If there's one thing I'd love to do in my life, besides opening a stripper bar where every one is naked but with the option to wear socks, it's to run a marathon. And I mean run it, all of it. In one day. Up until last week when I did my knee in, I was at the 10k mark. I'm not sure how many kilometers in a marathon, but I am certain I don't want to calculate because I think it's a close on a billion. What I mean to say is the end line is just so far away from what my mind and feet can achieve.
Anyway, suppose I did line out, my two biggest concerns would be, will I finish the race and in what time? I use the term race in the loosest sense possible because my only opponent would be time. According to a piece in The New York Times in the US the average marathon times have increased quite a bit over the last 30 years. In 1980 the average marathon time was about three and a half hours for men and about four hours for women. Today, the averages are 4:16 for men and 4:43 for women. Should I ever make it to the start line of a marathon I think I will be either more doped up than the entire history of the Tour de France and subsequently run as if my arse was on fire completing the course in under half an hour. Or, more likely, disguise myself as the Taj Mahal and steal past the end line 12 days later.
This reminds me of a book by Murakami Haruki - a serial marathon runner - called "What I think about when I think about running." Other than the finish line I can hardly think about anything else.
