The story of the origin of a Marathon is an amazing one. Whether you believe that Pheidippidies ran solo to Athens from Marathon to report the Greek's victory over the Persians or whether he and others ran to to warn the Athenians of the second phase of the Persian's attack on Athens, two facts are common to both stories 1) he ran a long way and 2) he collapsed at the end of the run.

Today's marathoners have slightly less significant motivations. Jennifer and I ran and finished the 2007 San Francisco Marathon. But what is the fun in saying that. Where is the fun in simply reporting that Jenn and I ran the marathon. 26.4 miles. Hilly terrain. Vasaline between the toes. Really tired at the end. Sore legs for the two days after. That's pretty much it. But wait. Here is the lore. Here is the part of the reporting that I hope compels you to remember this story.

Was Pheidippidies able tow the line from Marathon to Athens because he was in great physical shape or was it love of his country that propelled him to the finish?

The players in our modern day run are different but the question remains the same. So our story begins close to 6 months before that foggy and fateful day. Jenn woke up one morning in a strange mood. We went to Reverie Cafe with the morning paper and a feeling that something would change today. Fast forward past 30 minutes of discussion on the state of the world. As Jenn sat looking down at her half drunken $8 latte, something came across her. The last time I saw that look she signed us up to pick up trash along 20 miles of the northern coastline. "I am going to run the marathon" she exclaimed. That was it. For the next six months she ran between 3 and 6 miles every other day and 10 miles on weekends. She was in the best shape of her life. She was going to run the marathon because she believed it to be a great accomplishment and because of her intense training, she now had the prowess to do so. In the end there is no greater tool to call upon when your body screams "stop running!" than physical preparation and training.

So where do I come into this story? Did I train with her you might ask as a way to extend my support? No. Did I also enjoy running and the marathon seemed a logical step? No. Perhaps it was that I too happened upon a latte laced with fortitude and ambition? Definitely not. Two weekends before the race, Jenn was lacing her shoes before her ten mile run. She looked up at me sprawled across the couch watching golf no less. Will you come running with me? The answer was yes. I would run ten miles with her that day to express my affection. I would run the 26 plus miles of the marathon as a testiment to my love. In the end there is no greater resource when your body screams "stop running!" than looking at the one you love and knowing that you act for no other reason than love.

The morning was cold. It was a good day to run she thought. It was a better day to collapse I thought. Bets had been in place for a week. No one runner was favored over the other. He was stronger and definitely had proven himself in the past to be more athletic. But perhaps his Vietnamese heritage made him more predisposed to short, high impact movements. For those reading this, insert here the discussion about slow twitch and fast twitch muscles based on genetic makeup of a caucasion person versus the vietnamese person for example. She had trained intensely but clearly he possessed a longer stride. She had the conditioning. He had the motivation. She had light hair color. He had dark hair. So many variables and analysis of which could not point to a definative prediction of the winner.

The race started with the shot of a gun. By mile 3 the nerves were gone. By mile 13, gone with the nerves was the desire to run. But somehow both remained neck and neck. Mile 18 worked out to be the proving ground. The miles seemed to become longer and time faster. By mile 18 conditioning was useless. Though Jenn had taken a small lead at that point, it became apparent that training would only take you strong to mile 21. Heart proved to be the more valuable asset by mile 23 and the race was again tied. Everyone knows that races are won or lost in the last mile. As they approached the ball park they both knew that this was the final stretch. The moment of truth. When your body cannot ignore the pain. When your mind no longer has use for such feminine emotions such as love. This race would be won with moxy. It would come down to a good old street fight. Mechanicsburg - a mining town where you are proven by the thickness of the skin on your palms and the dust in your lungs. The backbone of America. Anaheim - Stone's throw from places like Compton and Crenshaw Boulevard. The C in the OC if you will.

So in the end, was it the training or the affection that would prevail. And at the Finish Line...