Volume IV (2000)

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Volume 4 | Number 1 | January/February 2000

Departments

Editorial
"Closed Course" Road Racing
Richard Benyo

For the most part, road racing—especially marathoning—isn't much of a spectator sport. Clearly, there are exceptions, but they come primarily in the form of spectacles, such as Boston and New York, where the marathon is a happening that draws even those who don't know what's going on but want to be part of the fun (especially if the fun involves hanging out a third-story window on Commonwealth Avenue to spill beer on the revelers below).

As unlikely as it seems, it's difficult even to get up a substantial crowd at an Olympic marathon once the field leaves the stadium. Don Kardong, who placed fourth in the 1976 Olympic Marathon in Montreal, shows some slides of his race where it looks as though he's out for a workout running through a semideserted suburban neighborhood.

Most spectators at most marathons are friends or relatives of participants. Why the low turnout? Well, some intrinsic drawbacks to spectating a marathon come to mind. First, it's virtually impossible to see the whole thing, which diminishes spectators' sense of drama and appreciation of racing strategies. Second, the runners blur into a mass, making it hard to separate who's who and what's going on. Third, spectators are not exactly bombarded by readily available amenities along the course; rather, they are forced to fend for themselves on city streets or country roads, where there are few facilities to make watching more enjoyable. Several years ago an idea began growing in the back of my brain that could make marathoning (and road racing in general) a much more interesting, enjoyable, profitable, safe sport by making it much more accessible to one and all. It seemed to me one of those ideas that's so incredibly simple it could have almost thought itself into existence.

Now, as we kick off the year 2000, seems a perfect time to foist my idea on an unsuspecting public more obsessed with things like the Y2K threat and a shortage of champagne to celebrate the New Year. But first let's look at the drawbacks to putting on a road race, participating in a road race, and spectating a road race.
Read the rest of Rich's essay on "closed course" road racing in our January/February issue

On the Road with Scott Douglas
Running Y1K: Fragments From a Lost Log

November 27, 999: Ran easy as the sun moved from one thumb above the horizon to about half a hand higher. I think this is about the same amount I ran yesterday, but who can say for sure? Someone needs to invent digital wristwatches so that I can keep more accurate records.

Legs still a little beat-up from weekend race in Northfarminghamshire. Road was even muddier than usual after the heavy rains lately. (People are saying the recent torrents portend the apocalypse, but I don't believe that stuff.) Had a good bleeding with the local barber the next day, but a few vile humors must not have escaped, as my legs are still achy today.

Ran through the town square and was joined for a little while by the village idiot. I like the guy—after all, before he showed up, everyone called me the village idiot because I run everywhere—but I found his Y1K doomsday scenarios as predictable and tiresome as ever. If he really is the village idiot, then most of the villagers are idiotic, too, because so many believe the world will end at the stroke of midnight on January 1, 1000. This is sheer nonsense. For starters, until those digital watches are invented, we can't know when midnight is. Even allowing for a few minutes this or that side of the millennium, they couldn't be more wrong. At the worst, some of the older abaci might not be able to account for a four-digit year.

Everyone in his right mind knows that the world will end not 1,000 years after the birth of Jesus, but 1,000 years after his death. This gives us another 33 or so years—at which point, what do I care? The average age at death here in Westdorchesterhamandeggs is 42, so I'll have met my maker long before then. (By the way, it sure was a lot more fun to think about the afterlife when we were pagans, what with the drinking and singing in Valhalla, compared to a potential eternity of fire and brimstone).

As it is, I often feel like death these days. Have been gearing up for my entry into the masters ranks next year, but the body just doesn't recover at age 24 like it used to. At 19, I could work hard in the fields all day, then head over to the castle for some hard repeats around the moat. Now I'm so tired all the time, even with the more frequent bleedings and some good sessions on the Catherine Wheel. Ethelred the Energized is simply amazing—still going at it hard, and he just turned 32! It will be interesting to see what happens to his motivation next year, though, because he believes the world will end this year, so keeps thinking, "Gotta train like there's no tomorrow—because soon there won't be!"

Travel back in time to the year Y1K as Scott unearths more from this lost log.

My Most Unforgettable Marathon (And What I Learned From It): Boston 1977
Ron Wayne

Aspen Fila Skymarathon
When Runners Speak of a "Runner's High," This Could Be What They're Thinking Of.

These athletes have accepted the challenge of "Skyrunning," and they seem plenty confident that they have what the race entry form says it takes to be a Skyrunner:

"It's running a marathon, but at high altitude. It's adventure. It's racing up and down a fourteener. ["Fourteener" is Colorado an for the 54 peaks in the state that are 14,000+ feet.] It's about being with nature and being one with your body and soul. Above all, it's about performance—the ultimate running challenge where only the sky is the limit."

Whew! The ultimate runner's high.
Looking for a new marathon challenge. Skyrunning might just be what you're looking for. This issue's marathon profile features a Skymarathon.

Letters
The discussion rages on: Still more thoughts on "charity" races.

On the Mark
Experts answer readers' training and competition questions. This month's question:

"At what point is it too close to marathon day for tempo and interval training to be a benefit for that race."

Our experts answer this question in our January/February issue.

About the Authors
Among this issue's authors are Guy Avery, running legend Paul Reese, Tim Martin, Marion Raycheba, Jim Whiting, John Vonhof, and Jonathan Beverly.

Features

Marathon Training: More From Less
By making every training mile count, you can run faster on fewer miles per week. Part One of Five.
Guy Avery

This article is the first of a five-part series aimed at guiding both novice and veteran marathoners in their training to optimize their marathon performance without the risk of injury. If followed closely, the training approach I recommend has a 99 percent success rate in helping runners achieve a challenging but realistic marathon goal time. This approach is for runners who want to improve their marathon times by training and racing smarter. My approach is not for runners who want only to finish the marathon but for those who want to finish the marathon faster. Depending on your current fitness level, training history, and commitment level, I'll recommend one of four different 22-week goal-based training programs (Levels 1-4) to choose from.

This approach to marathon training is "sustainable." That is, if you commit to the training and stick to the race strategy as described, you'll find the training plenty challenging without being too much of a burden. In addition, the race will be a challenging but positive experience from which you'll recover relatively quickly with a mental and physical eagerness to train for another marathon.

The approach I recommend is balanced and integrated. Every training element has a purpose, and each element works with each other element. It's a holistic approach in which one type of training interacts with other types of training— everything fits together as a whole to achieve the overall mental, physical, and emotional training effect for optimal and sustainable improvement in your marathon performance.

Grounded in conventional as well as not-so-conventional wisdom and taking into account all factors that influence training progress, my system is equal parts science, art, instinct, and experience.

What I'll be describing here—and in the four subsequent parts of the series—is a marathon training schedule suited to your individual needs. You'll log no unnecessary miles. Every mile will be meaningful. In other words, we'll be looking to get you good results on the minimum amount of work that it takes to achieve those results. If you read what we have to say carefully and follow our training and racing guidelines closely, I believe you'll be pleased with the results.

Continued in our January/February 2000 issue. Guy lays the groundwork for his five-part marathon training program. If you've got spring marathon plans, seriously consider following Guy's training program.

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The Marathon: An Impression
The marathon experience varies widely from runner to runner. Can we find any common ground?
Paul Reese

It's OK to DNF—Really!
The Marathon Will Always Be There, Waiting For You to Return.
Tim Martin

The oddest thoughts flash through your mind when you're about to drop out of a race. Take my thoughts, for instance. I had just limped through 12 miles of the Napa Valley Marathon, and I was completely out of steam. My legs pumped full of lactic acid, my feet moving at about the speed of Dutch Elm disease, all I could think was find a place to stop where no one will see you.

Yes, I was hurting badly and—I won't delude myself—filled with burning-cheek humiliation. One minute I was floating along on a strange three-ounces-of-gin exhilaration, soaking up the fine Napa Valley scenery, and the next I was overcome with the sort of plummeting despair you feel when you're driving coast to coast and suddenly realize, in an isolated area, that you've been going in the wrong direction for the past three hours, the oil light is flashing, and you're out of gas.

I dragged my drained, depleted, misery-ridden body to the side of the road and stopped.

Did I mention that I was a tad grumpy? Well, I was: grumpy and severely embarrassed. Since marathoners utter "uncle!" about as often as Jackie Chan, dropping out of a race can have that effect on you. Instinctively, I began thumbing through my rolodex of plausible excuses: a sore knee? Hamstring pull? Heel spurs? Food poisoning? El Nino?
Continued in our January/February 2000 issue. You'll enjoy the humbling conclusion to this article by Tim Martin, a writer we call the Dave Barry of the running world.

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The World's Fastest Marathon?
Rotterdam has a reputation for being a fast course, but just how fast is it?
Jonathan Beverly

I ran my first marathon in 1980, a year before the Rotterdam Marathon existed, yet I can hardly remember a time when the Rotterdam wasn't out there—a nearly mythical, almost unsporting course where people run faster than anywhere in the world.

For 14 of its 19 years, Rotterdam has held the world marathon record for men. Throughout those years, whenever the record came up, announcers at Boston, New York, or the Olympics have referenced it as run on "the superfast Rotterdam course" or "a course designed for records," usually followed by the assessment that the fastest time on the course at hand was a better effort than the world record run at Rotterdam.

As a marathoner, I was fascinated by Rotterdam. How had it started? What made it so fast? And, of course, what could I run there? Was it also fast for mortal marathoners such as myself, with a 2:46 best, or was it superfast only for the elites up front?

