Here is the method of how not to train for a marathon.

Step one: drink too much beer and eat ¾ pound hamburgers with Cajun potato salad.

Step two: spend spare time helping your friend buy a car.

Step three: do not get enough sleep and get sick.

This seems a lot more like how to be a good college student than training; why would I be so stressed out?

Step four: do not run enough, at all.

Final step: collapse on the marathon day.

Okay, ideally, and even realistically, I am not so worried.

My father told me, “hit the wall, David. You’ve got to hit the wall, otherwise you’ll never know…”

I don’t know whether I should finish that phrase with “how much pain you’ll be in” or “how satisfying it will be.”

I don’t know much about walls.

I know about the horrible feeling in your stomach when you know you’ve used all the energy inside you and are five miles from home.

I know the numb burning in your quads, the way that your legs move like a mechanical stride machine.

These are exhausting faults I can attribute to my brain, however, not my body.

When I get eight hours of sleep twice in a row (I have not had this luxury since I’ve been home), when I drink so many liters of water in a day, when I’ve eaten a quarter of my weight in either oatmeal or sweet potatoes, my body knows no boundaries.

When running, if I can blame myself for the slightest discomfort, not enough sleep, bad food, bad hydration, all the pleasure from running is gone.