If you’ve ever watched a marathon—seen runners cheering each other on, cried at a finish line hug, or wondered “Could I do that?”—you probably have questions. Is the Pheidippides story real? Why does “hitting the wall” hurt so much? Do you need to be a pro to run 42 kilometers?
I’ve run five marathons, and I’ve asked all these questions (and more) myself. Below, I’m answering the most common ones—with science, history, and the kind of real-talk only someone who’s struggled through the last 10 kilometers can give.
1. Where does the marathon come from? Is the “Pheidippides story” true?
Let’s start with the basics: The word “marathon” traces to 490 BCE, when Greece fought the Persian Empire at the Battle of Marathon (a town 40 km from Athens). The myth goes that a soldier named Pheidippides ran nonstop to Athens to yell “Victory!”—then collapsed and died.
But here’s the catch: Scholars debate if that’s exactly what happened. Some say Pheidippides was a “hemerodromoi” (“day runner”), a professional messenger who ran long distances for the military—his Marathon-to-Athens trip might’ve been just one of many. Others think the story was spruced up later to glorify Greek courage.
Does it matter? Not really. The myth stuck because it captures the marathon’s soul: It’s never been about speed. It’s about showing up—even when the cost is high.
The modern marathon began in 1896, at the first Olympic Games in Athens. Organizers wanted to honor Greece’s past, so they created a 40 km race from Marathon to Athens. The winner? Spyridon Louis, a 24-year-old water carrier who trained by running to work. He stopped for wine (a Greek fatigue remedy!) and still won.
And why 42.195 km now? Blame the 1908 London Olympics. Organizers moved the start to Windsor Castle (so the royal family could watch) and the finish to the royal box—adding 2.195 km. The distance stuck, and in 1924, the IOC made it official. Today, every marathon in the world uses that number.
2. What’s “hitting the wall”? Why does it feel so terrible—and how do I avoid it?
If you’ve heard marathoners talk about “the wall,” you know it’s not a physical barrier. It’s that moment (usually around 30–32 km) when your legs turn to lead, your lungs burn, and your brain screams “STOP.”
Here’s the science: Your body runs on two fuels—glycogen (sugar stored in muscles/liver) and fat. Glycogen is fast-burning, so your body uses it first. But the average person only has enough glycogen for 90 minutes of running. Once it’s gone? You “hit the wall.” Your body switches to fat (which is slower to convert to energy), and every step becomes a fight.
The good news: You can delay or even avoid it with training. Here’s how:
• Long runs: Do a weekly “long run” that builds up to 32 km. This teaches your body to burn fat earlier. A 2020 study found runners who did 12+ long runs (over 24 km) were 50% less likely to hit the wall.
• Nutrition: “Carbo-load” 2–3 days before the race (eat pasta, rice, bread) to fill glycogen stores. During the race, eat an energy gel every 45–60 minutes to top up.
• Mental prep: “The wall” is half mental. A 2018 study showed positive self-talk (“I can do this”) makes you 30% more likely to push through. I repeat “One step at a time” when mine hits—it works.
3. Do I need to be “naturally athletic” to run a marathon?
Short answer: No. Long answer: Hell no.
I was never a “sports person.” In high school, I quit track because I couldn’t keep up. My first “long run” was 8 km, and I walked half of it. But I finished my first marathon—and so can you.
The marathon isn’t about speed or talent. It’s about consistency. Most training plans are 16–20 weeks, and they build mileage slowly (10% more each week to avoid injury). You don’t need to run every day—rest days are just as important (your body repairs muscles while you sleep!).
Take Spyridon Louis (the 1896 winner): He wasn’t a pro. He delivered water for a living. Or Dick Hoyt, who ran 32 New York City Marathons in a wheelchair (pushed by his son Rick). Hoyt had cerebral palsy—he couldn’t walk, let alone run—but he finished 42 km 32 times.
The only thing you need? The willingness to show up. Even on rainy mornings. Even when your legs hurt. Even when you think “I can’t.”
4. Why do marathons feel like a “community”—not just a race?
I’ll never forget my first marathon: At 35 km, I was walking, tears in my eyes, when a woman in a blue singlet stopped. She handed me a gel and said, “Just one more hill—then it’s downhill.” I didn’t get her name, but her kindness got me to the finish.
That’s the marathon’s secret: It turns strangers into family. Here’s why:
• Shared struggle: Everyone at the start line knows what it’s like to wake up at 5 AM to run, to doubt themselves, to feel pain. When you see someone struggling, you don’t see a competitor—you see a person who gets it. You hand them water. You cheer. You say “You’ve got this.”
• Volunteers: At every marathon, hundreds of people give up their weekends to hand out water, tape blisters, or cheer. At the 2022 Boston Marathon, a 6-year-old handed me a daisy at 40 km. I kept it in my pocket until I finished—it felt like a gift from a friend.
• Training groups: Most runners train with others. My group meets every Saturday—we’ve celebrated birthdays, helped each other through injuries, and gotten lost on runs (once we ended up at a farmer’s market!). During COVID, we did “virtual runs” and checked in on Zoom. It’s not just about running—it’s about belonging.
5. What does running a marathon teach you about life?
This is my favorite question. The marathon doesn’t just change how you run—it changes how you live. Here’s what I’ve learned:
• Progress isn’t linear: Some runs are great (you feel fast, strong, unstoppable). Some are terrible (you walk, you cry, you want to quit). That’s life too. You won’t always get a promotion, or nail a recipe, or fix a fight with a friend on the first try. And that’s okay. Slow days are part of the journey.
• Pain is temporary: During my first marathon, I thought the leg pain would never end. Now? I barely remember it. What I remember is crossing the finish line, and the crowd cheering, and the pride of doing something hard. Life’s hard times—losing a job, a breakup, an illness—feel endless in the moment. But they pass. And you’ll be stronger for it.
• You don’t have to do it alone: I used to run solo—I thought “I work better alone.” But training with my group taught me that support makes everything easier. When I wanted to quit a long run, my friend Mia said “We’ll run the next mile together.” When I got injured, they brought me soup. Life’s no different: You need people to cheer you on, to help you up, to remind you that you’re stronger than you think.
One last question: Should you run a marathon?
Only you can answer that. But here’s what I’ll say: It won’t be easy. You’ll hurt. You’ll doubt. You’ll want to quit. But when you cross that finish line—when you hold that medal, and your legs are wobbly, and you’re crying, and a stranger hugs you—you’ll realize something: You’re capable of more than you ever thought.
The finish line is just a piece of tape. The real win is the person you become along the way—braver, more persistent, more grateful.
So if you’re thinking about it? Lace up your shoes. Start with 5 km. Then 10. Then 21. And one day, you’ll stand at the start line of a marathon. And you’ll think “I can do this.”
And you will.