According to history, legend, or
something of the sort, the first mara-
thon was run by the ancient messen-
ger Pheidippides who ran 26.2 miles
from the battlefield of Marathon to
Athens to proclaim victory over the
Persians. Immediately following his
pronouncement, Pheidippides col-
lapsed to the ground and died from
exhaustion, his mission complete.
I like to imagine that if he had
run half that distance, he would’ve
done exactly what I did — waddle to
the State Street Chipotle, down a
Gatorade and sit on the floor of his
shower while trying not to vomit. But
something tells me my journey was
slightly less heroic than his.
I had always wanted to run a
marathon. When I was younger, I’d
see those damn oblong 26.2 stickers
on the backs of Subarus and think
of the stories my dad would tell me
about running around glaciers in
Alaska. He was in his early 20s, “140
pounds sopping wet” and had gotten
into running while living with fam-
ily in Argentina. But everywhere he
and my mom moved — up until he
got hurt and couldn’t anymore — he
ran. He ran half-marathons in Alaska
and trails in Maine and New Mexico,
and from his stories, I created a really
magical view of what running long-
distance was.
More than anything else, it
seemed like a test — one of willpower,
of strength, of mental fortitude. And
I told myself that one day, when I was
strong and capable, I would force my-
self through months of physical and
mental training to become the type
of person who could run a marathon.
But a few weeks ago, when de-
ciding what I would immerse myself
in for this edition, I decided that I
might as well expedite the process.
I would immerse myself in the very
thing I had always wanted to do: I
would run a half-marathon just to
prove to myself that I could.
Now, by no way, shape or
means was I actually prepared to run
13.1 miles on the snowy Friday morn-
ing I chose to do it. I had decided
I was going to do so only four days
beforehand. I had not trained to run
long-distance, nor run more than
four miles consecutively in years, nor
made a route. But what I did have was
a truly awe-inspiring amount of un-
earned confidence.
When I told my friends and any-
one who would listen about my grand
plan to “just run a half-marathon,”
my youthful bravado engendered
three distinct types of reactions.
Most people looked me in the
eyes, touched my arm delicately and
said, “Charlie, this is a spectacularly
bad idea.” In fact, I believe it was my
club wrestling coach who, in a casu-
ally nasal and perplexed tone, said,
“You won’t finish, and even if you do,
you won’t be able to walk.”
The realists, having recognized
that attempting to dissuade me was
pointless, tried to give me practical
advice. They told me to tie my shoes
tight and stay off concrete town
roads, and that mile nine would be
where I’d want to give up.
And the last camp — composed
almost exclusively of my closest
friends — reassured me by saying,
“You’ll be fine. Anyone can run a
half-marathon” before turning back
to Madden.
I chose to listen to them. They
made me feel better about the run.
Now 16 hours before the run, I
decided it was time to buckle down.
All the online articles I read empha-
sized preparation, so I did just that.
I turned down drinks at my room-
mate’s birthday party the night before
and even a cigarette offered to me by
a Good Samaritan. I drank three serv-
ings of Liquid IV the morning of.
And I stretched for a good 20 min-
utes while contemplating if my light
wool jacket and long johns would be
enough for the low-20s temperature.
Funnily enough, my wardrobe
was what I spent the most time curat-
ing. Other than my shoes, which have
been my everyday shoes for the past
year, I dressed like I knew what I was
doing. I knew I wanted to start cold,
so I wore two light layers on my upper
body, paired with Adidas fleece pants
and long johns on my legs. I even re-
membered gloves and a beanie.
At 1 in the afternoon, was ready
to start. Ill-advised or not, I had con-
vinced myself that this was something
I was capable of. The evidence sug-
gested that I wasn’t — but I looked in
the mirror and told myself I could do
it so many times that I actually started
to believe it.
I think secretly, I had chosen to
run a half-marathon as my immersion
experience because I wanted to make
fun of myself for an attempt at a feat
I felt incapable of. I assumed that I’d
wheeze my way through most of the
distance, and then be forced into ei-
ther giving up or accepting a really
ugly and embarrassing finish. I was
certain that I’d just write an article
mocking my arrogance and move for-
ward with my life.
But somewhere along the line
in the mental process of imagining
the run, I had accidentally turned the
half-marathon into more than a joke.
I really wanted to do this — whether
I could admit it to myself or not.
CHARLIE PAPPALARDO
Statement Columnist
LILA TURNER/Daily
JEREMY WEINE/Daily
6 — The Statement // Wednesday, March 8, 2023
How to run a half-marathon without training
LILA TURNER/Daily
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Charlie Pappalardo jogs through the Forest Hill Cemetery and Law Quad Friday, February 17.