This week’s theme
Words originating in running

This week’s words
marathon
troche
interlope
prodrome
dromomania

How popular are they?
Relative usage over time

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Index

Next week’s theme
Illustrated words

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From one marathoner to another, welcome and congratulations. Amateur runners who complete a serious marathon (or more) comprise a brotherhood/sisterhood. Only those amateurs who have ASPIRED, TRAINED, AND FINISHED can understand all facets of the experience. Others cannot understand the motivation, the acceptance of sacrifice and pain, or the reward.

I think if you had cut your hair you would have knocked off a couple of extra pounds of weight and would have run faster.

Email of the Week -- Brought to you buy OLD’S COOL -- Look 10 lbs smarter.

Congrats on the marathon and all your good hard work that went into doing it. This is a real accomplishment that you can manage to work into every conversation for the rest of your life.

When I was 44, I ran the 1985 Tucson marathon (Jan 20, 1985) and even now when I meet someone new I eventually slip the fact into the conversation (ahead of my Peace Corps experience in the sixties or my PhD in the seventies or other adventures). The marathon is the centerpiece -- for whatever reason -- and runners and people who have run one get it. You have to do the tough solitary focused work to do it -- there’s no cheating -- and you can’t just keep up your image here. It’s truly rubber-hit-the-road type stuff and you did it.

I was standing with hundreds of runners, none of whom I knew, and just as the starting gun went off the woman standing next to me turned to me and said, “Run gently with purpose.” Best advice I ever had for running or life.

I’m always impressed when people run their first at a later age in their life. I’ve run 255 marathons (plus over 25 ultras)! Enjoy your recovery week and good luck in your 2nd marathon!

I know what you feel. I ran my first and only marathon to celebrate my 70th birthday. Two years of training but I finished. Had several falls during training but managed to pick myself up and the training included 1 half marathon. Real true the loneliness of the long-distance runner. I was fortunate that my son who normally had an under four-hour time lurked at the back with me.

Congratulations on completing the Seattle Marathon! It’s no small feat, particularly in light of the list of daunting complications. Now you can start the endless obsession with improving your time, tweaking your training and diet, and absorbing the copious literature on running. Best of all, as you’re already aware, you know that focused physical activity is the best possible antidote to exactly the kinds of troubles you overcame to get to the finish line.

I have run ten marathons and a couple of ultras. Beginning at the age of thirty I made a ritual of running my age on my birthday every year, up to 44, when the logistics of such long runs became too much. My times were never great, the best marathon clocking in at a shade under three-and-a-half hours. Now, at seventy, I’ve had to settle into walking, but I still manage eight or nine miles every morning. There’s no guarantee that it will help me live longer, but there’s no question that it has helped me live better.

Some years, I’m on the elliptical while watching the New York City Marathon. That’s as close as I’ve gotten!

For me, running has always been therapeutic. If I can brag for a moment, I’ve run a marathon on every continent (including Antarctica) and am now a member of the Seven Continents Club -- I think it’s still on the website.

I ran the Marine Corps Marathon in DC three times. Number 2 was just awful. Unusually hot and muggy. Runners dropping like flies. Two Marine Corpsmen are at the finish line and one says to the other, “I’ve got a dropper at 25 yards.” Sure enough the runner hits the finish line and face plants. They call another Corpsman and put the guy on a gurney to go to the medical tent. I say to the remaining Corpsman, “Thank you, Marine, for your help with the Marathon.”
With a deadpan look he replies, “Sir, this is not a marathon. Sir, this is a mass casualty drill.”

Commiserating with the above, life threw an awful lot at you in the last few years. Continue to be BSK: brave, strong, and kind.

I often think that life is like a jigsaw puzzle, with no box or picture -- and you’re not even sure you have all the pieces either.

Blessings to you for all you do and the bright light that you are.

