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A RUN THROUGH PANDORA’S BOX

About one year ago, my good friend Dianne asked me to join her on a trip to Greece. Having been a runner for three decades, I immediately thought what a great opportunity to run the original marathon. I wasn’t getting any younger. I would be turning 54 in November of 2000, so why not get in touch with an event that happened 2500 years ago? After all, I had run many different races and relays and marathons. Maybe there was yet something special on that ancient track.

One year ago, my doctor had diagnosed me with severe osteoarthritis in my left knee. It was strongly suggested I get involved in another sport like biking or swimming. They were much easier on the knees. So I tried. The benefits were dubious and, frankly, not satisfying. Now with a Pandorian curiosity, I began to wonder if I could run a marathon at all. I kept opening the box further and pressed on. Three months prior to departure for Greece, I would have laser surgery done on both eyes. The results were okay but my vision was not settled. It would have to be re-done, but, if I were going to run 26 not until my return from Greece. In addition miles in a respectable time, I would need to place myself on a running schedule of so many miles per week. However, the fates (being from Greece in the first place) had other ideas.

I have two teenage daughters who both needed my attention. As I became more interested in doing "The Run", my daughters’ demands for attention became respectively proportional. The box of ills was opening wider. Needless to say, my training was quite limited. Therefore, what time I could afford toward training was spent running on hills. Thank you Peavey Arboretum.

We eventually arrived in Athens after a very long plane ride. Fourteen hours in the air turned jet lag into another addition to my woes. The cabdriver who picked us up at the airport spoke excellent English. When I mentioned how I planned to run from Marathon to Athens, he gave me some advice. "Don’t hurry," he said, "we already know we won." He was, of course, referring to the battle of Marathon that started this whole marathon thing. It was the first time in history that the idea of democracy had been tried, but the Persians were going to try to put an end to that notion. The Greeks were outnumbered five to one and yet they out flanked the Persians and pushed them back into the sea. A fellow named Pheidippides ran 26 miles to Athens, still wearing his armor, yelling "Nike!" which means "victory". He also collapsed and died on the spot. I certainly did not like the sound of that piece of information.

My next step was figuring out how to get to the famous battleground. I would need to arrive early in the morning so I could run during the cooler part of the day. I do not speak Greek nor do I read it. There are very few similarities between our languages. The man at the hotel desk told me I would have to go to Victoria Station on the subway and then find the bus station which was close by. Our hotel was located in a part of the city called Plaka. Six million people live in Athens. I wondered how many would care about an aging, arthritic runner suffering from jet lag, poor shape, and lack of sleep. Pandora’s miseries seemed to be everywhere. I was determined to do it. I just needed to take it one step at a time. I rose the morning of September 20, 2000 at 4:45 A.M. It looked awfully dark outside and, in a strange city, it can look even darker. I dressed and, before I knew it, I was out the door and down the street. The subway was a few blocks away and when I got to the ticket window, it was closed. How would I get on the train? A stranger behind me repeated "free, free". There was no charge at that time of the morning so through the gates I flew. At Victoria Station, I came up form the hole in the ground to find the city still dark and asleep. I had to find the bus station. I had no idea what way to go so I asked a baker for directions. He could not speak English but his wife could so I was off to the bus station. However, there was no station – just a line of buses parked along a poorly lit street. After 30 minutes, a driver and a ticket taker showed up. Neither spoke English but I kept repeating "Marathon? Marathon?" Finally the driver blurted out "Marathonas". I had the right bus! Time was crucial now and the sooner I could start running, the less I would have to battle the heat. It had to have been 88-89 degrees the previous day and the humidity was 60%. I tried to assess the lay of the land as I moved closer to the city of Marathon. There was a definite hill between the two cities. Actually, it was more of a range of steep hills and the most likely route would have been the path the current road followed.

When I arrived in Marathon, the sun had been up for a good half-hour and I still had to get to the battlefield. I walked to what appeared to be the center of town and flagged down a taxi. The driver’s name was George, which means, "earth keeper." This was a good omen. George told me how he had lived in Long Island, New York for years. Marathon was his home and he was now retired. I explained what I planned to do this morning and he knew exactly where to take me. There is a large mound of earth, about 20 feet high and 30 feet across which sits in a field south of Marathonas. Here, in 490 BC a couple hundred soldiers were cremated and buried after they fought that memorable battle.

I snapped a couple of pictures with my disposable camera and placed it back in my fanny pack. I also carried some money for buying water along the way. At the start, there was a blue line meandering down the road indicating this was the true route that had been immortalized so many years ago. It was 3-4 inches wide and, on route, it would fade in and out and completely disappear after 18 miles or so. Moving now, alongside the Aegean Sea, the asphalt shoulder of the road helped a great deal to keep me centered on running – especially as the traffic began to increase. Not only did I have to maneuver around cars and buses, but also around the ever-present motor scooters and motor bikes. About 7 miles into the run on fairly level ground, Pandora laid a big dose of doubt on me. I couldn’t see any blue line anywhere and there were a number of roads leading in the direction of Athens that crossed my path. I began to study street signs and figured out which word came closest to the word "Athens". My guess was correct. Eventually, I turned away from the sea and headed directly toward the sacred city. There were small roller coaster hills as I gradually changed direction form south to west. I could feel that fortress of hills in my legs as I now ascended. I stopped at newsstands that carried water and either drank or poured the bottle over my head. I concentrated on just keeping the momentum going – just one foot in front of the other.

From the beginning, everything seemed to have been against making the run – the run of my life – if I could just make it over the crest of the hill. Three water stops had left me hydrated and still running. The heat was trying to defeat me, but I was running shirtless and free. I reflected on the run that occurred here 25 centuries earlier and felt a new surge of life within. Were the endorphins I was producing doing something to my mind? I was transcending time in the middle of a marathon! I felt connected with ancient times as I crested the pass and headed downhill. As I adjusted to the descent, I saw another hilltop far off towards Athens. It was a view of the Parthenon on the Acropolis. When Pheidippides first ran this course, that beautiful structure had not been built yet. An older temple had perched there. And now, this day, I was connecting with an ancient folk who had left a part of them behind. Ancestors long since gone took on new life as I could experience their landscape firsthand. I was making a connection.

There are moments in our lives, which are indelible. They sparkle on. This was one of those moments. Up until this point, fear and doubt had been in front of me. Now I left them behind. I had lived the Greek myth, and from Pandora’s Box, had also come "hope". It was glorious! I ran to the new Olympic stadium constructed for the Olympic games of 2004, but built on the site of very old and hallowed ground. I took my victory lap among empty marble seats and sensed I was being watched by an ancient spectator. A Greek family consented to take my picture. I was sweaty, encrusted with salt, and half naked, but they saw in my eyes that something wonderful had happened. I had run through Pandora’s Box. My dream had become a reality. There was hope after all.

(Dan Fontinini sent this article by his friend, Dick Oman.)_