “Older folks who retire early can escape the situation of facing a poor race. But for myself, I’d rather be a lifetime runner, living by Teddy Roosevelt’s comments about the man or woman who is willing to risk failure.”

Be a lifetime runner. Make your running life a marathon—and pace es yourself accordingly so you fully enjoy the long run that is your life.