The story goes that marathons are 26.2 miles because the first one was measured from Athens to the Emperor’s Throne… In other words, the distance makes no logical sense. Neither does running marathons. You run over 26 miles and you have gotten nowhere. You do get blisters, cramps, stiffness in your thighs and calves as well as pains almost everywhere. One must be crazy to run a marathon. I say that after finishing my fourth.

I’m often asked what I’m thinking about while running a marathon. I’m also asked what I must be thinking to run a marathon. And mostly I’m asked if I was thinking at all when I decided to run a marathon. Most people who get into running long distances do it to disguise the fact that they are not fast runners in short distances. That’s me.

Training

Training for a marathon typically starts several months before the actual race. The shortest training run is 25 minutes, the longest 150 minutes. Minutes are easier to keep track of than miles, especially if you want to have some variety in your training.The training schedule is based on running six days a week. One long run is followed by a day off.

The night before

There is something to be said about the anti-Atkins diet. A marathoner loads up on carbohydrates. In other words, you get to eat pasta and potatoes — guilt-free. I ate pasta every night for the week before the marathon.

The morning of the race

I drink a large cup of coffee and have a bagel — just like every morning.

Marathoners are like football players in suiting up for the race. You must have a good socks and broken-in sneakers. Use Vaseline anywhere your rub: feet, toes, underarms, waistband, thighs — Vaseline is life-saving stuff. I found a new product this year called Nipguards which work well to protect against bloodly nipples. They even have a website, check www.nipguard.com.

So with my nipguards in place and coffee going through my system … the race starts.

The Race

Mile One: This is like walking across the street. Only it takes longer. There are thousands of people around me and I have to go the bathroom already. I run off to the side of the course and find a good tree. I am running at a fast pace and remind myself: "MUST SLOW DOWN … PACE TOO FAST". I’m cold.

Mile Four: A lone boom box playing the Rocky theme song. I can’t help but smile. 20 miles later I’d be fighting back the tears of pain. I pretend I’m running up the steps at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It looks like everyone is doing the same thing. Arms in the air, air-boxing, yelling "yooo, Andrian."

By mile 10, I’m cruising and watching people. Marathoners are a special breed. They are all shapes and sizes. The average age is 38. The outfits are funny. I’m no longer cold. My body temperature has gone up by ten degrees.

Mile 13: The half-way point is extremely anti-climatic in that I am struck by the overwhelming realization that I have to repeat what I just did. It is now that I start to tighten up in the legs.

Mile 15: By now things are starting to really tighten up. My feet are sore and I can feel the blisters now. This is another oddity. I know I have a blister and yet I continue to run. This is crazy.

Mile 16: Our bodies are pretty smart. They tell us when we are thirsty, hungry, or have a pain. My body is telling me to stop running. My brain is not nearly as smart as my body. I keep running. I’m starting to get bored now.

Mile 18: Why do they call this a "proverbial" wall? It is a wall. I just hit it! Everything is starting to shut down. I start bargaining with my legs. I cut a deal. If I run until I get to mile 20, I can walk the rest of the way. I have to walk a little, but keep running.

Mile 20: I make it and decide I’ll walk five minutes and then run the rest of the mile. People are handing out food to energize us. I grab some of everything: bagels, Skittles, Tootsie Rolls, Jeanie Beans, Oreo Cookies. Actually, I must run these things for the free food.

Mile 21: I see my family (I’ve been looking for them since Mile 8) and I just happen to be running. They tell me I look good. They are liars. My son offers me a Power Bar. I’m stuffed and can’t eat another thing. He runs along side me for a little bit and then turns around. I yell out to my wife and family: "I love you and the life insurance policies are in the safe."

Mile 22-25: I’m enjoying this "walk five minutes and then run the rest of the mile" technique. I should have been doing this the whole race. My legs feel like concrete telephone polls. I’m not sure how I’m going to finish this race. I start imagining collapsing at the finish line. I’m trying to visualize the one thing that always cheers me up: my daughter’s six-tooth grin. If I make it to the finish line alive I’ll be able to see her smile.

Mile 26: I start to run faster. I can hear the music playing and the spectators are lining the path. I start to run as fast as I can. I sprint up the finishing approach — which seems to go forever.

Finally, I cross the finish line: 4 hours and 15 minutes. I find a place to collapse. Maybe I won’t get up until next year. Just in time to run this Marathon again.