I'm in New York City this week, and Marathon Madness is in the air. There is no known cure. On Nov. 1, approximately 40,000 runners of every age, shape and thighs will line up at the starting line for the 40th anniversary year and attempt to run the magical, mystical, maniacal distance of 26.2 miles. I will not be among them — not this year, not any year. I've decided long-distance endurance running is a form of body abuse I'd rather not indulge in. Call me crazy.

I've paddled th ...

( Back to Article )