Marathon Has Come a Long Way, Baby; Just Ask These Two

Standing in line to register for the Los Angeles Marathon, I overheard a conversation between two men, Pheidippides and Chuck . . .

Pheidippides: Excuse, but what is this line for? To enlist in the army?

Chuck: To sign up for the race and get your number.

Pheid: Number?

Chuck: Yeah, every runner has to wear a number.

Pheid: There will be other runners, then, besides myself?

Chuck: About 15,000 of ‘em. Did you think you’d be running alone?

Pheid: That’s the way I used to work. Are there so many messages, requiring so many runners?

Chuck: Messages?

Pheid: That is the purpose of the run, no? To deliver messages?

Chuck: What do you think this is, dude? Ancient Greece or something? This is the age of car phones. Say, you look familiar. Are you one of the elite runners?

Pheid: I like to think so. Once I was a famed courier, carrying messages of great battles. They say I, Pheidippides, was the swiftest runner of them all.

Chuck: Pheidippides? Yeah, I remember the name. Mind if I call you Phil? Sure, you’re the guy, when the Greeks beat the Persian invaders on the Plains of Marathon in 490 BC, you ran from Marathon to Athens with the news, to make sure Athens would not mistakenly surrender to the retreating Persians. When you got to Athens, you dropped dead. That’s what I call major glycogen depletion, amigo.

Phil: I was not quite dead, my friend. I only drifted into a deep coma, from which I awoke today. Since I was 22 years old when I fell, I see that I am now 2,499 years old. Sunday I will turn 2,500.

Chuck: Geez, you look good for your age. I gotta start getting more sleep.

Phil: Perhaps I slept too long. I feel somewhat stiff. But I am a courier, and I must resume my life’s work. Tell me, at what point will the runners begin their journey, and to what destination?

Chuck: Right here at the Sports Arena.

Phil: Which? Begin or end here?

Chuck: Both.

Phil: To start here, and run many kilometers, only to finish in the same place? What is the purpose?

Chuck: What is this, a philosophy quiz? Look, Phil, I can see you’ve got some catching up to do, marathon-history-wise. Do you know anything about interval training, electrolyte replacement, carbo loading? Are you into blood doping or human growth hormone?

Phil: In our society, human growth was achieved through study, social interaction and philosophical dialogue.

Chuck: How quaint, man. Try these pills. They’ll put hair on your chest. Look, you got any running gear? Clothes to run in?

Phil: I notice many of the runners here are without pants, having painted their naked lower limbs in bright colors.

Chuck: No, Phil. That’s Spandex. Latest thing in running gear: Thin, skin-tight pants. But anything goes in the marathon. You could even wear that crazy outfit you’ve got on now. Might start a new toga craze. Uh, better get yourself some shoes, though.

Phil: Shoes? I could not run in shoes, no more than I would run in full battle armor.

Chuck: Running barefoot could hurt your chances of getting a good shoe contract. I like the battle armor idea, though.

Phil: That would be silly.

Chuck: Exactly. It might get your picture in the papers. I mean, it’s hard to stand out when you’re in a race with jugglers, roller skaters, guys running backward, people in crazy costumes, centipedes. . . .

Phil: Insects running, too?

Chuck: A centipede is several runners who run as a group, tied together and dressed up as a giant hot dog or the Watts Towers or the Queen Mary.

Phil: Ah, a disguise. In order to sneak past the enemy?

Chuck: Not really. There’s no enemy, and sneaking is impossible with all the surveilance cameras. No, the purpose of the centipedes, I guess, is just to break the monotony, get some yucks.

Phil: Yucks? Is that a form of currency? I can see that my profession has undergone many changes. It would seem that the very meaning of running is far different today. Perhaps I do not belong in this race.

Chuck: Not belong? Don’t be stupid, Phil. You’re famous! You started all this. A lot of people still remember you. Hey, forget what Andy Worhol said about everyone being famous for 15 minutes, you’ve been famous for 2 1/2 centuries. Longer than the Beatles. Robert Browning wrote a poem about you.

You’ve got a great built-in gimmick here, Phil. You’ll be comeback athlete of the year! What you need is an agent. I can see it: Posters, Air Pheidippides shoes, a training video, a sportswear company featuring those snappy running togas. . . . But we’ll have to update your image. What was that line of yours, that thing you said when you got to Athens, just before you keeled over?

Phil: I said, “Rejoice, we conquer!”

Chuck: OK, but this time, when you hit the tape, give a cowboy whoop and yell, “Let’s party!” Then look into the camera and say, “I’m going to Disneyland!”

Phil: I feel I am in need of a long nap.