run, Pheidippides, one race more!

Pheidippides1

Once upon a time (in 490 BC or so), Persia and Athens had a little scuffle.  Athens had sent a force to support the Ionians in their revolt against Persian rule, and King Darius I did not take it well.  After swearing to burn Athens to the ground, he embarked on the first Persian invasion of the Greco-Persian wars. 

Even though the Athenians were outnumbered 2 to1 (some accounts say as many as 10 to 1), when the armies met in a little town called Marathon, the Greeks opened a serious can of whoop-ass on the Persians.  While the defeat wasn't really much of a blow to the mighty Persian Empire, it had a huge impact on classical Greece, which would go on to grow and flourish for another 200 years.

While the historical importance of this event is significant, more important to this blog is the mythical aspect.  Legend has it that Pheidippides, the greatest runner in all of Athens, was sent to garner aid from Sparta before the Persian troops arrived.  This little jaunt was about 240 km, or 150 miles.  He completed this in two days.  (The Spartans, as it turned out, were in the middle of a holy festival and couldn't leave until the full moon.  The took their sweet time and covered the distance in three days, missing the battle entirely.  They did, however, compliment the Athenians on a job well done.)

Once the Persians had been defeated, the Athenian army needed someone to go tell the city of Athens what had happened.  Obviously, Pheidippides was the man for the job.  He ran another 40 km, or 26 miles, uttered the words "We have won," and died from exahustion.

Let's ignore the fact that none of Pheidippides' running did anything to help anyone, and the fact that maybe, just maybe, they should have gotten someone a little more rested to deliver the equivalent of a jubilant tweet.  The important part of this legend is that the run from Marathon to Athens killed the messenger.  Okay, okay.  The previous run to Sparta may have contributed.  But still.  Pheidippides died.  He ran 26 miles, and then he died.

My hope in sharing this story with you, is that you will understand the thought that kept pulsing through my mind nine miles into my ten-mile run last night:

A half-marathon is only half-dead.  I'm only almost half dead.

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