On the Road to Find Out by Rachel Toor Page A

talking.
    â€œSo, the legend goes that the distance is 26 miles to commemorate the run of Pheidippides, a messenger sent from the ancient battlefield of Marathon to the city of Athens to announce that the Athenians had defeated the Persians. He ran the whole 26 miles, burst into the assembly, blurted out, ‘We won!,’ and dropped dead. The extra 0.2 miles was added in the 1908 Olympics so the race could end in the stadium in front of the royal family.”
    â€œHuh,” I managed to snort.
    â€œNow that account is pretty bogus. Herodotus—you know, the Greek historian?”
    I made a noise that I hoped came out as uh-uh but probably sounded more like a grunting pig.
    â€œWell, Herodotus mentions a messenger named Pheidippides who ran from Athens to Sparta asking for help and then ran back—it was about 150 miles each way. No mention of him dropping dead. That would make him the father of the ultramarathon as well. Do you know about ultras?”
    (Pig noise from me again.)
    â€œSo an ultra is any race longer than the 26.2 miles of the marathon.”
    â€œLonger?”
    â€œYeah. Next step up is usually 50K—31 miles. Then there are 50-milers, 100Ks, and 100-milers.”
    He went on to tell me about all these crazy-long races that took place in the woods, where people ran through the middle of the night. They had water stations like ours, Miles said, that provided a buffet of snacks: cookies, chips, M&M’s, Gatorade, boiled potatoes, chicken noodle soup, pb&j sandwiches. Runners stopped, grabbed a handful of calories, and kept running. Miles had volunteered at some of them and that’s where he’d first met eighty-six-year-old Bob Hayes. That guy didn’t start running until he was sixty, Miles said, and now he’s done a bunch of 50- and 100-mile races, and it didn’t look like he was ever going to stop. Miles said that you get these giant silver rodeo belt buckles for finishing 100-mile races in under twenty-four hours. I don’t know what seemed stranger: running 100 miles in one day or a skinny runner dude wearing a big metal belt buckle.
    Miles talked and talked like a teacher lecturing about a subject he really loves. I listened and occasionally made the sound of a barnyard animal. I couldn’t believe it when we passed through a clearing and I could see the fire station where the race started. We were back already. Miles had talked the whole way and I’d been concentrating so hard on what he was saying that I had forgotten to be freaked out about running with him.
    While it wasn’t easy, it was by far the best two miles I had ever run.

 
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    We arrived as they were giving out the prizes for sixty-to-sixty-four-year-old women. Joan announced the names, and she gave each person, no matter whether they had earned first, second, or third place, a chocolate heart and a big hug.
    The man who won the race came over to talk to Miles. He still wore his tight red dress and I have to say, he had a better body for it than many of the Project Runway models. He carried a gigantic chocolate bar, which I assumed was his reward for winning.
    I wondered, briefly, whether, if Miles had entered the race and had won the bar, he would have tried to share it with me, the way he’d offered me a piece of every item he’d pulled out of his backpack. Maybe he would have even given it to me, like a boyfriend would win a stuffed animal at the state fair for his girl. I’d carry it around and everyone would know that—
    I had to mentally slap myself upside the head.
    A bunch of other guys came around to ask Miles about his half marathon the day before. They were speaking running. I edged away.
    People were busy taking down the finish line and when Joan hugged the last runner, she came over to me.
    â€œDid you have fun?” Her face was so open, so bright, she seemed illuminated from within, like she’d swallowed a lightbulb. Maybe she just had good