The Road to Sparta

by Dean Karnazes

  The inaugural modern Olympics were a success, and this new marathon race became a highlight of the Games. The Olympics took place in different countries around the globe and grew into a popular spectator event. A problem arose during the 1908 Games in London, however. The royal family wanted the marathon to finish in front of their viewing box at the newly constructed White City Stadium, so the King of England altered the distance of the race to 26 miles plus 385 yards to accomplish this end. The rest, as they say, is history.

  Running 24.85 miles wasn’t easy in the first place, and running 26.2 miles made it even harder. Adding incremental distances to a race of that duration increases the difficulty exponentially. Perhaps no one captures this better than legendary marathoner Frank Shorter, who, when struggling to keep up with his rival Kenny Moore during the 1971 Pan American Games, breathlessly muttered at the 21-mile mark, “Why couldn’t Pheidippides have died here?”

  Shorter went on to capture the gold medal in the marathon at the 1972 Summer Olympics and become one of the all-time marathoning greats. The competitive aspect of the sport really developed during his era, and the quantum leaps in performance were profound. Marathoning was largely a male-dominated sport, and anyone intent on running a marathon dedicated a good portion of his life to the endeavor. Elite athletes running extraordinarily fast times dominated the sport. In 1970 there were an estimated 25,000 marathon finishers in the United States, and the average finish time was under 3 hours and 30 minutes.

  In recent years marathoning has gone through a dramatic democratization. In 2014 an estimated 542,000 individuals completed a marathon in the United States, and participation was divided equally between women and men. Marathoning has now become a more mainstream pursuit and something achievable by nonelite athletes, those who train in their spare time. Average finish times have become slower, 4:17 for males and 4:42 for females, but far more citizens participate in these events, and the spirit surrounding a marathon race is more supportive and all-inclusive than in bygone years. This modern Olympic sport, which was never an original Olympic sport, has grown to epitomize the ancient Olympic principles, even though those initial Olympic ideals disappeared thousands of years ago. How convoluted, and very Greek, is all of that?!

  Despite its growing popularity, there is nothing easy about finishing a marathon. No matter if you are an elite front-runner or an anxious first-timer, the undertaking is fearsome. And that is because the marathon is not about running; it is about salvation. You see, we spend so much of our lives doubting ourselves, thinking that we’re not good enough, not strong enough, not made of the right stuff. The marathon offers an opportunity for redemption. Opportunity, I say, because the outcome is uncertain. Opportunity, I say, because it is up to you, and only you, to make it happen.

  There is no luck involved in finishing a marathon. The ingredients required to tackle this formidable challenge are straightforward: commitment, sacrifice, grit, and raw determination. Plain and simple.

  So you set about your training to prepare your body for the rigors of running 26.2 miles. You refuse to compromise, dedicating yourself wholeheartedly to the contest at hand, pouring everything you’ve got into it. But you know that the marathon will ask for more. In the dark recesses of your mind, a gloomy voice is saying, “You can’t.” You do your best to ignore it, but that nagging voice of self-doubt won’t go away.

  The marathon shakes you to the core. It deconstructs your very essence, stripping away all of your protective barriers and exposing your inner soul. At a time when you are most vulnerable, the marathon shows no pity. The marathon tells you that it will hurt you, that it will leave you demoralized and defeated, crushed and lifeless in a heap alongside the road. The marathon tells you that it can’t be done, not by you. “HA!” it taunts you, “In your dreams . . .”

  You fight back, however, and stand courageously at that starting line, nervously awaiting the gun to go off. When it does, you put your head down and charge into the abyss, knowing honestly in your heart’s heart that you either paid your dues or that you skimped along the way. There is no lying to oneself here. The marathon sees right through excuses, shortcuts, and self-transgressions. You can’t fake your way through a marathon.

  All goes well for the first half. But slowly, step by step, the pain mounts as the intensity of the endeavor amplifies. You remain steadfast, knowing that you did not skimp in your training, that you did not take shortcuts, and that every footstep was earned through months and years of rigorous preparation and hard work. Still, with each draining thrust forward, that little nagging inclination of self-doubt in the back of your mind grows progressively louder.

  Then, at mile 20, the looming voice of uncertainty is all you can hear. It hurts so badly that you want to stop. It hurts so badly that you must stop. But you don’t stop. This time, you ignore that voice, you tune out the naysayers who’ve told you that you’re not good enough, not strong enough, not made of the right stuff, and you listen only to the passion within your heart. That burning desire tells you to keep moving forward, to continue putting one foot in front of the other no matter what. Courage comes in many forms, and running a marathon demands the courage to keep trying and to not give up regardless of how dire things become. And dire things do become. At the 26-mile mark you can barely define the course any longer, your vision faltering as you teeter perilously on the edge of consciousness.

  And then suddenly before you, front and center, looms the finish line. Tears stream down your face as you realize you may finish. Finally, after years of torment and toil, you can answer back to that nagging voice of uncertainty in your head with a resounding, “Oh yes I can!”