Then last year I moved to Brussels, and suddenly Rotterdam wasn't "over there" anymore but just down the road, as close as Philadelphia to New York. I had my chance to discover the truth about Rotterdam and to personally test if it is indeed the world's fastest marathon course.

Join Jonathan for his run in the Rotterdam Marathon in our January/February issue.

Tiptoe Through the Tulips
Ottawa's National Capitol Marathon is well established, pretty, and warmly welcoming
Marion Raycheba

In March 1999, Runner's World named Ottawa's National Capital Marathon (NCM) one of the Top 10 Destination Marathons in North America, ebullient in their praise for the organizers taking full advantage of Ottawa's Tulip Festival route.

The American Diabetes Association agrees. In May 2000, the ADA's Team Diabetes expects to bring in up to 1,000 runners for the weekend's distance events. Team In Training, the Leukemia Society of America's endurance sports training program, also plans to send a contingent in 2000, likely a mix of marathoners and in-line skaters.

It's easy to see why destination athletes find Ottawa charming. The NCM's start/finish line is in the heart of the city near Parliament Hill, which dominates the skyline from its position overlooking the Ottawa River. Like America's national capital, Canada's Parliament Hill is comparable to United States's Capitol Hill.
Continued in the January/February issue.

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Beyond the Beyond
Can marathoners and ultrarunners find happiness in adventure racing?
John Vonhof

Adventure racing is an evolving multisport discipline fast becoming the sport that challenges individuals where other sports leave off. Most of us have heard of the Eco-Challenge and the Raid Gauloises. The televised coverage of these two events has brought the excitement of adventure racing to the public's attention faster than any other new sport.

Michael Epstein, the executive producer of the Hi-Tec Adventure Racing Series, provides impressive statistics on the growing interest in adventure racing. In 1997, the Hi-Tec series drew 1,800 participants to four events. The numbers multiplied to eight events in 1998 with 6,000 participants. He estimates 10,000 participants will have experienced 10 events by the end of 1999.

The Hi-Tec series being an entry-level adventure race translates into a substantial increase in athletes wanting to try the longer, more challenging adventure races. USA Adventure Racing (formed in 1998), the largest organizing body in the sport, already has more than 6,000 members. Many runners will be among those numbers and will have the time of their life in this exciting sport.

Making the transition from marathons and ultras to adventure racing is a logical move—if you enjoy cross-training and participating in other sports besides running. Taking time off from running to bike, canoe, or kayak and to learn navigation gives a chance for running injuries to heal and can lead to a better conditioned athlete.

Making the move opens the door to new adventures and extreme sports. With it comes the chance to take your body to its greatest limits—to see what you are capable of doing. Marathon training has helped many runners with speed and has formed an excellent mileage base for ultras. Many of these marathoners have then made the transition to ultras and enjoyed the change of scenery, the different pace, and the added challenges. The goal-setting, discipline, and mental toughness of marathons and ultras provide an excellent base for the demands of adventure racing.

Some runners are looking for a change and a challenge. Erica Clarkson recalls "wanting the diversity and the opportunity to cross-train rather than focusing on any single event." She now has 20 marathons, 11 ultras, and 7 adventure races under her belt, including the Eco-Challenge and the Southern Traverse. Jacques Boutet has 112 marathons and 15 ultras to his credit and remembers "being tired of the repetitive stress injuries associated with too much running." He, too, has done the big-name events, the Eco-Challenge and the Southern Traverse, with seven adventure races completed. Although we love running and we never want to stop running, we can sometimes identify with Robert Tucker: "I needed a break from the monotony of running, running, running." Adventure racing offers an exciting break and a new challenge while testing your limits like no other sport.
If running an adventure race is on your Y2K checklist, this article will tell you everything you need to know.

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And the Last Shall Be First
What better place to unleash a first (and long overdue) marathon than in Greece?
Jim Whiting

Here's a clip:

Four abreast, the long parade of grim-faced, goose-stepping Athenians seemed endless. Their fellow citizens lined the surrounding sidewalks, cheering them on.

But this was not 490 BC, and these marchers were not heavily armed foot soldiers on their way to Marathon to meet the invading Persians. They were schoolchildren in 1998, and this parade was part of the late-October celebration of Okhi Day, a national holiday that harks back to another foreign invasion, this one from Italy in late 1939. Mussolini, his already immense ego swelled even further after overwhelming stone-age warriors in Ethiopia and establishing first-name–basis relations with Adolf Hitler, had demanded territorial concessions from the Greeks.

The instant reply from Greece: "Okhi!" ("No!"), or perhaps something a little earthier. Mussolini thereupon sent his legions into Northern Greece. But soon his tattered troops, unexpectedly overwhelmed by the Greeks' stiff resistance, were chased nearly all the way back to Italy. This repulse presented a problem for Hitler, as it left his southern flank open as he prepared to invade the Soviet Union in the late spring of 1940. Accordingly, he deferred that betrayal of an erstwhile ally for six weeks and diverted troops to Greece. He quickly accomplished what Mussolini had been unable to, but many historians contend that the six-week delay was fatal to his eastward enterprise, as his troops consequently did not reach Moscow until the dreaded Russian winter was setting in. If he'd had that extra month and a half, Hitler's USSR invasion might have succeeded and altered the course of World War II.

The Greeks, therefore, take a certain pride in that "No."

Their current pride, however, came at a high price. Hitler's four-year occupation of Greece was particularly brutal, more than 8 percent of the population dying of reprisal shootings, starvation, or other related causes—in percentage terms, by far the largest casualty rate of any country in World War II.

Watching the Okhi Day parade, I found it nearly incomprehensible that a similar celebration could ever take place on Memorial Day or Veterans Day in the United States. But, then, we never lived through a German occupation.
A mute memorial to the brutality of that occupation stands on the road to Delphi, site of an ancient oracle. A larger-than-lifesize group of armed men tops a marble plinth dated "April 25, 1944," and lists the names and ages of well over 100 men, some identified only by their first name. In the late-autumn silence, the statue is a reminder of a fairly typical German response to guerrilla activity: a death squad overwhelming a village, then shooting all the men.
The conclusion of this article appears in our January/February issue.

Wounded Warriers
Savvy runners avoid repeating injuries—and if they do get injured, they come back stronger than ever.
Dave Kromer

Special Book Bonus

Introduction to Wobble to Death:

There are precious few novels with running as a backdrop, much less ultrarunning—much less ultrarunning in the 19th century! Yet in 1970 a Head of Department at Hammersmith and West London College, Peter Lovesey, penned a first novel featuring several of his favorite interests: Victorian England, the sporting scene, and crime. He wrote Wobble to Death, set in the smoky sporting halls of 1879 where go-as-you-please six-day races were all the rage and where death—not from overindulging in forward movement but by foul means—was part of the program.

Wobble to Death introduced the redoubtable Detective Sergeant Cribb, and the book won Lovesey the Macmillan/Panther First Crime Novel award the year it was published. Granada Television made a film of Wobble to Death, starring Alan Dobie as Sergeant Cribb. Lovesey continued to write novels featuring Sergeant Cribb to the point where, in 1975, he gave up his teaching duties and dedicated his talents to writing full-time. Long out of print, Lovesey's book was brought to our attention by ultrarunning legend and M&B subscriber Ruth Anderson, who lists the book among her favorite crime novels. A large print edition was issued in 1999. Arrangements to publish Wobble to Death for a new army of potential Sergeant Cribb fans were made through Peter Lovesey's American literary agents at Gelfman Schneider.

We are also proud to present a series of newly created illustrations for the installments of the novel drawn by our favorite running artist, Andy Yelenak. He did the special cover painting for this issue to mark the novel's debut in Marathon & Beyond. Enjoy!

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Key Bank Vermont City Marathon
A Race with Big City Resources But Small Town Charm.

Looking for a great New England Marathon in May? Try Burlington, Vermont's Key Bank Vermont City Marathon. But hurry: The field fills early.

Letters
A discussion of sportmed specialists and "closed course" road races.

On the Mark
Experts answer readers' training and competition questions. This month's question:

"I AM IN my mid-40s and have only recently decided to join the ranks of the competitive runner. I have participated in one marathon and will do several more. I have already begun training for a September 2000 ultramarathon. The course crosses a mountain range, with an average altitude of about 7,000 feet. Because of time constraints, it's impossible for me to get productive training on the course, so I'm stuck training at 1,000 feet altitude and below. Is there anything special I can do to properly train for a high-altitude race while living at low altitude? Our experts answer this question in our March/April issue.

About the Authors
Among this issue's authors are Theresa Daus-Weber, Mary Nicole Nazzaro, Steve Palladino, DPM, Fred Ebrahimi, Guy Avery, and running legend Paul Reese.

Features

Recovering From Boston
To Run Boston Is One Thing—to Bounce Back Afterward Is Another.
Steven J. Palladino, DPM

Where is the problem in the following scenario?

Jack meticulously plans and completes an ambitious two-month training program aimed at producing a PR at the greatest marathon the world has ever known, the Mecca of marathoning: Boston. Race weekend comes, Jack runs the race, and, when it's all over, he has accomplished his goal: a brand spanking new PR. Congratulations, Jack!

So far, so good. But what does Jack do after the race? He follows no definite plan. For several months, he oscillates between catching colds and warding off injuries as, caught in the postrace letdown, he apathetically tries to resume serious training. He doesn't return to a systematic training program until four months after the race.

If we turn the spotlight on Jack's complete marathon experience—from premarathon through race day to postmarathon—the problem becomes clear: all too often, runners plan their premarathon training and race-day activities in great detail, but they fail to plan for the hours and days and weeks after the marathon. It's almost as though, once the marathon is completed, they lose their running focus.

