1990s, the nadir for U.S. marathon running was reached in 2000, when both the men’s and women’s Olympic Trials races failed to produce a single athlete able to achieve the Olympic standard qualifying times (2:14 and 2:33, respectively). That meant that for the first time in Olympic history, the United States would be allowed to send just a single man and single woman to the Games, rather than the regular complement of three men and three women. Results in the top U.S. marathons were similarly dismal, with African runners annually dominating Boston, New York, and Chicago. Often you would have to go well beyond the top 10 finishers to find an American runner. Despite much public angst and finger-pointing, the prospects for top American marathons appeared bleak. Those days are long forgotten now, relegated to the faded pages of history. A grassroots resurgence has yielded a pair of Olympic medals, a slew of fast times (including a women’s American record of 2:19:36, set by Deena Kastor in London in 2006), and finally an American victory by Meb Keflezighi in New York last fall. U.S. runners are now able to compete with premier African marathoners, certainly not in the sheer number of elite marathoners, but the top American contenders now have a legitimate chance to win major marathons, a reality that simply did not exist just 10 short years ago.

Where does it go from here?

What has wrought this metamorphosis of marathon running? How has the sport been so completely overhauled in such a short period of time, both on the elite and the participatory levels? Will the trends that have emerged over the past decade continue, or is the sport currently at its zenith, with nowhere to go but down? No one can say for certain, but studying the underlying factors that have brought us to this point can perhaps allow for a glimpse into the future and how marathon running might look 10 years from now, in 2020.

Like most growth patterns, the evolution of the marathon has not taken place overnight, although it may seem that way now. The phenomenon known as the “people’s marathon” (in which there were no qualifications for entry and anyone could feel comfortable participating regardless of ability or finishing time) can be traced back to 1976, when the New York City Marathon established its first citywide, five-borough race. That event, the first true big-city marathon, attracted athen-record field of more than 2,000 runners. Unlike Boston, which to that point had been the bellwether event of the sport, there was no time standard for entry, nor was there a strict cutoff finishing time, as in Boston, which stopped recording finishers before four hours had elapsed.

Even more important, the first five-borough, citywide New York City Marathon changed the face of the sport, turning it into something more than just a 26.2-mile footrace. It showed that a marathon could be a happening, a mustdo, have-to-be-there kind of event, in which even nonrunners were interested.

Furthermore, little of the buzz that emanated from that race was not planned; it simply mushroomed into a runner’s Woodstock of sorts. The cheering crowds of New Yorkers that appeared all over the course—tich, poor, from every part of the city—turned the race into a unique experience, something foreign to traditional long-distance runners.

It should be noted that even before that historic New York race in 1976, the Honolulu Marathon had begun to capitalize on its all-inclusive attitude and relaxed approach. An outgrowth of a popular low-key training program established by Dr. Jack Scaff, Honolulu provided a glimpse into the future by welcoming slower runners into its race. Some participants were minimally trained to go the distance but slogged through the 26.2 miles regardless. However, held in the tropics in December far from the mainland, the impact of that race was muted to a large extent, seeming to many continental long-distance runners like more of an exotic oddity than a real marathon.

Another key historic landmark occurred in the 1994 Los Angeles Marathon. Struggling to find the marathon’s niche in a growing roster of events, organizers added a new feature to their race that year: local entertainers and musicians performing along the route, creating a more festive and interactive atmosphere for the runners. Other marathons had occasionally featured amateur musicians on the sidelines, but Los Angeles was the first to officially incorporate this kind of entertainment into the event. That same year a new marathon was staged on the

a = § a oe

A Only at the Walt Disney World Marathon can you get a finisher’s high-five like this.

grounds of Disney World in Florida. At first, it may have seemed an odd venue for a marathon, but it proved to be an instant hit with runners, who loved the clean, flat, quiet roads of the park, punctuated by fireworks and celebrations, Disney characters in costume, and jaunts through the theme parks. These two marathons showed that running 26 miles and being entertained did not have to be mutually exclusive. The image of the marathon as a Spartan test of will and character was beginning to be overtaken by fun-seeking participants who cared more about what they experienced along the course than what the clock said at the finish.