  You burst across that finish line and are forever liberated from the prison of self-doubt and limitations that has held you captive. You have learned more about yourself in the past 26.2 miles than you have known in your entire life. You have freed yourself everlastingly from those chains that bind. Even if you can’t walk for a week, even if you are confined to your bed, never have you been so free.

  As they carry you away from the finish line, wrapped in a flimsy Mylar blanket, barely able to keep your head upright, you are at peace. That daunting adversary that has haunted you an entire lifetime is now your liberator, your fondest ally. You have done what few will ever do—you have done what you thought you could never do—and it is the most glorious, unforgettable awakening ever.

  You are, above all, a marathoner, and you will wear this distinction not only with the medal they place around your neck, but also deep within your heart, for the rest of your God-given years. Nothing can ever take that away from you. As with Pheidippides, you are part of a sacred fraternal order of the few and the proud. You have kindred spirits across borders and across time. Others may admire you, congratulate you, and tell you they are proud of you, but only those who cross that finish line know the true feeling. A marathoner is not just something you are, but someone you’ve become.

  * * *

  1 It must be noted that neither Plutarch nor Lucian refers to Pheidippides by name as being the individual who ran from Marathon to Athens after the battle. In fact, they assign this to a runner named Eucles or Thersippus. Herodotus never mentions this final marathon at all.

  EPILOGUE

  In the course of writing this book, life moved forward (imagine that). Professor Cartledge retired from Cambridge, though I don’t think a man of such deep intellectual curiosity ever truly retires. Emeritus just means he won’t be teaching classes any longer, which will give him more time to devote to his studies. I get the feeling he will only pick up the pace in his “retirement.”

  P-J’s family has grown since we first started working on the project together, and her grandmotherly duties have multiplied. She and her husband, Stephen, now preside over a clan of rambunctious grandkids. Yet, as grounded as she is in the countryside of England, I still get the sense P-J is restless, that for her there are journeys still to be undertaken, new worlds still waiting to be uncovered.
As much information as she provided me, and as fascinating as her research on the ancient Greek hemerodromoi was to me, the one question I never got around to asking her was Why? Why did this stately woman from the British countryside find such interest in the plight and travels of an ancient Greek hemerodromos, Pheidippides? It seemed like a rather obscure topic of interest for an Englishwoman living in Yorkshire.

  Finally, after the manuscript was completed and we’d spent several years working together, I sent her an e-mail to inquire where this passion had arisen. Why of all possible topics did this one hold such interest to her? It was a typically curt digital communication, all of a single brisk sentence, asking the question, “Why?” Below is the unedited response I received from her:

  The question of “Why?” is not that easy to answer. I could give a blow-by-blow account of the origin and growth of the whole thing, but that would really be an answer to the question of “How?” Your “Why?” requires something different, and I think it is this:

  Pheidippides’s journey became inextricably entwined with a personal journey, for me, for Stephen, and for the pair of us, both of mind and of body—a journey which, in its turn, has shone some light, albeit imperfectly, on what he endured.

  One aspect of it has been, and is still, a journey into the experience of Greece, of the physical country herself AND the often fragmentary written records about her (far more numerous and diverse than I had ever imagined), from Herodotus to the 20th century.

  But, in a manner more difficult to describe, trying to follow Pheidippides led us on a trek through our own capabilities and limitations, as well as into the reality of Greece, her bones and sinews as well as her heart, and our response to, and relationship with, her. I say “Greece” but of course I really mean the Peloponnese. And of all the Peloponnese, a sort of wry love affair with Arcadia, with its mountains and little hanging plains, its oaks and stones, its wayward watercourses and katavothres.

  When, occasionally, I re-read my first journal, recording our first trek—15 miles, with 35-40 lbs each of kit on our backs—from Argos over Mt. Ktenias in the snow & down to Achladokampos, one February day in 1992, I laugh out loud to think how naive I was (and how mad the kind people in the village clearly thought us!). But I’m also thrilled, every time, to re-live our first meetings with people who were so good to us that day, and who became such friends to us thereafter; and to remember how our first view from the top of the higher pass over Ktenias across to the great cone of Parthenius was so exactly as I had imagined it from the maps and the accounts of Pausanias and Leake! I realise afresh that I never anticipated, then, what a journey this would be, and it’s not over even now (there are still questions we want to settle, and I daresay that settling them will throw up yet more, and more, unto the ages of ages!).

  Nor did I anticipate how much we would discover of the achievements and sufferings, generosity and fears, customs, hardihood & precious knowledge of those we encountered, both in the past (the runners, writers, warriors, scholars, ancient figures, freedom fighters, Gentlemen Travelers, even the kalderimi road-builders!), and as we went along, through that beautiful and terrible terrain. Nor that we’d acquire, painfully, some inkling of what might have been meant by “Pan,” through our own occasional suffering of that terrifying feeling of being utterly overwhelmed by the prospect of what was required of us.