In this article I'll implore those headed for Boston to ask this simple question: "What do I do after Patriot's Day?"
If you're running Boston this April or have a goal to run Boston someday, this article is a must-read.

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When In France . . .
A First-Person Account of the U.S. Women's Team at the 100K Worlds
Theresa Daus-Weber

It felt very much like an attempted escape from the Nazis during World War II as the three of us stealthily tramped through the dark and convoluted small farm fields of the rural Vendee region of France.

Team manager Lin Gentling, team doctor Lion Caldwell, and I had reconnoitered the route of the 1999 World 100K Championships the night before to ensure that we had alternate access routes to the closed race course, aid stations, and finish line. Utterly resourceful, the American support team made it safely to Aid Station A, the first of six aid stations scattered along the course.

We strategically stashed the cars in farm fields so we would be able to rush to the finish line as our runners came in. So far, so good. We had only one mishap—a partial drowning of Dave Teason, father and handler of Brian Teason, fastest 100K runner on the men's team, when he'd fallen into a pool of swampy water up to his waist as we hurried through the pitch dark. Dave was in the second car, and if we had in reality been attempting to escape the Nazis, his splash would have certainly given us away.

We were ready for the first opportunity to see the U.S. team along the course. Only 20 minutes had passed since we'd left them shivering in their singlets at the start line, edgy with adrenaline.

Well, we wouldn't actually "see" the team, or for that matter anyone else, this easily in the pre-dawn darkness and chilly mist. The 1999 edition of the 100K started at 5:00 am, and the runners had only run a small preliminary 2.4K loop through Chavagnes en Pillares, the 3,000-resident town hosting the World Championships, before they began the first of four circuits of a 24K loop.

The rest of Theresa's behind-the-scenes profile of the U.S. Women's 100K team can be found in our March/April issue. Theresa is a Leadville 100 Champion.

The Birth and Early Survival of the Marathon
The Marathon Started Wonderfully, Then Sputtered and Wandered and Nearly Died, Until the 1912 Olympics.
Tom Ecker

In the early going, the marathon experienced more than its share of challenging—and sometimes bizarre—setbacks. Blatant cheating, admitted drug use, professionalism, and the first death associated with the Olympics were a few of the marathon's early problems. Then there was the Olympic marathoner who left the course during the race and disappeared for 50 years. Yet, despite its difficult moments, the marathon has survived to become one of the most popular fixtures in today's sports culture.

The first competitive marathon race was held as the final event of the track and field program at the 1896 Olympics in Athens. Despite many references in literature to the "revival" of the marathon in the 1896 Olympics, there had been no competitive marathon races in Ancient Greece at any time before 1896.

In 1894, when the 1896 Olympics were being planned, a French linguist and historian, Michel Breal, suggested that a 40-kilometer (25-mile) race be included in the track and field program. He believed the race, which would commemorate the run of Pheidippides from Marathon to Athens in 490 B.C., would add local interest to the Games. The Greek organizers agreed wholeheartedly.

According to legend, Pheidippides, a Greek soldier and a champion runner in the ancient Olympics, had been chosen as the courier to bear the news of a surprise Greek victory over the invading Persians on the plains of Marathon. Exhausted from the battle and the 25-mile run from Marathon to Athens, Pheidippides blurted out the message, "Rejoine, we conquer!" Then he collapsed and died.

Michel Breal's idea for creating a long competitive race, which became known immediately as the "marathon," caught on quickly in the United States. Several members of the Boston Athletic Association, including champion runner Arthur Blake, ran the first marathon in the United States in September of 1896 (from Connecticut into New York City). The following April, on Patriot's Day, 1897, the first Boston Marathon was run.

Continued in our March/April 2000 issue. You'll enjoy the history of the first five Olympic Marathon events in 1896, 1900, 1904, 1908, and 1912, respectively. You'll also learn how the marathon came to be 26 miles, 385 yards.

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The Secret Marathon
Sometimes There's No Way to Pull Off a Race Other Than Surreptitiously.
Fred Ebrahimi

Rick "The Mule" Worley had a problem. In October of 1998 he found a glitch in his marathoning schedule. A glitch in Rick Worley's schedule is not like the glitch in the schedule of a normal human being who runs perhaps two marathons a year—which is why Rick is known as "The Mule," and the rest of us aren't.

In 1997, in celebration of his 50th birthday, Rick decided to run one marathon a week for 50 weeks. As part of this effort, he dedicated himself to raising funds for Cal Farley's Boys' Ranch in Amarillo, Texas. ("Boys' Ranch" is a slight misnomer—it's really a place where young men and women who have encountered problems in their lives are guided to become better citizens and, ultimately, often provided with college scholarships.)

Yes, he managed to meet his goal of 50 marathons in 50 weeks . . . but he forgot to stop. Soon he was at 75 marathons in 75 weeks, which broke the world record. By this time, he had built up such momentum that he decided to just keep going until either his legs wore out or he got sick of airline food.

Rick Worley recently ended his record-shattering streak of consecutive weekly marathons at #200, which he ran at the 2000 Houston Marathon in mid January. "The Secret Marathon" tells the story of the marathon that almost wasn't, which would have been a BIG problem for The Mule. You can read the whole tale in our March/April issue.

Warrior Tactics for Distance Runners
The Savvy Distance Runner Incorporates Every Training Technique Possible to Improve
Mary Nicole Nazzaro

The playful voice at the other end of the workout room stirs me out of a zombie-like trance.

Around me the students in the class let out a collective giggle while struggling to maintain control over their bodies. We have been crouching in "neutral horse" stance. We're doing this in a small cinder-blocked room in the basement of a Chinese Community center in Toronto. My thighs are burning, and the last thing I can think to do is laugh at the latest joke to make the rounds in the training hall.

It's note quite mile 23 of the marathon, but it sure feels like it should be. It is the middle of a class put on by the Jing Mo Kung Fu Club, and instructor Glen Doyle is at center stage. Doyle may be a three-time Canadian kung-fu champion, but right now he's doing what he does best: goofing around with his students, getting them to laugh, to open up, so that the serious work doesn't feel so darn, well, serious.

I'm a dedicated marathoner and recreational martial artist from Boston, and I've come to Toronto to discover what all the fuss is about this guy Doyle. He's a cross-training expert with an extraordinary talent for getting his point across to his athletes—and he has a track record that would make any coach envious. He has trained members of the Oakville (Ontario, Canada) Athletiques, track club of 1996 Olympic 100-meter gold medal Donovan Bailey; the Philadelphia Bulldogs pro roller-hockey team; and, most notably, three-time world figure skating champion Elvis Stojko, who has been working with Doyle for the last decade. Doyle even has marathoning in his family tree: his father Greg raced the distance for Canada back in the 1950s.

But I'm not here because of Doyle's impressive credentials for helping elite athletes to reach new heights. I'm here because I'm hungry for a marathon PR in 2000, and after 14 years of running, countless miles on the roads, and more than a few injuries, I need something new to fire up my training routine. When the opportunity arose to train in an entirely new way with one of the top martial artists in North America, how could I resist? One call to Air Canada later, I was booked on a flight to Toronto to train with Glen Doyle.

In this article I'll introduce you to some of the concepts I learned in Toronto. What I discovered will make your old training log look like a boring mathematical tome. Six by 800 track repeats? Tempo runs with five-minute surges bookended by one minute of easy running each? Try the following workout on for size: "Dynamic tension, five minutes horse, five minutes side horse (each side), 20 reps frog-walking." Now there's a new entry for your training log!

Continued in the March/April issue.

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Nirvana in Mongolia!
A Select Few Taste Asia's Best Trail Running in Mongolia's First Ultra.
Michael Kohn

They came with their camel packs, fanny packs, vitamin supplements, altimeter watches, and fluorescent Spandex. They came from all over the world: the United States, England, South Africa, Japan, China, France, and Switzerland. And they came with lots of experience.

The athletes who gathered on the shores of northern Mongolia's Lake Hovsgol for that country's first ultramarathon had cumulatively run thousands of kilometers in training in dozens of countries. Some had even won big-time races. Klaus Muttke, for instance, had won the Leadville Trail 100, a grueling century race in Colorado run entirely above 10,000 feet altitude. Another runner was a champion of the Hong Kong 64K ultra. Mary Ritz and Kristina Irvin were both experienced runners from the United States; Ritz is trying to be the first woman to run an ultra on all seven continents of the world, whereas Irvin has completed more than 70 ultras.

But at the end of the day on July 8, 1999, at the conclusion of Mongolia's first ultrafest (the 100K and a companion marathon), it was the Mongolian runners who won. But the word "won" doesn't do justice to the performances of these fine and unheralded athletes. "Dominated" or "obliterated" would be more appropriate.

The Mongolians—in their torn shoes, floppy backpacks, and old cotton track suits—stormed out of nowhere to finish in remarkable times over the wet and often treacherous terrain, setting the pace from start to finish.

Expand your horizons with this article about a run in a far-off land.

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Marathon Training: More From Less
Part 2 of 5: Understanding the Types of Training That Make the Biggest Impact on Marathon Racing.
Guy Avery

In the first part of this five-part marathon training series (see the January/February 2000 issue), we discussed the larger framework of effective marathon training. Within this broader philosophy, we learned about the three general guiding principals: 1. the optimal sustainability of training, 2. the interaction of various training elements, and 3. the probability of goal achievement as the foundation of our marathon approach.

In this second part of our series, we will look more closely at the types of training that will serve as the building blocks to be laid on this foundation for the most effective training possible.

