Here’s how the last book on marathoning I read puts it: "Marathon runners feel that the marathon is a microcosm of life. There’s pain, joy, agony, and ecstasy. There is the challenge of doing something worth doing and then accomplishing it. Your success is contingent upon the work that went before."

Sounds like a fine precis of the marathon’s pull for nervous newbies. Who’s the author? Galloway? Glover? Higdon? Henderson? Herr Penguin? Let’s read on.

"Until recently, few runners would bother to finish a marathon slower than 3:30. They trained hard and raced hard. But now the vast majority of runners finish between 4:30 and 5:30. Like Rocky in the movie, they run not to win, but to go the distance." Hmmm, soothing encouragement that, in contrast to the hardcore days of yore, marathons today are mostly populated by John and Jane Q. Public. This hardly narrows the field. (Nor does the antielitist swipe that "not everyone is happy about the change.") Better keep reading.

"If you have been running a half hour daily this year…you may be ready to extend yourself." Okay, cross Galloway off the list. "Under no circumstances are you to run further than 20 miles [in training]." There goes Henderson. "Run each day at the pace you expect to run the marathon." So much for Glover and Higdon, proponents of the hard-easy approach. "During the race you will experience a hellish pain." Race? Hellish pain? Thus do we lose the Penguin. Will the real author please stand up?

Allow me to introduce the editors of Consumer Guide magazine, who offered these bon mots du marathon not last week, or even last year, but in the 1979 summer edition of their health quarterly, titled, "The Complete Book of Marathon Running: Top Stars Show How Every Runner Can Turn the Marathon Dream into Reality." Return with me now to those thrilling days of yesteryear….

Then and Now

So, in the late ’70s, would-be popularizers of the marathon felt the need to stress its commoners’ representation and its metaphor-for-life appeal. As I might have learned during my junior high French classes of the time, plus ca change, plus ca meme chose.

There are other intriguing eternalities. Bob Glover didn’t pen any of the excerpts above, but he is in the book, offering a chapter on "The Importance of a Base." While them is fightin’ words in some circles today among novice-marathoner trainers, Glover, to his credit, continues to write much the same words in his current offerings.

Also abiding is Americans’ fervent faith in technology. Runner’s World Daily recently filed a breathless dispatch on Nike’s plans for individually customized shoes, "smart" running gear, even "zero-weight" flats. (Leave it to the avatar of sports marketing to be able to sell nothing for something, or more likely, quite a lot.) Underlying these and similarly urgent stories is the promise that soon, soon, technology will finally make running the breeze it should be.

The 1979 version of this gospel reads, "Pony Sports & Leisure, Inc. has a prototype shoe that uses air pumped into the sole through a small valve in the rear. The foot is supported on a cushion of air." Running on air—imagine the possibilities! Lest we think that such Jetsonesque gadgetry is merely the product of a technophile’s feverish imagination, the book adds, reassuringly, "The shoe is being developed by former Israeli Olympian Dr. Gideon Ariel."

The book often mentions a well-known marathoner, with "a friendly, fun-loving personality, seemingly unaffected by his recent running successes." It’s nice to see that the legend of Bill Rodgers, arguably still the most famous runner in America, hasn’t changed a bit.

A Laughable Past

Puncturing the follies of the past is always cheap work. For those in the present whose words have been committed to perpetuity, it’s downright dangerous—something that we live and die by today is bound to be the biggest of piñatas for the commentariat of the future. ("You see class, back in 2000, the prevailing theory was that marathon performance was determined by one’s nasal breathing capacity; therefore, many runners paid many dollars for strips that broadened their nostrils.") But then, I work cheaply, so let’s have at it.

Page 159: "Never, never try to complete a marathon without taking on liquids. Drink water, beer—an athletic beverage like Gatorade or ERG, whatever you want." Page 53 (and similarly throughout): "Do not run further than 20 miles [in training]." Page 82: "Since most marathons are started in the morning, the most practical solution to the pre-run feeding problem is to eat your last meal during the evening. That way you’ll come to the starting line with an empty stomach." Page 97: "Cold water, rather than sugar solutions, is the preferred beverage."

