Marathon: finding a reason to run

So, I'm running a marathon on Sunday. Impressed?! (OK, I know the answer).

This all seemed like a very big deal five years ago when I did my first one in San Diego.

Friends rallied around me, I got "you can do it" e-mails flooding my in-box the Friday before. Well-wishers got on the Southwest sky bus and skipped seeing Shamu to instead clap and cheer for me as I coughed and sputtered and flailed to "victory" in four hours.

I was a marathon runner.

But that was then.

Since that moment, it seemed like every office assistant, frustrated soccer mom, type-2 diabetic and disgruntled copier salesman has strapped on a pair of running shoes and gone out and "just done it."

Throngs of marathon runners.

I blame one man - Dean Karnazes.

The San Francisco native released a book in 2004 called "Ultramarathon Man." It's one man's inspirational tribute to himself. Basically, the book reads like this:

• I am awesome.

• I didn't know just how awesome I was until one night I found myself flirting with someone that wasn't my wife, so, to atone, I ran 30 miles.

• Then, like a post-mod Forrest Gump, my big fat Greek calves and I kept on running.

• I am now even more awesome.

I read "Ultramarathon Man" at a rather touchy point in my life. I was out of work, in the middle of a divorce, and, oh yeah, living in my parents' guest room for good measure.

This is where I'm supposed to say, I started to run - that Dean Karnazes' book gave me hope.

But it didn't. He had a great job, a loving and smart wife. He lived in a beautiful San Francisco home and made lots of money. He found time to run a million hours a day and work and raise kids and write a book and be a great husband.

I finished the book, stuck out my tongue and immediately stopped running.

Why? Because that's when everyone else started.

The streets began to fill up with jogger strollers pushed by people sweating off their Nicorette patches and leaving Hansel and Gretel Clif bar crumbs to light the way home. The sidewalks were pummeled by 250-lb. squatty dirigibles on the way to a healthier day. The trailheads clustered with cubedrones seeking shelter from the long shadow of Best Buy and Ikea on weekends.

I took up brooding and my running shoes began their 10,000-year journey into decomposition by themselves.

"Ultramarathon Man" went on to sell 25 million copies.

Last December, my close friend Pete said he was training for the Big Sur Marathon and wanted to know if I'd do it with him.

My answer: "no."

He told me to just check out the Web site ("...just look at the views") ...so, one busy deadline day in the name of all things procrastination, I clicked on it - and he was right. The views were nice.

So I looked at the course - hilly and on the edge of the ocean. Thrilling, but no thanks.

And then I saw it.

Dean Karnazes, author of "Ultramarathon Man," is set to be at the pre-race expo signing his book.

This is my chance.

Dean Karnazes, the man who said "there is magic in misery" and refers to himself in the third-person as "Karno" will be there, in the flesh.

Saturday, as I pick up my bib number and the energy bar that will never get eaten, I'll finally have the chance to shake the man's hand, look him in the eye and say, "Thank you - for making me never want to run again. I hate you."

And then, just to prove how right I am, I'll run 26.2 miles.



Andrew Pridgen is the news editor of the North Lake Tahoe Bonanza.