Each year between Thanksgiving and Jan 1, I set a goal to indoor row a minimum of 100,000 meters. This keeps me from becoming lethargic/lazy and I get to enjoy all the great foods this time of year without the guilt. In 2018, before running injuries set in, I rowed 165,200 meters. The challenge is somewhat fun... somewhat.

There is an adage, “Life is a marathon, not a sprint.” What is happening at this moment may be of momentary importance, but it is but a blip when compared to the time we have on this spinning globe. (Which, of course, is but a blip in cosmic time, but that’s another story.)

Unlike you, I’m a prime candidate for one of those oval stickers that reads “0.0 - I Don’t Run.” But when I lived in New Jersey, aside from my 40-hour-a-week paying job, I volunteered in an administrative capacity for 38 years with my hometown Little League Baseball program. That’s long enough to see children and even grandchildren come through. The preparation for each season was a fair amount of work, but the payoff came in seeing the (mostly) smiling faces on the players.

My 42 marathons helped save my life. I was training for my 43rd (Boston) scheduled for Apr 20, 2009, when I had an aortic dissection on Apr 5. The surgeon was quite clear: had I not been in good physical shape, I would have never made it to his operating table. (At 80, I am no longer able to run, but still try to keep in shape. I’m sure you nod approval that we contribute to UPENN. There is about a 90% mortality rate for dissections).

Anu surges, but the pack is right on his heels...

My First Marathon (never ask a cardiologist for podiatric advice)

Until rather late in life, I firmly believed that running was justified only if a ball was involved, but at the urging of my son (an Ironman finisher) I decided to give distance running a try. So, with some reservation, I began to participate in short-distance weekend road races and found I didn’t need to be chasing a ball to enjoy it. After a few confidence-building months I found the lure of the annual Honolulu Marathon was too much to resist.

As training distances increased, I began to suffer a common distance runners’ problem. My right large toe had turned black -- a condition called, oddly enough, black toe.

Fortunately, Dr. Jack S., a cardiologist and icon of Honolulu marathoning was available for consultation. When I approached Dr. S. with my black toe issue, he advised that my running shoe toe box was too small and I should cut the toe off. That sounded like a pretty extreme measure until he clarified that he was referring to the shoe and not the damaged digit.

I followed his advice, cut the toe off the shoe, and found that the toe was no longer causing me a problem. Ready for the marathon.

The 26.2 mile course around Diamond Head is mostly flat so hills were not a factor. I was actually enjoying this early morning contest, even passing a number of other runners. One runner I took particular notice of was a big bearded guy wearing a pink tutu. Smart ass! I felt quite pleased that at least I wouldn’t be finishing behind him.

As I approached mile 25, I found that what had been only a minor annoyance had become a major problem. The insert in my modified right shoe had worked its way half way out of the open toe and was flapping sufficiently to affect my running. I moved to the side of the road to remove the offending insert, but when I bent over to grab it, my abdominal muscles locked up in pain. I was physically unable to make the necessary stretch to reach the shoe.

Meanwhile, blue-haired women and small children were pouring by on their way to the finish line. And, Oh No! the pink tutu ran by with a smirk on his hairy face. In desperation, I approached a Japanese lady sitting on the curb and in my limited Japanese vocabulary, pointed at my shoe and said “Dozo.” She quickly understood my dilemma and gave the insert a tug. “Domo arigato,” I said, exhausting the rest of my vocabulary, and dashed off to finish the remaining 1.2 miles of the course. Well ahead of me I saw flashes of a pink tutu; so, refreshed by my unplanned stop at mile 25, and motivated by periodic views of a pink tutu, I covered the remaining distance, passing the pink tutu with 100 yards to spare. Over the years I would go on to finish a dozen Honolulu Marathons, with a best time under 4 hours and without podiatric advice from a cardiologist and without anyone in a pink tutu to chase.

I am running the marathon of living alone for the past 15 years and into the future and consequently am developing knowledge and skill about combating loneliness. I have read research this morning that one can be lonely, even if in a relationship - and my experience confirms this including with a long-standing current friend .