Both experience and research show that five types of training can have the most impact on your marathon performance: (1) the long run; (2) marathon goal pace runs; (3) hill repeats; (4) lactate threshold training; and (5) 5K racing and/or slightly faster aerobic capacity intervals.

While many physiologists are big proponents of the latest "energy system" theory, which states that certain very specific training paces and effort levels are necessary to derive maximum benefits from training, the five basic types of training we suggest are broader in nature and will give you the greatest gains in training to improve your marathon performance in a sensible, purposeful way.

Our guidelines are much more general and leave room for individual differences and allow for the "feel" of training properly. However, while the guidelines we provide are general, following them will guarantee that you stay within the framework of our guiding principles and ensure that you achieve your goal. While our training guidelines are looser, if you stray from them, you'll risk not achieving your goal and jeopardize the sustainability of your overall training and racing improvement.
Guy describes in great detail each of the five types of training that impact marathon performance in the March/April issue installment of our 5-part marathon training series.

Special Book Bonus

Introduction to Wobble to Death:

There are precious few novels with running as a backdrop, much less ultrarunning—much less ultrarunning in the 19th century! Yet in 1970 a Head of Department at Hammersmith and West London College, Peter Lovesey, penned a first novel featuring several of his favorite interests: Victorian England, the sporting scene, and crime. He wrote Wobble to Death, set in the smoky sporting halls of 1879 where go-as-you-please six-day races were all the rage and where death—not from overindulging in forward movement but by foul means—was part of the program.

Wobble to Death introduced the redoubtable Detective Sergeant Cribb, and the book won Lovesey the Macmillan/Panther First Crime Novel award the year it was published. Granada Television made a film of Wobble to Death, starring Alan Dobie as Sergeant Cribb. Lovesey continued to write novels featuring Sergeant Cribb to the point where, in 1975, he gave up his teaching duties and dedicated his talents to writing full-time. Long out of print, Lovesey's book was brought to our attention by ultrarunning legend and M&B subscriber Ruth Anderson, who lists the book among her favorite crime novels. A large print edition was issued in 1999. Arrangements to publish Wobble to Death for a new army of potential Sergeant Cribb fans were made through Peter Lovesey's American literary agents at Gelfman Schneider.

We are also proud to present a series of newly created illustrations for the installments of the novel drawn by our favorite running artist, Andy Yelenak. He did the special cover painting for the January/February 2000 issue to mark the novel's debut in Marathon & Beyond. Enjoy!

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My Most Unforgettable Ultramarathon (And What I Learned From It): Hardrock 1999
Rich Limacher

SILVERTON, COLORADO, July 9–11, 1999—I can tell you why I'll never forget this ultramarathon in three little letters: DNF. Yes, that stands for Did Not Finish, and no, I didn't. What makes this race so memorable is that I'd never not finished a race in my life, dating back to 1988 with my first 10K.

Let me put it into perspective: The Hardrock 100-Mile Endurance Run held each July (snow permitting) at Silverton, Colorado, is regarded by most ultramarathoners as the toughest 100-mile trail race in North America, if not in the whole wide world. HRH might be the toughest footrace period, were it not for such other well-known tortures as the Hi-Tec Badwater-to-Mt. Whitney summertime desert run or that silly impossible thing held every spring in Tennessee known as "The Barkley Marathons." But Badwater (on roads) is more than a 100-mile race, and Barkley (one 100-mile finisher in its entire history) in effect has no trail. I'm told you need navigational instruments just to find the Barkley course and then a machete to bushwhack through it. There was also that bit of whimsy and nonsense called the "Nolan's 14" inaugurated this past August, where competitors climb 14 of Colorado's peaks over 14,000 feet in 60 hours—not surprisingly, this race had three starters and zero finishers.

Still, you've got to give pause to an ultramarathon that sends you a pre-race booklet in which all of the finishers in its seven-year history are listed on just four pages, and many names appear more than once. The Hardrock Hundred began in 1992. My assault occurred in 1999. The 1995 race was canceled because of too much snow (remember, this is July). So mine was the seventh Hardrock actually run, meaning its history when I got the booklet covered six years. At that time HRH boasted only 200 finishers. Pulling out the duplicates, the number of individuals dropped to 118. I, then, aspired to be Mr. 119.

A Different Beast Entirely

More important, perhaps, I wanted to be the first person from Illinois to finish the Hardrock Hundred. Overshadowed as I am by all the fabulous runners from Chicago and downstate, not one of them had ever finished this race. Certainly, there had been attempts. In fact, the reason I tried it at all was to follow in the footsteps of my coach and mentor, Chuck Bundy, who made his first assault at the 1997 race. Chuck couldn't finish because of a rather severe leg nerve injury he'd sustained just days before while helping mark the course.

Two things that sobered me up about that injury: (1) What kind of a race are we talking about where you can hurt yourself that badly just by walking and planting little flags? (2) Chuck's injury was so bad that it also prevented him from entering the race the following year—and the year after that! His injury, by the way, did not come from anything he'd done on his legs. No, he got hurt while sliding down snow on his rear end!

So, besides aiming for some distinction as the first Illinoisan to finish Hardrock, I also wanted to earn the respect of my coach, who is some 18 years my senior and with whom, during normal training, I can hardly keep up. And it was during our abnormal training this past year that he told me time and again, "Hardrock is a different beast entirely."

You'll enjoy the rest of Rich's colorful story about his first Hardrock 100 attempt in our May/June issue.

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Quad Cities Marathon
Is This Spirit-Lifting Course One of Running's Best-Kept Secrets?

Looking for a great Midwest marathon? Try this September's Quad Cities Marathon. For a link to the race site, click on Partner Links from the M&B homepage

Letters
Lively responses to our January/February and March/April issues.

On the Mark
Experts answer readers' training and competition questions. This month's question:
If you run enough shorter races (a 10K, 15K) while building oward a marathon, is it still necessary to do speedwork at the track?
Our experts answer this question in our May/June issue.

About the Authors
Among this issue's authors are Johnny J. Kelley, Guy Avery, Mike Tymn, Dave Kromer, Stephanie Ehret, and Michael Brandt.

Features

Marathon Training: More From Less
Part 3 of 5: Choosing Your Training Level and Setting An Achievable Marathon Goal
Guy Avery

Welcome to the third part of this special five-part series on optimal marathon training. While the first two parts dealt with general training principles and the details of certain types of key marathon training, this article addresses the two most critical decisions you will make concerning your training and racing. Following our guidelines, you will select a training level, set a realistic marathon goal time, and finally get started on the first eight weeks of training. If you're looking for a marathon training program, we recommend you give Avery's serious consideration.

The Day of the Amby
Every Once in a While the Life of a Coach Receives Some Sunshine.
Johnny J. Kelley

This is the fourth in an exclusive series of marathon memoirs by Johnny J. "The Younger" Kelley of Mystic, Connecticut. In this piece, from 1962, Johnny is coaching his cross-country team, which includes current Runner's World editor Amby Burfoot. The other three articles by the 1957 Boston Marathon winner appeared in volume I, issue 4; volume 2, issue 1; and volume 3, issue 2. Look for the next chapter in a future issue.—Editor

Cruising homeward on the last full-team bus trip of our 1962 Fitch Senior High School (Groton, Connecticut) cross-country season, I snap to wakefulness as my paperback falls from my lap and lands with a plop on the floor. October's Halloween light has already vanished, leaving none but that afforded by the charter bus's weak overheads. I wonder why I keep thinking I will sugar over the fretful nut of responsibility by reading while tending a covey of teenagers.

Yet, these aren't your standard barnyard flock. I've been blessed this time around. With less than a half-hour left to roll, I can rest assured that no happenstance Groton School Board member will be given the finger or otherwise disconcerted in the act of driving past this vehicle. Such indelicacies have occurred in past seasons, and they will occur again. I'd be naive to expect otherwise. But these kids have been better than easy. They've been good, both behaviorally and athletically. Loaded with talent and promise.

As I retrieve my book from the bus floor (The Dwarf by Par Lagerkvist), our squad's star, junior Bob Beardslee, taps my shoulder. Bob's runner-up finish in today's "Class L" state meet has understandably elated him, and he's up for a bit of raillery.

"Looks like pretty heavy stuff," Bob says of my book.

"For sure, Bob, and pretty depressing stuff too, as far as I can tell," I say.

"You always do seem to go for the depressing ones," he observes.

"Hmmm, you could be right," I allow, then change tack with, "So, what am I doing hanging out with you guys? You're the life of the party."

Off his finish today, Bob's made the cut for next week's Connecticut Open and, if he shines there, he'll go on to the New England championship at Orono, Maine, the following week.

"Oh, we're here to keep you smiling—and away from those depressing books," Bob says with a warm chuckle.

He resumes his seat. I gaze idly at our stolid driver's head and shoulders bathed in the dull red glow of the emergency light. Then, turning my head, I look out the window at phantasmagoric roadside images punctuated by door lamps and picture-window jack o' lanterns. So much for my plan to read. I slip The Dwarf into my teacher's valise and snap it up tight. For these final minutes of our final team trip till next fall, it seems more fitting to reflect on the luck of this season's draw.

I think of our tall, lean-as-a-runner manager, Brent Nowak, sitting in the seat across the aisle from mine. Brent, though born stone deaf, reads lips so well than he can "listen" better than his hearing peers. In all areas of school life, Brent excels. I can depend on him to bring every essential item aboard the bus for our school departure and to run an equally thorough check before okaying our departure from the meet site.

