It was hot, really hot, really, really hot. It was the kind of day that race directors and veteran marathon runners dread, and which new runners ignore as they chase their dreams. Trouble wasn’t brewing; it was boiling.I ran the first few miles

After university I decided to get back in shape – about once every 10 years, that is. In my early 20s I took up tennis. In my early 30s I played squash. And, of course, in my early 40s I discovered running. I got a lot of exercise playing tennis

. At the Marine Corps Marathon one year, I almost finished in the top 15,000 runners. I would have, but I went out too fast!As I enter my 10th year as a runner, I have to admit that I’m no longer the new kid on the block. I’ve had some wonderful races and some

mufflers. He kept racing his engine, waiting for the lights to turn green.I looked over at Ken. Without saying a word, we knew what had to be done. When the lights changed, I gave the young man a lesson in what happens when you put all 200bhp to work

.But it was this runner’s first encounter with himself. You see, Andrew was only eight years old. And suddenly, two and a half miles into a 3.1-mile race, he had to confront himself. Like so many of the adults around him, Andrew had to decide if he was willing to confront

or to martyr themself to the relationship. Only this time it was me making the choice.In 1996 I wrote about my wife Karen’s attempts to qualify for the Boston Marathon. In particular, there was a moment in an earlier marathon when I had to pull out of the race

mufflers. He kept racing his engine, waiting for the lights to turn green.I looked over at Ken. Without saying a word, we knew what had to be done. When the lights changed, I gave the young man a lesson in what happens when you put all 200bhp to work

initially unfolded according to plan. I hit the halfway point at 2:27:32, right on target. At mile 15, I was still there. By mile 17, I was three seconds off the pace, but still hopeful, even though I was beginning to feel the signs of impending disaster

in the shadow of a 10,000-year-old glacier. You’ve just imagined the 2001 Antarctica Marathon, aka ‘the Last Marathon’.To me, it seemed like the perfect idea – the Penguin running with the penguins. But just reaching the Last Marathon was a marathon in itself: a

occurred for me in the middle of a marathon relay. My mother, my son and I were a team. Being the ‘real’ runner, I completed the first 13.9-mile leg. My son, blessed with youth and enthusiasm, had the 9.3 miles in the middle, and my mother, claiming