Then there was the Rock ’n’ Roll concept

Four years later, in 1998, a promoter from San Diego named Tim Murphy took the entire concept a step further by unveiling the inaugural Rock ’n’ Roll Marathon, in which rock bands entertained runners at every mile. The actual running in the Rock ’n’ Roll Marathon seemed almost secondary, aside from the perfunctory elite and subelite runners who sought to achieve fast times and haul in prize money. For others, the race was like a moving concert and feast, perfectly situated in sunny San Diego. Dozens of runners in full Elvis regalia quickly became a trademark of the Rock ’n’ Roll Marathon, a brand that was destined to grow quickly.

Runners of all ability levels soon began to realize that marathons did not necessarily have to be grueling affairs (an adjective frequently linked with marathon running) in which the goal was to reach the finish line depleted of physical, mental, and emotional reserves. Rather, the distance could be covered at a relaxed pace and enjoyed, rather than endured. Runners employing that mind-set could also be comforted in knowing they would have plenty of company along the way, not left behind to fend for themselves, as had often been the case not so many years earlier.

Although this shift in philosophy was not embraced by everyone within the sport and would be unlikely to yield fast finishing times, it opened the door to a huge population of runners that had previously considered the marathon too intimidating, too daunting, too serious. As a greater number of casual runners flocked to the marathon, it in turn created an even bigger groundswell of interest. If your slightly overweight and out-of-shape brother-in-law could finish a marathon, then you darn well could, too.

Eventually a tipping point was reached, and the once-prevailing sentiment of the marathon as an elite, closed insider’s club was pushed aside by the new majority, although a determined few traditionalists continued to fight against this new attitude. The door had been flung open, however (never to be closed again), for nearly anyone to try a marathon, regardless of age, body shape, or even the ability to run much at all. Women in particular began to populate the marathon, no longer put off by the once-prevalent demographic of stoic, gaunt-looking men, for whom the marathon was a test of character, commitment, and speed.

A The band plays on at the Rock’n’Roll San Diego Marathon, where the Rock’n’ Roll Marathon concept began.

Along with this shift in the sport’s demographics, another radical change was taking place in the marathon. Walking during a race—once considered anathema— had surprisingly begun to gain favor. Rather than an admission of failure, taking planned walking breaks was starting to be touted by some coaches and advice columnists as an intelligent race strategy. The role models for 1970s marathoners, Bill Rodgers and Frank Shorter, both ran with graceful, fluid strides and were emulated by the masses who sought to cover ground in a similar fashion. Now Rodgers’s former college teammate Jeff Galloway had become a spokesman for the less fleet-of-foot marathoner. The lynchpin of Galloway’s training strategy was “It’s OK to walk.” Not only was it OK, but taking systematic walking breaks was preferable to continuous running, a better way to allocate one’s physical resources over the full 26 miles.

Led by Galloway’s first lieutenant John “the Penguin” Bingham, slower marathoners even had their own brand and social group. Bingham told Runner’s World of the new band of marathoners, “The paradigm has completely shifted. Running has embraced people who aren’t buying the arbitrary standard that speed is the only criterion.” He added, “In the old days, marathons were the exclusive right of very fit runners who saw these races as final exams. Now we have ‘lifestyle’ runners with social needs asking, ‘What’s the rush? Everyone gets the same shirts, the same medals.’ Just because you walk/run a marathon doesn’t mean you’re dumbing it down.”

© Competitor Group, Inc.

The charity-running concept blossomed

Yet another factor emerged that helped propel the marathon into its current growth state. Without the pressure of having to push for a personal best every time out, slower marathoners began to discover a meaningful reason for participation, beyond just enjoying the experience and having fun. Raising money for charity, which first gained popularity in the London Marathon, found its place in U.S. marathons in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

With modest beginnings at Boston through the Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge team and at New York when a runner named Bruce Cleland ran the 1989 marathon to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, dedicating a marathon to charity quickly gained traction. That organization soon established its Team In Training program. Combining getaways to desirable locations such as Honolulu, Disney World, and Alaska with marathons held in those locations gave (primarily noncompetitive) marathoners purpose to their efforts. It was the ultimate win-win as both parties—the runners and the charity—prospered. The program mushroomed, and purple-clad TNT runners soon became ubiquitous in marathons all over the country. Whereas many runners considered themselves too slow to join an organized track club, here was a group that anyone could join and find like-minded teammates, regardless of ability. Within just a few years the national size and scope of Team In Training was hundreds of times bigger than most traditional running clubs, illustrating the dramatic shift in the makeup of marathon fields.