I have completed nine marathons and multiple other races. I was training to run my tenth in Chicago when I began slipping and experiencing numbness. After a lengthy time of diagnostic tests, I was diagnosed with progressive multiple sclerosis in 2010. I can no longer run. I understand now the power of being upright and moving forward at any speed. That is my marathon now everyday.

Thank you so much for sharing your marathon experience, endurance on both sides of the start line. I am really inspired even though the only time I run is if I’m catching a stray animal. I’m a runner on the inside and I really appreciated your story. It’s going to help me with my own endurance as I get my 92-year-old mom through dementia and beyond.

Your marathon experience is remarkably similar to mine. I started running marathons at around 74, fell from a treadmill (after fainting) and had to have two holes drilled into my skull to drain the concussion blood, prefer running alone (on the Bay of Fundy dykes in Nova Scotia), never listen to anything but the sounds around me, say Hello to every other runner or walker that I pass, and prefer the quiet of “the loneliness of the long-distance runner”, watching the occasional wildlife around me (mostly eagles). In the race, I enjoy the crowd of similarly afflicted people at the start of each race, understanding with great respect all the effort they all put into preparing for the race (just as you describe it), and then suffer the rest.

I must warn you that the race never gets easier -- I have done 29 marathons so far and I am amazed how long the race is every time I run it. Now I am getting ready for my 30th marathon, very possibly the last one -- at 83, my body is beginning to refuse to cooperate.

I live in the Western Balkans where people have run their marathon for centuries. The goal of their marathon has been to live on their own without various oppressors telling them what to do and how to live. Such a goal is so righteous, attractive, and inspirational making the marathon going on until the goal is reached.

The closest thing to a marathon that I’ve accomplished was completely unintentional. I signed up for a free month of martial arts in order to help my then-nine-year-old son. I ended up sticking with it for 15 years (until Covid) and reaching third-degree Black Belt!

I just completed writing 50,000 words of fiction in the month of November: NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) My first NaNoWriMo marathon resulted in publication of a suspense/romance, Dark Moon Over Brooklyn. This latest effort will grow into a sequel.

After running many 5ks and 10ks and the Austin half-marathon, I ran the Dallas Marathon. I like to say I’ve run two marathons in my life, my first and my last. I would have quit in one of those last four miles if the bus had come by, but it didn’t. At 77 it is a warm feeling and memory of an accomplishment.

My first marathon was a very slow one. I spent 23 years reading Durant’s Story of Civilization. Afterwards, I completed many more much quicker. I listened to all of Mozart’s music, which is about 250 CDs. I watched the top 100 Ted Talks. I watched all the Oscar-winning best pictures as well as IMDb’s top 250 movies. In a sprint, I listened to all VH1’s top 100 albums. I read all of Mark Twain’s books and over a year I read the Bible. I spent another year reading all Shakespeare’s plays. During Covid lockdowns I watched all the Charlie Chaplin movies. I also have a six-year streak on Duolingo. I’m currently most of the way through Disney’s theatrically released animated feature films. I started reading a book in every Dewey decimal number, but I’m not sure I’ll live long enough to finish that marathon.

My only marathons have been labor and childbirth. The first hours are easy, then you are forced to run faster, and the last mile you are whipped to sprint faster and faster!

Bringing a book, Disturbed In Their Nests, to completion is the greatest marathon of my life. An idea or piece of information becomes a fixation. There’s the learning curve of the craft which can only be accomplished by doing, just like a running marathon. There are bursts of brilliance and inspiration, and lonely setbacks. Publishing is not the finish line, it’s only halfway. But the whole journey, and experiences that come with it, are so worthwhile.

A THOUGHT FOR TODAY:
It is useless to attempt to reason a man out of a thing he was never reasoned into. -Jonathan Swift, satirist (30 Nov 1667-1745)

A THOUGHT FOR TODAY: