First, read this:
"The name Marathon comes from the legend of Pheidippides, a Greek messenger. The legend states that he was sent from the battlefield of Marathon to Athens to announce that the Persians had been defeated in the Battle of Marathon (in which he had just fought) ... It is said that he ran the entire distance without stopping and burst into the assembly, exclaiming 'We have won', before collapsing and dying."
I've always wondered who first said, "You know, we really should have a race based on that one guy who died running from Marathon to Athens."
Then read this:
On June 23rd, I ran my second marathon. It was wet, nerve-racking, painful and exhausting. It was also beautiful, full of tears (happy and sad), rewarding and worth all the time, effort and pain it cost me (but maybe not the money).
I love running and it has taken me a long time to admit that to myself. Even while training for this marathon, the question "why am I doing this??" bounced around in my head (along with many swears, Mormon and not so Mormon).
Running is hard and painful and anyone who doesn't agree is naive, proud and/or a liar. Just because you run frequently or fast or far doesn't mean running is easy for you. But very often I ask myself why I do it... and most of the time I'm unable to answer. It is rewarding and always fun to toss out at parties or on dates, but I don't think those things in and of themselves are justification enough for the physical and emotional pain running can cause.
I think when you run seriously, there is a part of you that needs to run. I once heard a story about a lady who had epilepsy and, for a while, she could literally outrun seizures. Obviously this isn't why I run, but I think a part of me needs to run in a small, somewhat similar way.
This is, unfortunately, the most attractive picture taken of me at the race. Hazah.
p.s. Now that my marathon is done, I'll stop blogging about running, thank goodness.