And there's our captain, senior Dave Grainer, sitting alone in the seat behind Brent. As talented and committed as Dave is, he hasn't realized his hopes for his third and last high school cross-country season. I see him wrapped in characteristic introspection, possibly pondering the irony of having led this winning combination (closed out 8-4 in dual meets) while cast into the shadows of Bob Beardslee and our surprising "junior rookie," Ambrose Burfoot.

Bob has done everything he was scripted to do for two years straight, having come well-advertised out of West Side Junior High where, among other feats, he built his own telescope and broke five minutes for the mile.
You'll love the rest of Johnny's tale of Amby Burfoot.

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Blow Up, Break Down
Rhabdomyolysis: When the Will Is Stronger Than the Body, the Results Can Be Life Threatening.
Stephanie Ehret

A fat woman in hospital pants isn't much of an anomaly in a Midwestern airport. But it was a unique experience for me, a normally slight and athletic girl, being that fat woman in hospital pants. A mere four days earlier I had stood at the starting line of my first 24-hour track race, the 1998 Arizona Road Racers' Across the Years 24/48/72-hour track run.

Four days later—and twenty-five pounds heavier—I flew back home to Colorado and joked with my husband that I had skipped the race to hang out at an all-you-can-eat buffet. The real story took me longer to explain and much longer to understand. But it seemed a story worth understanding, for my own sake as well as that of others. That's why, 10 months later, I'm still sifting through stacks of medical abstracts and articles, researching and writing about rhabdomyolysis, an affliction that sounds like a species of dinosaur. I'm hoping that my experience might serve a higher purpose if I can share it with others.

My Race: A Recipe For Rhabdomyolysis

The race began on Tuesday, December 29, at 9:00 am on what promised to be a clear, sunny day. I was feeling strong; I had just taken a three-week hiatus from running after a spate of heavy racing and training through the summer and fall. Always game for an adventure, I'd entered this race on a whim. The enticement of a warm vacation and the opportunity to run with and learn from my friend Barb Marquer, second-place finisher of the 1998 24-hour national championships, sounded too good to pass up.

Barb and I started together at a comfortable pace and settled in for the long day. Then, quite suddenly at around mile 15, I began to feel intense nausea. The evening before, in my nervousness over dehydration and loss of electrolytes, I had consumed nearly six bottles of Cytomax and Metabolol, energy drinks containing carbohydrates and electrolytes. The mixture swirled in my belly. A few sips of Ensure was all it took to make me expel the whole mess.

Several passing runners offered condolences and a kind of congratulatory encouragement: "Get rid of it all, Steph. You're going to feel so much better!" And indeed I did. I began a period of effortless, joy-filled running that took me through about mile 60.

My coach helped me through the hottest part of the day (about 80 degrees), filling my baseball cap with ice cubes and draping me in ice-water-drenched shirts. Some time after mile 60, I began to slow. I discarded my Walkman, feeling the need to focus, and I took an ibuprofen. I found it difficult eating anything but orange slices, watermelon, and other wet foods. Running became an effort, and my coach's role became primary. "You just finished your 100K," he said, "now focus on 100 miles."

I began to run three laps, then walk the fourth, later shifting to running the straights and walking the curves. I reached 100 miles in 17:14. Every couple of hours I would take an ibuprofen. By the end of the race I had taken a total of 12.

By mile 120 it was all I could do to keep running the straights. Every lap my coach would offer a word of encouragement or something to eat or drink. "Give me three good laps," he'd say, "then take a rest lap." At some point, a new person, who would become increasingly important to my well-being, entered the picture. "Hey, mind if I run a lap with you?" he said. "I'm Jordan." Jordan Ross ran several laps with me, offering encouragement and bits of humor. I can't remember much that he said, but I remember smiling—smiling at mile 122.

If the first 23 hours set the stage for the troubles to follow, the last hour was the coup de grace.

With the lure of 130 miles, I dipped deeply into my spiritual and physical wells and hammered out the final miles, running harder if not faster than any other time in the race. On December 30th, 9:00 am, the race was over. I had completed 128.99 miles in 24 hours, the fifth best in the world by a woman in 1998, and the seventh all-time best by a woman in the United States.

The Aftermath

That should be the end of the story, but my true ordeal had really just begun. As I lay in the tent after the race, I felt overcome by nausea. I threw up something resembling thick, dark, water-logged mushrooms. I had not eaten any mushrooms. A hot flash quaked through my body. Something was wrong. And Jordan was back, like a guardian angel. More accurately, Jordan was an ultrarunning, Mickey Mouse-loving, family physician and chair of Osteopathic Medicine at Midwestern University. He suspected that I had thrown up the sloughed-off lining between my stomach and esophagus. I could overhear some discussion about taking me to the hospital. I thought that might be a good idea, since I was pretty sure I was dying.
The rest of Stephanie's story appears in our May/June 2000 issue. This piece is a must-read for any ultrarunner.

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Track Time
The Benefits of a Regular Track Session Can't Be Overstated.
Dave Kromer

Looking back at my college running days in the mid-1970s, the memories of doing workouts on the track emerge with crystal clarity. At that time, I was lucky enough to be coached by Bob Sevene, a genuine track-and-field fanatic. Over the course of the years I spent under his guidance, my appreciation for the benefits of including the track in my weekly training schedule was greatly enhanced.

The achievements of Sev's teams were due to a large extent to his challenging track workouts. Not only were there improvements in our personal bests in track and cross-country, but our road racing times improved dramatically as well. The key was not excessive amounts of natural ability but that we had the motivation necessary to follow the coach's plans.

Several decades later, speedwork on the track is recognized as a common staple in many a marathon runner's diet. Although there are numerous approaches to this form of training with a number of variables involved, the benefits are quite clear. What follows are a few of the many good reasons to get thee to a track.
In Dave's article, you'll learn some of the advantages of regular track workouts.

A Run Between Two Oceans
South Africa Has the Scenery, Diamonds, Wine, and Another Ultra Besides Comrades.
Michael Brandt

Many people consider Cape Town one of the most beautiful and isolated cities in the world. The city sets on a peninsula that extends southward with a mountain ridge on its back that descends sharply to the two oceans that border it: the cold Atlantic and the warm Indian.

Located on the southern tip of the vast continent of Africa, the region is dominated by renowned vineyards, pristine beaches, and cradled by the steep slopes of the spectacular Table Mountain, Devil's Peak, Lion's Head, and Signal Hill. Cape Town is an emerging world playground for adults with youthful inclinations, and the city hosts an exceptional, well-organized ultramarathon.

Cape Town was the first European settlement in South Africa, founded by Jan van Riebeeck in 1652. Van Riebeeck was an official of the Dutch East India Company, and the city he founded is today a major seaport, boasting a warm Mediterranean climate with dry summers and cooler, wet winters. The Cape Peninsula is the convergence point of the two aforementioned wondrous bodies of water: the Atlantic and Indian oceans. From this coincidence of geography, the Two Oceans Ultramarathon was born in 1969.

To the Ends of the Earth: An African Adventure

Our journey began at Miami Airport, where a small group of nine stalwarts met at the South African Airline counter, some for the first time. Thom Gilligan of Marathon Tours had assembled the group and made all the travel arrangements. The ages and experience levels of our group varied greatly. For at least one, it would be a test of stamina and commitments, for this was her first ultramarathon.

For veteran runner Brent Weigner, a 49-year-old teacher from Wyoming, this was old hat: it would be his 89th marathon and make him the first person to run an ultra on every continent in the world—and that in a mere seven-month period.

For Knox White, it would be his 47th marathon and sixth continent. A 61-year-old retired entrepreneur from Arkansas, Knox enjoys collecting antiques with his wife Judi.

For most adventure distance runners, going to a foreign location to run a marathon or an ultra is a social event, like going to summer camp as a kid. Seven members of our group, for example, were "Arctic warriors"—veterans of the Antarctic Marathon, a test of endurance and the inner-self against nature's worst elements. Three of the group were "Polar Pacers" who had completed the famed and now defunct Nanisivik Marathon, considered the toughest marathon in the world. The Two Oceans Marathon would be like a vacation for some of our group; for others, it was the adventure of a lifetime.

Continued in the May/June issue.

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Special Book Bonus

Introduction to Wobble to Death:

There are precious few novels with running as a backdrop, much less ultrarunning—much less ultrarunning in the 19th century! Yet in 1970 a Head of Department at Hammersmith and West London College, Peter Lovesey, penned a first novel featuring several of his favorite interests: Victorian England, the sporting scene, and crime. He wrote Wobble to Death, set in the smoky sporting halls of 1879 where go-as-you-please six-day races were all the rage and where death—not from overindulging in forward movement but by foul means—was part of the program.

Wobble to Death introduced the redoubtable Detective Sergeant Cribb, and the book won Lovesey the Macmillan/Panther First Crime Novel award the year it was published. Granada Television made a film of Wobble to Death, starring Alan Dobie as Sergeant Cribb. Lovesey continued to write novels featuring Sergeant Cribb to the point where, in 1975, he gave up his teaching duties and dedicated his talents to writing full-time. Long out of print, Lovesey's book was brought to our attention by ultrarunning legend and M&B subscriber Ruth Anderson, who lists the book among her favorite crime novels. A large print edition was issued in 1999. Arrangements to publish Wobble to Death for a new army of potential Sergeant Cribb fans were made through Peter Lovesey's American literary agents at Gelfman Schneider.

We are also proud to present a series of newly created illustrations for the installments of the novel drawn by our favorite running artist, Andy Yelenak. He did the special cover painting for the January/February 2000 issue to mark the novel's debut in Marathon & Beyond. Enjoy!

