In each monthly issue, Inside Texas Running will publish one chapter from the new book "First Marathons." This month's story begins in the December 2001 issue of ITR.

To order your copy of "First Marathons: Personal Encounters witht he 26.2-Mile Monster," send $23 per copy (plus $2.95 per order for shipping/handling) to Inside Texas Running, P.O. Box 19909, Houston, TX 77224. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

Come September, we increased our mileage and got in some twenty milers. Our goal was to do three twenties prior to the race, then take a week off, do some fives, and then taper to race day. The closer we got to the marathon, the more I enjoyed the training. It was an escalator effect; I felt like I was being taken to the top of an exciting ride.

The best part of training was becoming close with John. Running was the vehicle that cemented our friendship. We'd discuss religion, and we both felt our faith coming alive. John had lots of questions for me, so we constantly challenged each other's assumptions. And there were other common grounds we discovered, such as the blues and jazz. There are some great blues festivals in Arkansas, such as the famous King Biscuit Blues Festival in Helena.

And to make our runs just a little more interesting, it was Clinton's campaign year for the presidency and all of Little Rock was buzzing. There was lots of juicy gossip.

In essence, our training and time together became a collaboration. I can't think of the marathon without thinking of John. It's a time when our friendship flourished, and even after I moved, our friendship continued to grow. Running, more than any other sport, allows the intensity of a relationship to come through. Sweating and pounding pavement side by side for hours is more time spent with a friend than, say, skiing or tennis or even golf.

My goal for the marathon was just to finish, although John wanted to better his last time, bring it closer to four hours. We had an understanding that if one of us got into a faster rhythm it was kosher to take off. Heck, if one of us was running faster, then by all means go for it.

The race was on a Sunday, and as I was preparing to leave Little Rock, some of my parishioners were concerned whether I would attend church that day. I told them I'd try to fit it all in. I guess I should have been flattered that after four years they were still trying to improve me.

We stayed in Virginia the night before the marathon and gorged on pasta. Then it hit me. I started to feel sick and knew I was coming down with something. I had all the symptoms of a flu: sore throat, congested head, all-over achy feeling. I went into instant denial. I drank wine to drown out the symptoms, but it didn't help. That night I was truly sick and took whatever drugs John gave me. Marathon morning I woke up feverish, sore, and definitely had a case of the flu. More than any of my body aches, I was disgusted, and I was determined to run.

There was no way I wasn't going to run. At least I had to attempt it. John gave me some more drugs, encouraged me to drink gallons of water, and got me out of bed. I had the shivers, and even though the temperature was mild and pleasant, I wore a long- sleeved shirt and a warm-up suit to the start. I didn't think I could finish, but I had to start. I compromised with myself that I would only run half the race. While waiting at the start, my body temperature warmed up enough for me to forgo the warm-up suit, and I ran in my shorts and long sleeved shirt. John stayed with me and ensured I drank plenty of water at each stop. I felt like crap for the first five miles but by mile thirteen I actually began to feel better; it was as if the germs decided not to go along on the marathon. I continued to feel stronger as I ran and the middle of the race was actually enjoyable. My head cleared and most of the sickly symptoms were gone.

At mile twenty, I actually sprinted ahead of John. But then the last six miles were hell. I felt skeletal, my shins were exploding, there was no energy left. It actually felt worse than having the flu!

I concentrated on just how badly I felt, but in a twisted way that made me even more determined to finish. If I could run three-quarters of a marathon with all the symptoms of the flu, I certainly could finish one now that the symptoms were gone. And of course, I reached way back to my youth, when I had to gut things out to feel accepted, so I knew that somewhere inside me was the drive to finish, to make it happen. It had nothing to do with saving face, not being able to face the congregation and say I couldn't do it. At thirty-two years of age, I was over those issues. It was just a matter of determination, sheer willpower to complete it.

When I crossed the finish line, I was extraordinarily tired. I can't remember ever feeling that tired in my life. However, I do recall telling John that it was the greatest rush I ever had. My body fought the flu, I fought the 26.2-mile monster, and we both won.

There were victories celebrated on a couple of different levels that day, but unfortunately, my celebration meal consisted of ibuprofen and chicken soup.

I've often gone back to that day for inspiration. I've woven the metaphor of the marathon into quite a few Sunday homilies, drawing on the fact that the nature of the goal determines how the race is run. In sports, a marathon is run differently from a hundred-yard dash because the goal is different; the race goes not to the swift, but to the steady. In life, if your goal is to follow Christ, your daily existence draws inspiration from His Spirit so the goal eventually is attainable.

Even the Bible has its doses of running metaphors. St. Paul uses running as a metaphor in his letters to the Corinthians, 9:24: "Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize. Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore, I do not run like a man running aimlessly."

Running changed me in many ways, but then everything we do changes us in some way, every experience helping to strengthen the resolve. The other metaphor I like to use is that life itself is a marathon journey, with a beginning, a middle, and an end. For me, the beginning and end were the most difficult parts of the race. But what keeps us all going is the ultimate knowledge that the goal is worth the supreme effort it takes to achieve it. If it were easy, it wouldn't be as valuable. We all need goals. Life is hard to live without one.

I truly believe I am living my life's goal, to be the person God dreamed me to be. All of us have been made for a purpose. And at the core of that purpose is to be at home with God. The gifts and talents He so freely gives us will help us find our way back home.