My endurance of marathons and the like ran out long ago

I have this friend named Steve who’s run about 70 marathons, which is roughly the same age as he is today. This doesn’t mean he started when he was an infant, but that he has run several ones each year.

I know some of you people think I’m wacko, but let’s ponder this. He voluntarily puts on sneakers and runs 26.2 miles at one time. When he doesn’t even have to. It’s not like anyone is chasing him. Or the inhabitants of some small town in Alaska are waiting for him to arrive with the diphtheria medicine. He just wants to do it. Apparently because he likes sweating and pain.

I’m clearly not that wacko, because I’ve never run 26.2 miles combined in my entire life.

When I lived in Laguna Beach decades ago, I did start jogging from my tiny apartment down to Heisler Park and along the beach every morning. That was sort of vaguely fun, until I slipped and sprained my ankle near Crescent Beach, ending forever my jogging career.

Over the years, I’ve had numerous friends who’ve decided to “get into shape” by training for a marathon, even though their main form of exercise previously was lifting M&Ms into their mouths. You’ve probably had those friends, too. Right?

They usually do succeed in panting and gasping their way through the marathon, and good for them. Then, they come to their senses and never do it again.

Personally, I’ve had three experiences with marathons. The first was watching the 1984 Olympic marathon run past me in Venice nearly 40 years ago. That was thrilling. Now, those are the types of people who should be running these things: trained athletes who clearly have nothing better to do.

My second experience with marathons is getting stuck in their traffic. I usually forget that there’s a marathon wherever I’m going, and then discover that I can’t get through the streets. At this point I sometimes do a marathon of cussing.

My third personal experience was going to Italy with a friend who was training for her first marathon, which she planned to run when we got back home. I brought my two little kids and she brought hers, so there were six of us traveling together in Italy. I had done a home exchange with an Italian family, so we had the use of a cute apartment in a beach town called Sestri Levante on the Italian Riviera.

Yes, I said Riviera. See, I’m not completely tacky. I’ve been to the Riviera. Anyway, the only way we could afford visiting this (ouch) expensive region was by cooking every meal in our apartment, which was fine because we were single moms who were used to cooking every day anyway.

I would just walk down to the local market and buy pasta and such for our daily meals. The trip was marvelous and we saw all sorts of fabulous things, from the Duomo cathedral in Milan to the lemon trees of the Cinque Terre.

But it was marred by the upcoming marathon. Because my friend spent half her time training for it, and leaving me to take care of her kids.

Without even asking me if I minded, or doing the dishes later.

I had to keep track of all the kids until she got back, at which point she would take her own kids out sightseeing, without ever once asking if she could take mine along to give me a little break.

This got tiresome. I know I should have confronted her about it, but in those days I was less inclined to be outspoken. Also, I wasn’t in the mood for any arguments. When you argue with someone on vacation, you have to see their face every minute for the rest of the trip. So I just suffered in silence.

When we were at the airport getting ready to fly home, she said, “Gee, this was fun. We should rent a house together again sometime.” I thought, I’d rather eat ground glass, but I just stayed silent.

I blame the marathon for this.

Steve doesn’t run marathons anymore, because he did something unfortunate to his knee and he’s not anxious to have surgery. So now he just walks about three hours a day. This is something I can understand. I do it often, from the living room to the fridge.

There is a type of marathon I like — movie marathons. I can happily sit down and watch all three “Godfather” movies in a row, exercising my jaw while I’m doing it.

I know, some of you are thinking, “Marla, you could stand to drop a few pounds, so you shouldn’t be making fun of people who are in shape.” This is absolutely true. I’m sorry. I take back everything I just said. See you at the next race. I’ll be the one handing out the Snickers bars.