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My Most Unforgettable Ultramarathon (And What I Learned From It): Death Valley 1999
by Marshall Ulrich

INYO COUNTY, CALIFORNIA, July 1-4, 1999. Thousands and thousands of miles, six continents, 89 ultraruns, and 7 adventure races behind me, and I still tend to recall the last event I finished the most poignantly. However, one event in particular does come to mind as exceptional: The Badwater Solo—the first successful unaided, self-contained crossing of Death Valley and the ascension of Mt. Whitney.

It started from Badwater, a sinkhole in Death Valley that at 282 feet below sea level is the lowest point in the Western Hemisphere, and climbed to the peak of Mt. Whitney, at 14,500 feet altitude, the highest peak in the contiguous United States. The course covers a distance of nearly 150 miles.

The solo attempt was the culmination of desert-racing experiences over a period of many years: seven Badwater-to-Whitney crossings, as well as the only south-to-north Death Valley crossing of what at that time was a national monument (now a National Park), plus two different races in the Sahara. These desert races helped me learn about my body, including what it requires to continue functioning in the extreme conditions encountered on the journey. The adventure-racing experiences (Eco Challenges and Raid Gauloises) helped me learn the organizational skills necessary to take care of myself during the self-contained aspect of the completely unaided solo.

Two key elements come immediately to mind regarding my running. The first is that I would have accomplished much less without the emotional and logistical support of my friends, who many times ran at my side. I also received product and monetary support from my primary sponsor, Pharmanex.

The second element is my strong belief that ultradistance sports are, for me, a life process condensed into an event or series of events. The growth process they provide is what drives me; they open the window into my mind and soul. The events are but a vehicle for this to happen, and I hope that I internalize them all effectively. This process is what allows me to evolve, which for me is the most compelling part of my sport.

Given these statements, you may well suspect where I am going with this story. A factual account of my solo may or may not be interesting to you; for me, relating the facts is anticlimactic, in that the significance lies within the process itself. Some runners will understand what I'm talking about, but I suspect some brows may rise, because many athletes view records, first-run events, and wins as significant in the scheme of life. But what is really important is that we fight the fight, dream the dream, and go out and do something.

In what follows, I will tell the story of my solo, as I've been asked to do—but the "What I Learned From It" section is for me far more interesting.

Marshall's solo journey from Badwater to Mt. Whitney is gripping. Don't miss it in our July/August issue.

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Santa Clarita Marathon
A Gem of a Marathon Hides in the Mountains North of Los Angeles

Looking for a small but great late fall marathon in California? Try this November's Santa Clarita Marathon. For a link to the race site, click on Partner Links from the M&B homepage

Letters
Lively responses to our most recent issues.

On the Mark
Experts answer readers' training and competition questions. This month's question:
I KEEP HEARING fantastic stories about guys who run a marathon every weekend for several years. At the other extreme, I hear that if you want to preserve your working body parts, you shouldn't run more than two marathons a year. For those of us made of flesh and blood and not steel who want to run marathons well, how many marathons per year is it safe to run?—
Our experts answer this question in our July/August issue.

About the Authors
Among this issue's authors are Mark Conover, Michael Sandrock, Jonathan Beverly, Richard Benyo, Guy Avery, Marshall Ulrich, and Laurie Parton.

Features

The Perfection Chasers
The Marathon Provides the Perfect Crucible in Which to Test Your Mettle and Your Resolve.
Here's our introduction to a six-article special section on the quest for the "perfect" marathon.

Increasingly, physical, mental, and spiritual challenges are vanishing. Modern society has propagated the notion that the American Constitution somewhere guarantees happiness, safety, and complete medical coverage, instead of merely proclaiming the equal right to pursue these conditions.

Parents want education for their children but don't want it to be challenging or painful. Middle-aged folks want good health and fitness but don't want to work for it. The overweight seek a svelte body by ingesting diet pills. The young demand respect merely because they exist. The old demand respect because they have existed. The voters want honest politicians until one of them tells the truth.

Against the backdrop of millions of timorous souls hoping for that guaranteed safety, one-tenth of one percent each ear go against the grain and embark on a perilous journey covering 26.2 miles on their own two feet—a journey in which the only guarantee is that there are no guarantees.

Some new marathoners attempt to make the journey as painless as possible. Other, more grizzled, marathoners continue to experiment with their training and racing, hoping against hope for that one "perfect" marathon. The pursuit of perfection, by definition, is fraught with frustration, for it is never really reached. Each approach pushes the perfection beyond the next hill. Yet the marathon provides an arena in which intelligence, determination, and hard work can combine to approach perfection, at least against the constraints with which each of us is born. The marathon provides an opportunity for us to compete against our own limitations.

Jonathan Beverly, our former European correspondent, posed to us the concept of the marathon as a test in which each of us can pursue our own unique perfection. We thought it would be interesting to pose the challenge to an entire spectrum of marathoners to share how they have used the marathon as an opportunity to go for the best they are capable of achieving. Jon broke the reasons for the pursuit into four areas:

A great equalizer. More than any other event, the marathon rewards persistence, planning, and experience. It is impossible to cram for a marathon, to rely solely on natural ability, or to buy success. This area appeals to those of us who may not have had the natural athletic ability to enjoy success in other sports but have found in the marathon a thinking person's sport.

A test of character. George Sheehan called the marathon a "fitting stage for heroism." From the initial decision to train for and race the marathon to the final two-tenths of a mile, the marathon provides occasion to prove our integrity and courage, rare in this comfortable, compromised age.

A means of escape. Sherlock Holmes once commented, "My life is spent in one long effort to escape from the commonplaces of existence." Sherlock solved mysteries; others run marathons. Each marathon presents an infinitely expandable challenge, with a new and unique set of variables to consider and overcome, requiring total involvement of the mind and body.

A grand inspiration.The scale of the marathon is so large, it provides purpose and meaning to daily activities. The experience is so intense and complete, it inspires us to rise above the status quo. Like Machiavelli's "Prince," marathoners are in a constant state of preparation for battle, each day providing another opportunity to better prepare and move one step closer to the goal.

Herein we've enlisted a range of marathoners, from an Olympic marathoner to a marathoner who has broken 4:00, to share their motivations, agonies, challenges, inspirations—and their souls—as they strive for a perfection impossible to achieve but only too possible and enticing to imagine.

Perfection Chasers...
Running Was My Best Friend
Mark Conover (age 40, 9 completed marathons, 2:12 PR)

When I first began running in high school, I hated it. The possibility of running a marathon seemed about as likely as giving up television after school. But after memorizing every episode of "Gilligan's Island," I decided that I valued my own self-worth and was capable of achieving accomplishments even more worthwhile than knowing the Skipper's hometown. So, after a long, boring winter during my freshman year at Miramonte High School in Orinda, California, I decided to pursue track as my high school sport. Since running long distances seemed especially painful at the time, I opted for the event that most mixes speed and endurance—the 800 meters.

In my first 800 that season, I placed third in the frosh-soph race but found myself writhing in pain on the infield afterward as I tried (in vain) to catch my breath. But the accomplishment of scoring a point for the team felt awesome— I was hooked. Ten minutes after I finished, a girl ran the distance nearly 12 seconds faster than I had, setting a new girl's high school record. I understood that my work was cut out for me.

The summer following my freshman year, I hooked up with the number one runner on the cross-country team, who lived just down the street from me. He would become my training partner for the next two years. We would go 1-2 in nearly every race we ran. Toward the end of my junior year in cross-country, I began beating him. I also became zealous about my running, hitting the trails for lots of miles after cross-country practice. I reached a high one week of 108 miles. After that week, I decided to run the Livermore Marathon.

Mark bares his soul as he searches for the answer to the question: "why do I run?"

Perfection Chasers...
The Grail Was Sub-2:20
Michael Sandrock (age 41, 17 completed marathons, 2:24 PR)

Rob De Castella used to say I was a 2:17 marathoner. I just had not done it yet. Now that nearly a decade has passed since Deek was in Boulder training, I can look back and say with certainty that I never will run 2:17. Instead, when I jog up through the Pearly Gates and talk with St. Paavo, St. Phidippides, St. Abebe, St. Jim (Peters), and others, I will be forced to admit (because you cannot lie in heaven, especially about your PRs) that my personal best is 2:24:30. And there it will remain for all of eternity.

Not that I didn't try to run faster. For five years after clocking 2:24:30 at Grandma's Marathon, I ran nearly every day with de Castella and his training group, which included Rosa Mota, Steve Jones, Arturo Barrios, Ingrid Kristiansen, Steve Kogo, Derek Froude, and various and sundry other world-class marathoners. The training went well; the racing did not.

The perfect race for many of us living in Boulder in the 1980s was 2:19-anything. That was an Olympic qualifier. We were not Frank Shorters or Rob de Castellas, nor were we meant to be. We were Napolean's rear guard, the royal bodyguards so to speak, filling out the field behind the world- and national-class runners at local road races.

Sub-2:20 was our Holy Grail. Qualifying for the Olympic Trials would have been as good in my mind as making the Olympic team. Back then, it was expected we would run that fast. It was attainable. It had to be, because so many people were doing it. On the University of Colorado cross-country team on which I ran, we had six runners 2:14 or faster: Kirk Pfeffer, Mark Spilsbury, Mike Buhmann, Mark Anderson, John Hunsaker, and Chuck Hattersley. I was embarrassed to tell newcomers to town that my bests were 2:24 and 30:23 (for 10,000).