Why is the marathon so tough? Page 152: "Physiologists have not agreed on what the Wall is. Some have said it is due to low blood sugar or the accumulation of lactic acid. Others have speculated that it may be due to dehydration or high body temperature. And still others have said that the Wall is due to a loss of blood volume or a depletion of muscle glycogen. Most runners feel it’s the latter. No one, however, really knows."

And, from page 106, here’s some sartorial advice for the next cold spell: "I experience adequate cold protection when training between –25 degrees and –35 degrees effective temperature wearing cotton underwear, lined support, nylon shorts, heavy T-shirt, hooded cotton sweat suit, nylon top, leather ski mittens and goggles, heavy socks, and leather or nylon shoes. Nylon is very effective in its windproofing qualities and is particularly adept at minimizing the variable chill factor associated with fluctuating air currents."

Okay, advances in nutrition knowledge and fabrics easily explain why some of these quotes sound more like they’re from another age than just a few presidencies ago. The go-ahead on quaffing a few brews during a marathon, for example, brings to mind ultra legend Arthur Newton, writing in 1935 about drinking brandy with four miles to go in a 54-miler: "I am convinced that there are times such as these when spirits…are of real benefit."

Others, though, are just plain wacky; like biblical scholars, we’re left guesstimating the concerns of a lost culture by extrapolating from enigmatic texts. "Be careful where you run," we’re told on page 134. "You should, at least, learn how to pick your way among the potholes and sidestep any beer cans that may be littering your path." A line drawing on page 145 has the caption, "In the solitude of training, you can work out your problems." The drawing consists of a runner sitting, deep in thought. Behind him are sketches of what must be his primary concerns—money, relationships, children, and a constant in most runners’ stream of consciousness, his tennis stroke. Unfortunately, the book doesn’t detail how to stay focused enough to sidestep beer cans and simultaneously get some contemplative work done on your backhand.

The prohibition against too-long long runs, although continually repeated, is never really explained. "You are not to run more than 20 miles when training," page 26 commands. "In this book we have plans to get you ready for a marathon. But these plans don’t include runs longer than 20 miles in preparation for the marathon. You are still a novice at this idea of marathon running. You’ll just have to trust the experts at Consumer Guide magazine."

The taboo becomes all the more mysterious given regular warnings like, "During the last six miles you’re going to find yourself pushed to what seems your ultimate limit. You will need to call on all your resources—mental, physical, spiritual." Even more ominously, page 74 reads, "There is no way to conceive how long the last five miles can be until you have completed a run of this length." I hope to unearth Consumer Guide magazine’s "Complete Book of Play Production." It no doubt stipulates, "Under no circumstances before opening night are you to stage a full dress rehearsal," while noting, "There is no way to know how your cast and crew will perform until the curtain is drawn."

So, 21-milers before your first marathon are out. Twenty-milers, however, are apparently not that big a deal. In the spirit of its time, the book prescribes a one-week taper, the focus of which is the classic approach to carboloading, depletion included. That is, our novice marathoner runs 20 (and not a step more!) on the Sunday before a Saturday marathon. Having done the longest run of your life six days before the debut marathon, you are to avoid carbs Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday. ("Medium" runs are called for Monday and Tuesday.) Wednesday and Thursday are easy runs, with plenty of carbs, followed by a very easy run Friday, still with plenty of carbs. Saturday is race day. (As we’ve seen, it’s best not to eat anything that day so that you can start the race with an empty stomach.)

The experts at Consumer Guide magazine, however, know that this can be a hard plan to follow. The challenge isn’t running your debut marathon six days after your longest-ever run. Rather, "since the process of staying depleted is usually somewhat difficult, a modified carbohydrate-loading procedure is often recommended for the first-time marathoner." This plan adopts the current conventional wisdom of dropping the depletion phase and concentrating on carb intake, but with a wonderful bit of tree/forest confusion: If you’re going to skip the no-carb days, then do that last 20-miler on the Tuesday before your debut marathon on Saturday. At least you won’t have to fret about lost fitness during all three days of your taper.

