Laying the foundation

I was 15 years old and watching the Munich Olympics on TV the day that Frank Shorter became the first American to win the marathon in over 60 years. I can still remember Marty Liquori's voice telling Frank not to worry, that the runner in the Finnish uniform who had entered the Olympic stadium ahead of Shorter had to be an imposter.

I know that I was upset that someone had decided that this was a great moment to rain on someone's parade by running into the stadium and circling the track as if they had actually been the one to win the marathon (they even had someone running with them carrying a Finnish flag). I know that I was concerned that Frank Shorter was upset about the whole thing.

I know I had those emotions. I must have had them--everyone did.

But what I remember was thinking what a great feeling Shorter must have, knowing that he had already run nearly 26 miles and was now less than a lap around the track away from finishing the marathon. I remember thinking, GOD, that must be a great feeling.

That moment, that thought, began a lifelong obsession with the marathon.

Okay, so obession is a strong word. I obviously have not been obsessed. I have not spent every waking moment thinking about running a marathon. My running history has, in fact, been an on-and-off thing. There have been times when I was really committed to running and times when I was really devoted to my couch.

But the marathon has always been able to get my attention. In the years after Shorter's Olympic win, I bought a few books about the marathon. I got really fascinated with the Boston Marathon and became a fan of Boston Billy, Bill Rodgers. I can still remember sitting in a bar my senior year at Illinois State University (I spent a lot of my senior year in bars) the day that Rodgers won the 1979 Boston Marathon.

I don't remember what channel the bar had on the TV (this was back when only a few bars had ONE television, let alone a bank of TVs), but there was a news break in which the on-air guy mentioned that American Bill Rodgers had won the Boston Marathon in record time. I remember seeing Rodgers coming across the finish line and my buddies joking with me about even caring about the race.

I remember the Sunday morning in 1984 when the women finally got their own Olympic marathon and Joan Benoit took off like a rocket. She immediately took the lead position and I actually yelled at my TV. "Slow down, you can't lead the marathon from beginning to end!"

Yeah, I was the expert. Joan won that race.

For a lot of years I didn't think much about marathons. But in the last few years it's been getting back into my thoughts. I know more and more people who have run the race. I got to meet Dick Beardsley, an elite marathoner back in the early 80s who had the Duel in the Sun with Alberto Salazar. Beardsley talked about how marathon philosophies and training have evolved since he was one of the top runners, and I drank it all in.

Then the Springfield Road Runners Club brought Bill Rodgers to speak at our annual dinner. I was like a kid at Christmas time; I had really followed his career during my college days when he was winning the Boston and New York City marathons seemingly every year. The day after the dinner, he was at the local running store signing books and talking to everyone. And I started getting The Talk.

You should think about running a marathon.

You're a strong runner. You're goal oriented.

You could do it.

Look, I'm over 50. I'm 230 pounds on a 5-9 frame. I'm a 10 minute-per-mile runner no matter what I try to do.

And I'm training for my first marathon.

I wish I could point to a single point when I really made the decision to prepare for a marathon. I wish there was a moment like watching Frank Shorter entering the Olympic Stadium in Munich or watching Bill Rodgers finish a cold, rainy Boston marathon. I know that a conversation I had with a woman who ran in the abbreviated Chicago maratohon of 2007 had a lot to do with changing my mind, because she's built a lot like me and runs even slower. Part of her advice was to find a spring marathon so I could train in relatively good weather instead of putting in 20-mile runs during late August here in central Illinois.

And then I discovered Green Bay. The Cellcom Green Bay Marathon is run in late May, which means the long training runs are in April, when it can still be cool in central Illinois. That means my long training runs won't be in severe heat and humidity and probably won't be in bone chilling cold.

Not only that, but the final mile of the Cellcom Green Bay Marathon goes through Lambeau Field, the very place where Bart Starr played, where Vince Lombardi paced the sidelines, where Dallas lost the NFL championship on a last-second quarterback sneak in subzero weather. Marathoners aren't my only heroes.

Preparing to marathon may be the dumbest thing I've ever attempted to do. It will doubtless be the most difficult thing I've ever attempted as well. I expect pain and hardship and fatigue.

But there's one thing that I've heard from everyone who has finished a marathon, one thing I can't wait to find out. The sense of accomplishment, the deep feeling of satisfaction, was shared by all of them, even those who said they would never attempt another marathon. Every one of them said that feeling was worth all the pain and effort.

That's what I'm looking forward to feeling.