Ever the philosopher, Mike takes us through his quest for marathon perfection, ending his piece on this note: "Have you ever visited the Parthenon atop the Acropolis in Athens? If you have, perhaps you understand why we continue to pursue our perfect race. The marathon is like the Parthenon's steps: not so steep that you can't ascend them, but far enough apart that you have to stretch out to make it up them. Isn't that what being a marathoner, and a human being, is all about? Knowing there are limits, yet still determined to stretch past our limits? Knowing the perfect marathon does not exist, yet training every day as if we are going to run the perfect marathon? And perhaps this above all—running fearlessly along the edge of the abyss, knowing that time, Gravity, and Entropy, those indefatigable allies, will win in the end, yet sticking it out to run our best race anyway."

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Perfection Chasers...
Enjoying the Process
Jonathan Beverly (age 36, 17 completed marathons, 2:46 PR)

Two facts characterize my marathon experience. Number one is that I have been successful. I have not set world, national, or even local records, nor often won awards, but my success in the marathon far exceeds that in any other of my athletic endeavors. Number two is that I have never mastered the distance. I've never finished a race and been able to state, "Everything went right. I gave everything I had. This is the best I can do."

These two facts draw me to the distance again and again. The potential of success first lured me to the marathon. After a childhood of experience that convinced me I was unsuited for athletics, I was thrilled to discover distance running in high school. I learned I had always been a marathoner. I hadn't known it then, having never heard of the event until the late 1970s, but the essential characteristics were present from the start: a wiry frame, a penchant for challenging puzzles, and, most important, a tenacity that compensated for my small size and lack of athletic instincts.

By my sophomore year I discovered that the longer the event, the greater my comparative advantage. That spring, Joan Benoit (also from a small town in Maine) ran an American record at Boston, and the marathon began monopolizing my thoughts and dreams.

During the summer break I ran my first road races, culminating in a hilly 16-miler where I cruised comfortably past fading runners in the final miles. Afterward, my cross-country coach was more impressed than I was with my seven-minute-per-mile average. Her enthusiasm, and the congratulations of other runners, convinced me that this ability to keep running was not shared by everyone.

My road success didn't translate back to cross-country as well as expected. I ran respectably on varsity that fall, but my heart had moved to longer things. When spring rolled around, I chose to skip track and train for a marathon.

Continued in our July/August issue.

Jonathan says near the end of his article, "I do not dream of a day when Saturday mornings won't find me on a road or trail 10 miles from home and still heading out." Amen to that!

Perfection Chasers...
Running's Been Good
Richard Benyo (age 54, 37 completed marathons, 2:57 PR)

Running has been very, very good to me. As a skinny kid with a severe stuttering problem, running many times saved me from a vigorous thrashing at the hands of my fellow kids. Early on, I discovered that although I was not terribly fast, if I could get a three-stride jump on a bigger kid, I could always outlast him. I spent much of my childhood on the alert for attacks from hidden assassins.

Although our high school had no track or cross-country teams in the early 1960s, the gym teacher did conduct an annual intramural track meet on the rutted dirt road that encircled our football field. The longest event was billed as the half-mile, although considering the ambling rut in which we ran, it was more accurately a 5/8th-mile steeple chase. In my junior year I finished a close second in the half; in my senior year I read War and Peace while waiting for the second- place finisher to come in; everyone went out way too fast and died on the back sort-of straightaway.

I engaged in (and managed to pervert) cross-country in college. Training three times a day left me so tired by race day that I never placed better than fourth on our team. In my junior year my running was complicated by a toe injury that I would freeze in a bag of ice before meets. During my senior year the toe would undergo seven surgical procedures (most of them incompetently performed in a podiatrist's chair with two aspirin as anesthesia) in attempts to correct the problem.

In 1977 I joined the staff of Runner's World, which in a big way rekindled my interest in running. That fall I covered the New York City Marathon from the rickety press truck. Witnessing Bill Rodgers run like a god behind the press truck while he sucked foul exhaust fumes from the NYPD Vespas and chatted with press guys convinced me that the marathon was a race worth pursuing.
There's lots more in this piece by M&B editor Rich Benyo, including his quest to break 3:00, his conquest of Death Valley, and, finally, a health crisis that stopped his marathoning cold.

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Perfection Chasers...
It's a Celebration of Life
Rhonda Provost (age 51, 26 completed marathons, 3:18 PR)

Marathoning, in all its splendor, made a serendipitous entrance into my life. Roughly 20 years ago, to increase my aerobic fitness level, I embarked on a running program for the third time in my life. I was 30 years old and had noticed my clothes were fitting tightly. At one time I had been able to eat with abandon, anything I wanted, but now I felt soft, no longer lean as I had been in my relative youth.

In April 1979, as a native Bostonian, I was introduced as a blind date to the man who would become my husband. He was a journalist and was in town to cover the Boston Marathon. He was a veteran marathoner; I was a fledgling runner. As our relationship blossomed, we typically would frequent running events, including marathons, where I would cheer him on as he crossed the finish line. Within the first year of my running program, inspired by what I was exposed to in the marathoning community, I was motivated to run one.

My initial efforts to train for a marathon proved unsuccessful, however, for I lacked the endurance to run for more than 90 sustained minutes. I abandoned the marathon vision, presuming I wasn't suited for the distance.

Early in my running pursuits I experienced the usual running injuries. As is typical for novice runners, long after my heart and lungs had adjusted to what I was demanding of them, ligaments and tendons still needed to comply. So I supplemented my running with strength and flexibility training. What resulted was not only hastened recovery from existing injuries but also prevention of future injuries. Over time, my running performance improved, fueling a desire to challenge myself more and test my limits.

Continued...Read how running is a metaphor for life for Rhonda in our July/August issue.

Perfection Chasers...
The Challenge of Testing Limits
Jenny Hadfield (age 33, 18 completed marathons, 3:40 PR)

My passion for running evolved over time. I remember as a young child seeking out adventure, testing my limits (as well as my parents' limits), constantly pushing for more. To go farther, faster, stronger, and to leap tall buildings in a single bound. It didn't bother me that I wasn't the fastest or best athlete. I was motivated by the challenge. Twenty-five years later, I'm still on that journey of exploration, enjoying all the experiences that cross my path.

In my youth, I would hop on my banana seat Schwinn and ride to the outskirts of town, each day riding a little farther to see where I would end up. The unknown always fueled me to explore higher ground. I have a constant yearning to discover new pathways mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. When looking back at my life, I realize that running has allowed me to reach many places, overcome obstacles, and nurture my inner strength. But that reality has come over a long stretch of time.

My adolescent goals involved holding a head stand as long as anyone on the block, to ride my green machine down the driveway and over the grass without falling off, and to bicycle a little farther away from home each day. I've always been active and very competitive. I participated in many sports, which kept me out of serious trouble and provided a valuable source of motivation to exercise.

Although I was active as a youth, I hated the thought of running. My first experiences with running were not pretty, most of them being involuntary. Many coaches used running as a form of punishment. If I missed a basketball shot, I would have to run laps. A volleyball serve into the net earned more laps. And I will never forget the dreaded suicide sprints!

Because of these training tactics, I quickly developed negative associations with running. The very thought of running sent me into a nauseous tizzy. Plus, once puberty set in, I was a bit chubby, which made me self-conscious while running. I never felt completely comfortable. In my mind, running was reserved for the lean of body and the fleet of foot.

Dealing Away the Negative

But my negative associations with running never stopped me from trying. Running was for me the Mt. Everest of climbs. The inability to succeed infuriated me. I could not see past the wall that stood so dauntingly across my path, and I was compelled to find a way to break through it. I would strap on my shoes and head down the driveway, thinking it'll be different this time. But time after time, I didn't get much farther than the end of the block. My attempts at running always ended with frustration, fatigue, and the agony of defeat.

My passion for running developed later in life, when I was challenged by co-workers to run a local 8K race. I had been active in cycling for a few years but always managed to avoid the "r" word. My friends took me by the hand and led me, patiently, to the race. Little by little, we sprinkled running into our training. I was clearly tricking my body into running, and it didn't even notice.

I finished that first 8K in 59:36. I could have cared less about my time. I was too excited over actually running an entire race. It didn't even bother me that I was beaten by a 75-year-old man (this detail, by the way, was announced over the PA system).

I walked away from that race with my head held high, knowing there would be many more races to conquer. I had tasted the appetizer and now had a growing hunger for the entree. That night, I wore my race shirt to bed and fell asleep with a smile on my face.

I had finally found the key to unlock my motivation. Racing provided the tool I had long been without—a carrot, a target to work toward. Establishing goals quickly helped me to improve my running. I was no longer running purely for health and fitness; I was training to improve performance. I began using words and phrases like "personal record" and "endorphins." I focused more clearly, trained smarter, and ran better. To this day, in the absence of a goal, I lose focus and begin merely to go through the motions.

Read the rest of Jenny's story in our July/August issue. Her piece ends with this line: "I know my passion for running involves learning more about myself and in finding what lies on the other side."

That Sinking Feeling
The Late Stages of a Marathon Often Dip, But When the Course in Venice Dips, You Better Tread Water.
Jonathan Beverly

The water taxi driver called me out of the warm, wood-paneled cab of his motoscafi and pointed through the pouring rain. The lights of my hotel reflected off the water of the Grand Canal, water that overflowed the canal, covered the hotel's dock, and rippled over the sidewalk nearly to the hotel door.

"Izz possible," the driver said, steering the boat to a public landing miles away. Toting my bags over the slick steps of an arched bridge and along the flooded sidewalk, I asked the question that people had been asking me ever since I announced my plans to run the Venice Marathon: "How do you run a marathon there?"