>> DANA-FARBER

© Justin Knight

A Lifelong friendships are forged on charitable fundraising teams. More than $43 million has been raised since the inception of the Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge in 1990.

Welcoming an entirely new and different demographic into the sport and infusing the marathons with purpose served to swell marathon fields to previously unimaginable levels. More customers means more money, a business principle not lost on race organizers. Increasing demand for entries into the most desirable marathons allowed those events to escalate entry fees well into triple digits. While old-timers grumbled, newcomers willingly accepted this new reality.

The role of technology

In addition to the breaking down of perceived sociological barriers that had previously prevented many people from reaching the starting line of a marathon, more subtle factors have played a role in reshaping the sport. As in many other industries, technology has allowed the marathon to become more visible as well as allowing for the expansion of the size of race fields, previously hemmed in by technological constraints. In particular, compiling race rosters and results has become much faster and more efficient, largely due to the timing chip, a device that first appeared in the mid-1990s and has become standard in marathons of all sizes but especially in the megaraces featuring fields upward of 40,000 runners. Whereas once both start and finish lines had been unwieldy and cumbersome in the biggest marathons, now both are far more streamlined and easier to manage, allowing the size of race fields to grow even bigger.

In addition, the emergence of the Internet as an indispensible part of daily life has also played a huge role in marathon running. The ability to communicate instantly has had obvious implications: not only are race results known to virtually anyone in the world as soon as a race is complete, in many events a runner’s progress during a marathon can be followed in live time. Web sites, blogs, and message boards—not to mention Facebook and Twitter—have also served to stoke interest, as is the case in all aspects of life.

Another somewhat underappreciated impact of the Internet on the marathon has been online race registration, which from modest beginnings at the turn of the decade has now become integral to the sport. By registering for races online, runners can sign up instantly without the hassle of writing a check and mailing in a printed application (and, as often as not, without significant thought into what training for such a race might entail).

Online registration has allowed races to eliminate cumbersome data entry and, more importantly, to create demand for their events by appealing to the impulsebuy nature of their consumers. The effect has been profound: some marathons have filled their fields in a matter of minutes. A convenience for runners (but sometimes a headache as well, since races close out so quickly), it has been an absolute boon to race organizers and even better for race-registration companies, which haul in significant money through processing fees.

Then there is the celebrity marathoner

Another often little-recognized factor in the inexorable growth of the marathon has been the role of the celebrity marathoner. Some serious marathoners consider them a joke, but in today’s pop culture-driven society, the actions of well-known actors, musicians, politicians, and athletes are incessantly chronicled and frequently emulated. Some celebrities have taken on the challenge of the marathon, seeing a public relations bonanza in the attendant media coverage. The first true big-name celebrity marathoner, Oprah Winfrey, famously completed the Marine Corps Marathon in 1994 and garnered worldwide media attention for her efforts. Since then others have followed, including unlikely candidates such as rapper P. Diddy and comedic actor Will Ferrell. Perhaps the most celebrated pop-culture marathoner turned out, ironically, to be already one of the world’s most accomplished athletes. That, of course, was cancer survivor turned champion cyclist Lance Armstrong, who in 2006 created a huge national buzz at the New York Marathon. Armstrong notwithstanding, these celebrities further drive home the message that the marathon is no longer exclusively for the fleet of foot; even those with little athletic ability can join in.

The net effect of the radical overhaul in demographics, in addition to improved technology and innovations, has been the creation of nearly an entirely new sport. Certainly completing a marathon is still a difficult task, one that requires resolve and determination as well as a tremendous output of energy and effort, both in training and on race day. What was once the province of a small, hardy group of iconoclasts, however, has evolved into a massive, mainstream activity that is no longer viewed as unusual or outside the norm. It has often been said that with the necessary motivation, nearly anyone can complete a marathon. The nearly half-million Americans who go the distance each year have proven that aphorism to

Valerie Bertinelli, who ran the
2010 Boston Marathon with the
Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge
team, is the latest in a long line
of celebrity marathoners to
complete the distance.