Marathon at Londie Bridge

The London Marathon was this morning -- at over 36,000 runners (and this year, one person who danced the entire distance) it is the largest race in the world.

This week someone asked me: How long is the London Marathon?
A: Same as every marathon: 26.2 miles.

I don't blame people for asking these kinds of questions, because really the only people who care about marathons are those who have run one, are going to run one, or know someone training for one. I am all of those people.

I started running after graduating college. I really hate running, but on my friend Brad Miller's awful advice to always have a hobby that you hate, I began running while living in Denver in the summer of 2002. Running at a high altitude meant that when I moved to Charlottesville a few months later, everything was easier. My distances increased accordingly.

I never really considered running a proper race, but one early morning Brad and I found ourselves at the starting line of a 10k trail run. We both wore basketball shorts and tennis shoes, and found ourselves intimidated by runners decked out in spandex and designer running gear. It didn't take long to discover that gear does not the runner make, as Brad and I beat many of those wearing moisture-wicking jerseys and short shorts, and lost to many dressed more randomly than we were (one guy dressed in a Satan outfit comes to mind).

From there, the races started getting longer, and Brad in particular started descending towards running snobbery by gearing up at running stores.

My defining race was the Chicago Marathon in the fall of 2003. I trained for the race for 18 weeks, which was basically like working the worst part-time job ever. I ran 5 days a week, with a long run each Saturday that prevented me from doing much on Friday nights, or punished me if I did.

But punishment was kind of my strategy -- I figured that if I ran at the hottest times of the day, without being properly hydrated and/or nourished, things would be easy come raceday. I was kind of right. I beat my goal of 4 hours, finished strong, running the second half of the race 15 minutes faster than the first half. And I beat a Kenyan (though I did lose to 8,079 others).

Other running moments worth memorializing:

- The time Brad and I were running a 5k and were scared to death to notice that an eleven year-old girl was on our heels going into the home stretch.

- Running the Charlottesville 10-miler wearing a SpongeBob SquarePants outfit.

- Running the Charlottesville 10-miler wearing booty shorts and a keytar T-shirt.

- The time that I got back from a long run a minute too late and went number 2 in the front yard.

- The time my friend Javier did the same thing.

- The time Brad did the same thing.

- The time Brad led me for an entire race, but inexplicably took a wrong turn up a garden stairway, a move that required him to run behind a race official who was pointing in the opposite direction.

- The time when, during a late night, I promised Brad that I would run the Charlottesville Half-Marathon the next day -- a race I had not trained or registered for, and a distance 3.1 miles further than I had ever run before. That was a pretty bad idea.

- The annual running of the Turkey Trot -- a Charlottesville 5k that takes place on Thanksgiving morning and is run by preppy country club families. We crashed it for three years straight and ate their bagels and donuts after finishing.

My favorite memory came the day before the Chicago Marathon. That year, for my dad's birthday, I registered him for a pre-marathon 5k. I liberally called it a gift. He trained for it for weeks in advance and by raceday knew how to pace and had a goal, which we beat. The best part was that we ran it together. The second best part was that he wore a headband.