When, over a year ago, almost overnight, for reasons I could not fathom, I started to obsess about running a marathon, I looked for significance in the number 26. I know it's silly and backward. But I thought that if could find something, a myth I could relate to, a link to something meaningful, then I'd be more comfortable with the idea, I could appropriate the notion, I could make the marathon mine.
I found out that the distance between Marathon and Athens, run by that faceless warrior of two milleniums ago, was actually close to 25 miles, and the extra length came about in the context of a race ending precisely in front of the seats of the British royal family. Oh well.
Since I grew up in Europe, for most of my life I thought about marathons, if I thought at all, in terms of 42 kilometers. Needless to say, I did not fare better with 42 than with 26.
A few weeks ago - I had already discovered Shiprock - I realized that if I run my first marathon before summer I will run it while I am still 42.
I know it's silly. But it made me feel good.
Okay, last chance between now and Saturday to sign up for the drawing - see the entry titled "Aveda foot relief."