In the morning, everything was different. The tide had fallen, and as I set out to explore, a hazy sun sparkled across the canal's ripples. Venice, quite simply, overwhelmed me. Every town in the world with more than one canal calls itself the "Venice of the North" or "Little Venice," but unlike all these other "Venices" I've encountered, the canals here aren't minor forays into a predominately land-based culture. Here, canals are the base, with "land" artificially built around over them. Boats carrying everything from commuters to mail to freshly pressed laundry speed through the maze of waterways, stopping at docks where their goods continue on foot to their final destination.

Venice peaked as a world power in the 15th century. At the time, the smoothest, fastest, and most civilized way to travel was by boat. Although the Venetians had fled to these islands in the lagoon 1,000 years earlier to escape attacks from northern Teutonic raiders, their waterborne lifestyle was well-suited to conduct the Eastern trade that fed their wealth, and to cater to the high society that wealth produced.

In contrast, land travel of the time was slow, bumpy, and dirty. In Venice, they could step smartly from their boats directly to their door, or gently walk the short, stone-paved streets and squares between the canals. Five hundred years later, in the 20th century, the world travels by land and air. Venice, however, remains both a waterborne city and a pedestrian paradise. Not even Italy's ubiquitous motor-scooters are allowed past the parking lot at Piazza Roma at the end of the two-mile bridge from the mainland. In no city on Earth is it more necessary, or more pleasant, to go by foot.

Wandering this maze of traffic-free lanes, blissfully lost half of the time, I speculated that it might be possible to find 26.2 miles of "road" within the city's three square miles. And that would certainly be a memorable run: winding through alleys, crossing ancient bridges, and splashing through flooded courtyards. But staging such a race, I realized, would require capping the field at 50 and evacuating the rest of the population. Another option might be to precede the race with uniformed "front-runners," like those I saw clearing the way for a group of construction workers rolling a giant spool of cable through a narrow lane. Of course, at marathon pace, they'd be more like football blockers, which might get rather ugly.

So how do they run a marathon here? I continued to wonder. I discovered the answer when I examined the course map later in the day: They don't run a marathon here. They do what many Venetians have done to live in the modern world: move to the mainland.

In the past 30 years, the city's population has shrunk from 138,000 to less than 70,000. Vincenzo Sambo, the marathon's consultant for foreign competitors, is one of those who left. He considers Venice home but says it is too expensive and too logistically difficult to stay there. His compromise is to live just across the bridge in the modern city of Mestre and commute into his work in Venice.

The marathon's compromise is to start more than 20 miles northwest of the city and not enter pedestrian Venice until the final two miles. Even for this limited invasion, they have to modify Venice to accommodate the runners. Wooden ramps cover the steps of the 18 arched bridges along the route, and a special pontoon bridge spans the Grand Canal, keeping us on the relatively wide walkway bordering the southern waterfront.

I've never felt so high-maintenance. While I had to acknowledge that the alternatives were impossible, the compromise bothered me. I had never before made the connection between road running and . . . well . . . roads. I resented the realization that we need these wide, smooth, relatively straight throughways designed for automobiles to conduct a 20th-century mass marathon.

Read the rest of Jonathan's Venetian marathon article in our July/August issue.

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A Dog Day Afternoon
Some Dog Owners Give Their Animals Complexes By Bestowing Them Stupid Names.
Laurie Parton

He was mad. Really mad. Mad at a life that had given him, a fierce brave male dog, the wimpy, effeminate name of Muffette. An owner who would do something like that should be ticketed for animal cruelty. Muffette, for crying out loud. This was strike one.

If the name wasn't bad enough, this past weekend had been the biggest, baddest weekend of the year for local dogs. It was the weekend of the annual "hunt," the staged opportunity to chase a fox until either you or the fox dropped. There was not a single doubt in Muffette's mind that he was capable of catching any fox in the county, but his master had picked his farm-dog rival, Bozkatz, for that honor, while Muffette had been left home. This was strike two.

So, there Muffette sat, on a beautiful sunny October day, wallowing in grief and self-pity, left alone to guard the farm while Bozkatz was up at the house sleeping off an overfeed of Kibbles'n Bits and no doubt dreaming of chasing the fox over and over like the rerun of a favorite scene from a movie. Meanwhile, Muffette moped and stewed.

And then suddenly perked up. Because out there, on the horizon, he began to make out the unmistakable forms of a half-dozen tasty runners. And these runners had dared to venture onto his driveway. The gods had made up for the fox hunt slight. Oh, yes. Those runners were about to be taken out. Strike three.

Muffette held himself in check as the runners came closer. Every nerve in his taut body tingled with anticipation. Oh, yes.

Does Laurie escape the jaws of the ferocious Muffette? Find out in our July/August issue. Laurie wrote this piece for us late last fall. Ironically, in the early morning of January 24 of this year, while on a training run, Laurie was struck from behind by a car. She suffered a broken nose, a herniated disc in her neck, two black eyes, a fractured skull, and she lost 25 percent of her blood. She was released from the hospital the following day and jogged through an 18-minute workout in order to keep a five-year running streak alive. She had qualified for the U.S. Olympic Marathon Trials with a 2:49 at the 1998 Ocean State Marathon and was determined to get back into training for the trials in spite of the accident. She finished 77th in the Trials in a time of 2:56:02. In April Laurie won the New Jersey Shore Marathon in a new course record.

Marathon Training: More From Less
Part 4 of 5: The Core of Your Training Program: Getting Fitter.
Guy Avery

In this fourth part of Guy's marathon training program, he walks you through Phase 2: the second 8 weeks of training.

If you're looking for a marathon training program, we recommend you give Avery's serious consideration.

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Special Book Bonus

Introduction to Wobble to Death:

There are precious few novels with running as a backdrop, much less ultrarunning—much less ultrarunning in the 19th century! Yet in 1970 a Head of Department at Hammersmith and West London College, Peter Lovesey, penned a first novel featuring several of his favorite interests: Victorian England, the sporting scene, and crime. He wrote Wobble to Death, set in the smoky sporting halls of 1879 where go-as-you-please six-day races were all the rage and where death—not from overindulging in forward movement but by foul means—was part of the program.

Wobble to Death introduced the redoubtable Detective Sergeant Cribb, and the book won Lovesey the Macmillan/Panther First Crime Novel award the year it was published. Granada Television made a film of Wobble to Death, starring Alan Dobie as Sergeant Cribb. Lovesey continued to write novels featuring Sergeant Cribb to the point where, in 1975, he gave up his teaching duties and dedicated his talents to writing full-time. Long out of print, Lovesey's book was brought to our attention by ultrarunning legend and M&B subscriber Ruth Anderson, who lists the book among her favorite crime novels. A large print edition was issued in 1999. Arrangements to publish Wobble to Death for a new army of potential Sergeant Cribb fans were made through Peter Lovesey's American literary agents at Gelfman Schneider.

We are also proud to present a series of newly created illustrations for the installments of the novel drawn by our favorite running artist, Andy Yelenak. He did the special cover painting for the January/February 2000 issue to mark the novel's debut in Marathon & Beyond. Enjoy!

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Atlanta Marathon Marathon
The Marathon With the Ever-Changing Course Serves Up a Thanksgiving Feast.

For a link to the race site, click on Partner Links from the M&B homepage

Letters
Lively responses to our most recent issues.

On the Mark
Experts answer readers' training and competition questions. This month's question:
I PLAN TO do a marathon on April 29 followed by another the first week of June, just five weeks later. I have never done marathons this close together before—my closest has been two months. What should my schedule be after I finish the first marathon and prepare for the other in terms of rest, training mileage, cross-training, and so on? I plan to run the first marathon relatively easy in terms of effort.
Our experts answer this question in our September/October issue.

About the Authors
Among this issue's authors are Guy Avery, Theresa Daus-Weber, Paul Reese, Suzanne Girard Eberle, and Teresa L. Wolff

Features

Marathon Training: More From Less
Part 5 of 5: Adding the Finishing Touches: Getting Ready for Race Day.
Guy Avery
In this final installment of Guy's marathon training program, he walks you through Phase 3: the final 6 weeks of training.
If you're looking for a marathon training program, we recommend you give Avery's serious consideration.

A Hardy Norwegian Marathon
James Hoch
The Nordmarka Skogsmaraton Is For Runners Who Want To Get Intimate With Hills.

When I was accepted to study music composition in Norway by its premier composer, Knut Nystedt, for the month of June, I was tremendously excited and eager to experience everything Norwegian. Since my month of study would cause me to miss Grandma's Marathon, I checked to see if there were any marathons scheduled in Norway while I was there. After a little searching, I discovered a "wilderness" marathon called the "Nordmarka Skogsmaraton," which ran through a forest. The event had a Web site and everything, so I took a look. The first item to catch my attention was this statement: "The challenge for most of the competitors lies in completing the course rather than pursuing a record time. Enjoy the surroundings and plentiful refreshments along the track."
Since I had already been thinking about running a 52-mile ultra in Wyoming to commemorate my 50th birthday, I thought this race might give me a good taste of what to expect. My wife and I arrived in Oslo on June 2nd. After recovering from jetlag, I started running each morning. Most of my morning runs were fun because I would set off in a different direction and then hope to find my way back to the hotel. I would always come back through Vigeland Park, which is a wonderfully large, beautifully landscaped park full of bronze and stone sculptures from the famous Norwegian Paul Vigeland.
You'll enjoy this article about an obscure but challenging European marathon.

Fuel Tech
Suzanne Girard Eberle, MS, RD