  For that matter, we learnt a lot about our own married relationship, discovered some marvelous complementarities, developed a special language, refined a method of eating, and mercifully never both suffered “Pan” simultaneously; that’s not to say that we didn’t also lose our tempers with each other from time to time! Actually, trekking together, with the added strength that companionship supplies, gives some indication of how much harder it is to struggle alone. I did do some of the walking alone, and the comparison is pretty convincing.

  If you take all of this and wind it around Pheidippides’s own journey, I think it led, finally and most importantly, to a realisation of the splendour of what he accomplished. Does this answer, in some way, your question of “Why?” I hope so.

  I would say this indeed answers my question, and in a more beautiful way than I could ever imagine. And these are the types of responses I routinely received from my oft-rushed and unintelligible questions. Every answer P-J provided left me more enthralled, more energized to continue seeking.

  But alas, this journey has come to a resting point. As this book draws to a conclusion, I want to thank you, dear reader, for joining with me on this voyage of discovery and self-discovery. In getting to know Pheidippides, I have gotten to know myself. I have become more aware of who I am and have learned to appreciate the forces that have shaped my life. I hope that you have enjoyed our excursion, and I hope that you have learned and have perhaps even been inspired to find yourself. As I type these final words, my curiosity about Pheidippides and the ancient Greek hoplite athletes is as strong as it was the day I typed the opening sentence. Perhaps stronger. The Greek-born biographer Plutarch noted that the tales of the excellent can lift the ambitions of the living. There are still treasures to be uncovered, and there are still untraveled roads to be explored. But now is not the time for that; now is the time for me to honor Pheidippides in the highest way possible. With the final words in this manuscript typed, now is the time for me to close this computer and go for a run . . .

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  There are many people I’d like to thank for helping to bring this book to life. Mom and Dad, thank you for keeping our Greek spirit alive and for instilling Hellenic values in me from the day I was born. To my wife, Julie, and our daughter and son, Alexandria and Nicholas, thank you for venturing to Greece with me and discovering the magic of this enchanting land firsthand.

  Carole Bidnick, my literary agent, it started with Ultramarathon Man and four books later, we still like each other! I’m sure our friendship will endure for many years to come.

  To my editor at Rodale, Mark Weinstein, thank you for continuing to believe in me even when I lost belief in myself. You challenged me to be better and pushed me to strive higher, and I rose to the occasion because of this. Thanks for that not so subtle nudge.

  Also at Rodale, I wish to express my gratefulness to Gail Gonzalez, Aly Mostel, and Joanna Williams, as well as to David Willey and the entire crew at Runner’s World for supporting me and for supporting the sport, activity, and lifestyle of running. Who would ever think such a simple act could have such profound meaning in our lives?

  I want to thank Peter Polous for his ongoing friendship and brotherhood, and for making some of the best damn olive oil in the world! To Akis Tsolis and the team at Focus on Sports, you guys have been terrific to work with, world class. We’ve built the Navarino Challenge into something special, something we can all take pride in. Of course, I owe a debt of gratitude to Achilleas Constantakopoulos and the staff of Costa Navarino for making the Navarino Challenge possible in the first place. And thank you to the other athletes at the Navarino Challenge, Spyros Gianniotis, Alexandros Nikolaidis, and Mandy Persaki for representing Greece so proudly.

  To the organizers and tireless volunteers of the Spartathlon, thank you for creating an event that is unparalleled in the world of sports. My heartfelt appreciation goes out to Dimitris Troupis and Nikos Kalofyris for sharing in the adventure with me, and to Babis Giritziotis for doing such an outstanding job of capturing it. Finally, thank you to Mike Arnstein for relentlessly insisting that I do the Spartathlon. Just go, drop everything, nothing else matters, you persisted, this is who you are. I’m not sure how you knew these things, but you were right. Thank you for never giving up on me.

  To Ellie Flenga and the fine folks at Holmes Place gym, thanks for extending membership reciprocity whenever I’m visiting Athens. Nothing better than having a nice place to clean up after a run and workout. And to my poor Greek instructor, Dafni Dedopoulou, you have the patience and good humor of a saint despite my continued butchery of the Greek language. Thank
you. No, Ευχαρıστὡ. Hey, I got that one right!

  And, lastly, thank you to the Greek people for embracing me so warmly. It would be easy for me to tell you to be strong and to weather the storm bravely, but that would be unfair since I face no such struggle or hardship in my life. What I can say is that nothing seems to bring people together like shared suffering. This is something we runners know. You have suffered together as a country, and I see the bonds tightening ever more strongly on each subsequent visit to Greece. The battered economy may have taken its toll on the nation’s finances, but the Greek spirit perseveres. Long live Greece!

  Runs end, running lasts forever. Thank you Pheidippides. Pylos, Greece.

  Generations of Spartathletes

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dean Karnazes was named by Time magazine as one of the 100 Most Influential People in the World and by Men’s Health magazine as one of the 100 Fittest Men of All Time. He has raced and competed across the globe and once ran 50 marathons, in all 50 US states, in 50 consecutive days. The recipient of an ESPN ESPY award and three-time winner of Competitor magazine’s Endurance Athlete of the Year, Dean lives with his wife and family in the San Francisco Bay Area.