In each monthly issue, Inside Texas Running will publish one chapter from the new book "First Marathons." This month's story begins in the January 2002 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.

Back home from Alaska in 1972, I was tired of academia and didn't want to work. I just wanted to have fun and run. But I did need some kind of income just to exist so I took a position in the Rye Neck school district, teaching high school physics and math, also signing on to be the assistant track and cross- country coach. Running was still a focus in my life, a main ingredient that defined who I was. I wanted to learn all I could about the art of running, as opposed to the sport of running. I took up dance to learn about movement and fluidity, to become more aware of my body and how it connects and works. I wasn't quite comfortable performing on stage, but I loved the course. It was like poetry to me, so free and unstructured. I became very aware of my body and stopped being ashamed of it, of being skinny. I actually got to like the performances, and thank God I didn't have to wear tights.

The best part of living back in New York City was resuming my daily runs in Central Park. I joined the New York Road Runners Club back in 1963 while at Hunter College and could now benefit from my membership and join all the races and club activities. The club was growing in leaps and bounds and Fred Lebow, the founder of the club, was orchestrating the first marathon that would go beyond the boundaries of Central Park. I volunteered, starting out at the bottom of the pack stuffing envelopes and moving up to become the official time-keeper.

I kept volunteering, doing more and more, and by 1978 Fred asked me to be his official assistant. I asked him what the job paid, and he responded by asking me my current salary. I was making twenty-five- thousand dollars teaching and he countered with less than half of that, twelve-thousand. I didn't even negotiate, just took the job right away, crazy enough to give it a shot. My decision was based on two things: my love of running and my respect for Fred. He was so charismatic and persuasive. And finally, I knew I would have fun. This wasn't work, this was running!

One of my first assignments was flying to Honolulu with Fred to consult with their road runners club on how to improve their fledgling marathon. I knew I made the right decision to take this job! We were invited back the next two years in a row to make further improvements. In 1979, my wife and I decided to take our vacation in Hawaii and went out two weeks early. I knew the marathon course by heart and one morning decided to take a ten-mile run through the cane fields and kept a six-and-a-half- minutes per mile pace. When I got back to the hotel room, I told my wife I was going to run the marathon. She gave me that "you're crazy" look and asked why. I simply said, "Because it's there." I knew it was a nutty decision, but that's the way I do things. Besides, it was a beautiful run, I was in good shape, and it seemed a fascinating idea. I also set a goal for myself, to finish in three and a half hours. If I went beyond that, I would stop wherever I was and get a ride to the finish. I wasn't going to be stupid this time around. When I registered, by chance I received the number 66, which I thought was fate, that being the year of my ill-fated attempt at running the Boston Marathon.

At 6 a.m. on that December morning, in pitch black darkness, the Honolulu Marathon began with a wicked display of fireworks that signaled the start for seven thousand runners to begin their journey on a course that covers Waikiki Beach, Diamond Head, and Koko Head Crater. I couldn't break loose from the crowd and was running behind schedule so I had to increase my pace for a while. At mile six the climb up Diamond Head starts and proceeds for about one mile until the crest of the volcano comes into view. As I approached the top, the sun was coming up over the water, illuminating Diamond Head, a glorious scene of sparkling, incandescent light. It was magnificent and I was feeling as radiant as the sight. Then the downhill starts and the halfway point is at the Hawaii Kai Hotel, made famous from the Hawaii Five-O series on TV back in the seventies. There was an outcry of "Book 'em, Danno" as we passed by. The one thing that is unique to the Honolulu Marathon is the entertainment provided at the water stations. Hula girls dance and hand out leis. It is such a scene, I had to fight my way in to get water. I started to do every other water station so I wouldn't lose time. By now I was getting hot, tired, and tiny blisters were beginning to blossom on my feet. It was getting to be that point in the race when I entertained the thought of quitting, but then I would look down at my number, remember Boston, and keep going. Then I would look up at the sky, appreciate the beautiful day and cloudless blue canvas, take a deep breath, refresh my mind, and feel good again.

I was constantly calculating my time, making sure I was on target, trying to keep to my goal of 3:30 or bust. As I started to climb the far side of Diamond Head, ten seconds after cresting my quads jammed. It felt like somebody put the brakes on and I came to a sudden stop. I was really pissed. I couldn't believe this was happening to me. I started to pound furiously on my legs with my fists, angry at them for failing me, and also trying to release the tension. I'm sure it was due to dehydration after missing half the water stops. I couldn't kick- start into a run, so started walking, then jogging, then did something resembling a run, but it felt and looked more like the character Fester, on Gunsmoke, who had a bum leg that he dragged along as he walked down the street, calling, "Hey, Mr. Dillon?" Well, that was me.

Finally, at twenty-five miles, my body started to relax and run at a normal gait, if you can call that normal. I kept pushing myself to finish. I could see the finish line, and saw Fred and all the race directors I had worked with lined up waiting for me. As I crossed the line, they announced my time at 3:27.

I didn't collapse, as expected, but walked through the chute and took a shower, which was hooked up for the runners for a quickie cool-down. Then all the finishers were presented with a finisher's shirt and a lei of cowry shells, draped over our necks with a kiss from one of the hula girls. I kept that necklace for years until it simply disintegrated. Then I took a shiatsu massage and went to find Fred. One of the benefits of finishing a race early is that there are no lines at the massage tent. Completing the marathon and keeping to my goal was a great feeling, very special, but I never thought of running another. Then something happened to make me change my mind.

When Fred Lebow ran the 1992 marathon in remission from cancer, with Grete Waitz at his side, and he was sixty years old, there wasn't a dry eye in Central Park. That's when I decided I would run the marathon when I turned sixty, in memory of Fred. I made that announcement with many people in attendance but I don't think they took me seriously. But mark my words, I will run my first New York City Marathon in the year 2006.

Having run one marathon and planned and orchestrated many more, and witnessing millions of people cross the finish line, I know how much a marathon impacts and changes lives. Just for the training alone, people alter their eating habits, sleeping habits, what they do, when they do it. It's a huge commitment. Part of the inspiration to run my first marathon came from Grete Waitz, who was invited to run the five-borough New York City Marathon in 1978. Grete was a great track runner, but had never gone beyond ten miles. At her first attempt, she won the race, which ultimately launched her incredible marathon career.

I have always respected the marathon. I tackled my first with sixteen years of serious running behind me, mentally tough from competition and always staying in shape. Running defines me. It is a euphoric feeling I look forward to every day. It keeps me connected to life. And every November I get to witness the outpouring of compassion and spirit that this city gives to the thousands of runners who tackle our marathon. Being in the lead car, I get to see at close range the faces of the runners, witness their fears, their anxieties, their dreams, and their determination. It's a great, great job and I wouldn't trade it for anything.