A Laudable Past

To be fair, I should note that the book allows some marathoners to go more than 20 in training. The back cover promises, "The experienced runner will find plenty of new insights on improving performance and moving from also-ran to winner." One such insight, offered in the section concerning second marathons, is, "Research suggests that a 2.5- to 3-hour run occasionally—maybe three times or so in the three months prior to the run—may be advantageous." (Naturally, why only those who are already in the marathoning club will benefit from these runs isn’t explained.) Speedwork, too, is recommended, but with the caveat not to do more than three interval workouts a week. After all, as the book so precisely puts it, "Interval work can drive you up the wall."

Again, it’s always easy to mock old texts. (Have I mentioned the full-page drawing that recommends running on laundry for two hours, a la Emil Zatopek, if bad weather interferes with your training?) But underlying much of even the most bizarre tips in the book is a running ethos that seems as sepia-toned as the top rating accorded the Converse WC Trainer 2 shoe.

Think about it: What running book written for beginners today feels obligated to caution against more than three speed workouts a week? What text for the novice marathoner describes training in these suck-it-up terms: "You are the one who has to face the icy blasts of winter and the stifling heat of summer. You are the one who will have dogs chasing you, cars trying to run you down, and people throwing things at you." Which guru to the masses, when asked about improving upon one’s first marathon, would flatly say, "Lose some weight. Would you rather have 125 pounds hitting the pavement or 180?"

In the world of this book, becoming a marathoner isn’t an exercise in near-instant gratification, with Olympians urging readers to finish their first marathon six months after initially lacing up their shoes. Rather, writes Glover, "The average length of time for the many novice marathoners I have coached from their first running steps to the marathon finish line is two to three years." At one point, the book offers a three- to six-month schedule. The first guide to following it is, "Do not use this chart until…you are running 20 miles a week or 30 minutes daily, comfortably." Then you can pick a marathon three or six months away; "three months if you have been running base mileage for a year or more, six months if you have been running base mileage for less than a year."

Why such gradualism? Here is one of the instances where the book makes far more sense than some of today’s experts. "The process of slowly building a base also allows for your musculoskeletal system to adjust to running progressions," writes Glover. "A sudden switch from sedentary activity to marathon training can result in many injuries. Often your cardiovascular system can adjust to increases in training more steadily than the musculoskeletal system. That is why I am very, very conservative in progressions made in runners’ schedules in my program." (In the book, the run-walk training that is the basis of so many new marathoners’ training today is preached—for completely sedentary people as a means to build to the prescribed minimum of 20 miles per week.)

It’s fair to say the book’s authors weren’t concerned with getting as many as people as possible to sign up for a marathon next fall. Who today would write, "Though anyone reasonably healthy can complete a marathon, it doesn’t follow that everyone should. You may not have the physical characteristics to run a marathon. You may be too fat, you may not enjoy running, or there may be some other extenuating circumstances. If that is the case, don’t do it." Heresy!

But doesn’t signing up for a marathon provide the motivation to finally get going on that get-fit resolution you’ve made lo these many years? Not in 1979. "You should not enter a marathon with the intention of losing weight or getting in shape," the book states at the outset. "You should only run a marathon after you have gotten back into shape and built a base of 20 miles or more a week for several months or more."

Was this book really written in the U.S. just more than 20 years ago? "The most negative part about marathon training is the extensive time commitment that you must give to running. An hour to an hour and a half each day is a good bit of your time," page 25 warns. Were running authors insane back then, thinking that they could sell books by telling people what they needed to hear, not what they wanted to hear?

You might think that today’s kinder, gentler approach to marathoning is better. You might be right. But just once, wouldn’t you love to pick up a current publication and read, as we do on page 166, "Use any wasted time for training. If you have 30 minutes each day of wasted time, use it for training. That can be somewhere between 21 to 28 miles extra a week. That 21 to 28 miles can mean the difference between a 3:01 marathon and a 2:55 marathon or better."

Well, I see that my next 30 minutes are free. Excuse me while I dig out my Nike Cortez trainers and pound the pavement in tribute to a lost running world.

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