YES, YOU HAVE seen this photo before on CFR. In January 2006, to be exact, when we congratulated our good friend Roger Roberts (of 3Canal) on running 4:25:08 in the Walt Disney Marathon.

In just a few hours’ time, Roger will be at it again, this time in the New York Marathon (the world’s largest, they say), where he hopes to run a sub-4 hour race.

We wish Roger the best of luck in this ambitious undertaking and, as a small tribute to him, I’ve asked my friend Nola Powers permission to reprint this article that I feel sums up the spirit of — well, something to do with marathons.

RUNNING SCARED
By Nola Powers

If you ever see me running, chances are I’m being chased. Or chasing somebody else. In fact, the last time I remember running with any enthusiasm was a few years ago when a pickpocket grabbed my wallet. Motivated by the horror of living — albeit temporarily — without a credit card, I went charging after the perpetrator — until I realised it would be easier just to yell “Stop thief!” and have other people chase him instead. Which they did, causing said perp to get scared and toss the wallet into the yard of some honest citizens. It’s at times like these that I know some kind of Supreme Being really exists.

But getting back to running, and speaking of Supreme Beings: if He, She or It had meant us to run, where are those winged feet we should have been born with? Why do shin splints exists? (And how come I get them even from walking?)

Hanging around the start line at the local International Marathon the other day (don’t ask), Nola got to talking with some folks about the act of running. It’s a Sunday, maybe 5 a.m., still pitch black and with that January nip in the air. I’m wearing a fleece jacket and a cap pulled low over my eyes. Around me, folks in skimpy little shorts and tank tops are doing jumping jacks and folding their bodies over till their noses touch their knees. Why put oneself through this?

A dignified Indian gentleman tells me “it’s a test of the human spirit,” which is, of course, the textbook answer. An individual wearing dark glasses and a teardrop tattooed on each cheek tells me he’s doing it for reasons of national honour and to “stop the Ballantyne brothers,” the St. Vincent and the Grenadianes duo who’s been running a blue streak over local runners for the past few years. (These same individual was reportedly seen sneaking into a maxi-taxi halfway along the course, all thoughts of national honour apparently set aside till next year).

It was a Greek named Pheidippides, I believe, who’s to blame for all this. Back in 490 BC, Phei ran 26 miles to Athens to carry news of the Greeks’ victory over the the Persians in the battle of Marathon. Modern humans, somehow, feel they have to emulate this, which to me makes about as much sense as re-enacting Pearl Harbour. What they forget to tell you is that after delivering the news, Pheidippides keeled over and died.

So I’m more with the two teenaged girls who shrugged and giggled when I asked them why they were running a marathon, and said “You know — for fun!” And who then, when I asked them why they thought running 26.2 miles sounded like fun, looked a little shocked, as though they hadn’t bothered to find out how long a marathon really was. And to tell the truth, I didn’t see them at the finish line.