Further, the cushioned footwear I wore was engineered and constructed to cradle my foot in comfort and support while providing significant impact resistance. I learned these things through my work at The North Face developing running footwear. My socks were also designed with form and function in mind. They utilized moisture-wicking fabrics that effectively drew dampness away from my skin, thereby reducing friction and ultimately helping to prevent blisters.
My clothing, too, was manufactured for optimal performance and fit, composed of advanced synthetic materials that were highly breathable, provided UV protection against the harsh rays of the sun, and had few internal seams, which minimized chafing.
By contrast, hemerodromoi would have run in leather sandals, or in no footwear at all. In fact, many viewed shoes as an impediment rather than an advantage. An ancient scholium on Aristophanes noted:
Dispensing with the shoes provides the feet with plenty of ease and lightness in movement, if they have been trained. Accordingly, one does not see hemerodromoi wearing shoes when on the road, and of the athletes the runners would not be capable of maintaining speed, if they were to run wearing shoes.
Many of the older Greek runners of our modern day agree. The late George Psychoundakis, who as a young shepherd ran messages for the Resistance in German-occupied Crete during World War II, concurred that Pheidippides and the other hemerodromoi would likely have run barefoot. Author of The Cretan Runner, Mr. Psychoundakis did not own a pair of shoes until he was 15. Even then he rarely wore them, and he ran great distances over rocky terrain. He tells another story of a postwar sheep rustler living in the White Mountains of Crete who eluded certain capture by removing his boots to outrun authorities.
Perhaps the closest living equivalent to the ancient hemerodromoi are the native Rarámuri (commonly referred to as the Tarahumaras) of the Copper Canyon in the Sierra Madre Occidental of northwestern Mexico, those immortalized by author Christopher McDougall in his bestseller, Born to Run. In their native tongue, rarámuri means “runners on foot” or “those who run fast.” I visited these remarkable people, and what I saw astounded me. Their ability to descend and ascend the steep and harrowing canyon walls was like watching a beautifully orchestrated acrobatic dance. Wearing primitively constructed sandals fashioned out of old car tires, they slid, twisted, scrambled, and hurled themselves down jagged and treacherous rock faces with extraordinary nimbleness. One slight misstep along this sheer topography could prove catastrophic, yet they moved through it like mythical spiders patrolling their own web.
Watching the Rarámuri expertly traverse the vertical terrain of the Copper Canyon, it would be hard to ever imagine a horse keeping up or even being coerced into attempting such precipitous descents. Given the Rarámuri’s incredible agility and speed in navigating this mountainous landscape, it was clear that no foreign enemy in pursuit could possibly match their tempo in these craggy canyons. They could outrun anyone, anything. It was also apparent that the quickest and most efficient way to communicate information throughout the region would not be on horseback, but on foot.
Perhaps tellingly, the clothing they wore was similar to that of the ancient hemerodromoi. Consisting principally of a simple white cloth shirt and wraparound shorts, the emphasis was on breathability and lightness. Whether by intention or not, utility and function were inherently built into the design of their attire.
As for Pheidippides’s outfit, he would have run in a very basic tunic, referred to as a Doric chiton. Comprised of a single rectangular swath of linen fabric that hung down to just above the knee, the upper end of the garment would have been draped over his left shoulder and fastened at the top by fibulae (pins). Lightweight and airy as this costume may have been, there were bound to be friction points, and Bodyglide wouldn’t exist for another 2,500 years. My suspicion was that chafing pretty much came with the wardrobe, and I resolved one day to test this premise.
To meet my body’s nutrition and hydration demands during the run from Sonoma to San Diego, I applied a simple replenishment strategy of 500 kilocalories per hour of activity. Running is a strenuous activity, and maintaining physiological homeostasis requires matching intake with output. Given that I was averaging 10 hours of running per day, I needed to consume an additional 5,000 calories beyond my body’s 2,500-kilocalorie basal metabolic rate to prevent catabolism in the form of muscle breakdown. This equated to a whopping 7,500 kilocalories a day!
Thankfully, my support vehicle was stocked with a variety of foods to draw upon throughout the course of the day’s run. Some of these items were scientifically engineered energy bars and electrolyte gels, along with specially formulated protein drinks designed to help minimize muscle deterioration. Other foods, like chocolate-covered espresso beans, were a little less technical.
When I needed certain foods to replenish or special rehydration formulas, they were always readily available. Additionally, as any seasoned ultramarathoner can attest, the types of foods you start to crave during long runs can be quite unusual (okay, downright bizarre). No matter what your support crew has on hand, it’s never quite what you want. Precisely why I craved pickles one day remains inexplainable, given that I hadn’t eaten a pickle in years, or even liked pickles. All I knew is that I needed a pickle, and I needed it now! As fate would have it, there was a convenience store right around the corner, and pickles were handily procured. In another instance, I inexplicably yearned for some sort of cold, frothy coffee drink, even though I’d never had one before. Magically, a Starbucks materialized right up ahead. And it was the best damn mocha, frappe, latte, chai, Frappuccino thingamabob I’d ever had!
Pheidippides would have had no such luxury. In fact, hemerodromoi would have been especially challenged when it came to hydration and nutrition. These men typically traveled alone and had limited means to store excess provisions. At most, they would have carried a small satchel that could hold modest amounts of food, and perhaps a crude goatskin bladder for storing water.
That they were able to sustain themselves for great durations is quite extraordinary. Modern athletes rely on a nearly constant influx of calories to fuel the body’s insatiable demands. Back then, however, this sort of instant reliance on food and hydration was impossible. How was it that these early all-day runners could endlessly propel themselves throughout the mountains and hillsides of Greece with limited intake?
To help answer this question, I turned to Dr. Barry Sears, a leading nutrition scientist and author of numerous books, including the New York Times bestseller, The Zone. Dr. Sears explained that endurance athletes don’t require massive calorie intake if those calories are balanced correctly to generate the appropriate hormonal responses.
Ancient Greek athletes were known to eat figs and other fruits, olives, dried meats, and a particular concoction composed of ground sesame seeds and honey mixed into a paste (now called pasteli). In Homer’s Iliad, this energizing sesame-seed-and-honey mixture was referred to as itrion and was a favorite fuel among warriors. Early Greeks also cultivated the ancient grain, zea. Low in gluten and containing abundant amounts of the amino acid lysine, zea is a healthy source of complex carbohydrates and was a staple food both for hemerodromoi and average citizens in early Greek times.
In antiquity, the hemerodromoi also consumed handfuls of a small orange fruit known as hippophae (sea buckthorn). Thought to be a stimulant and to enhance strength and stamina, hippophae would form a significant part of Alexander the Great’s army’s nutrition. It was they who observed that sick and wounded horses chewed on the plant’s leaves to promote healing. This explains the etymology of the word hippophae (hippos means horse and phaos means shiny). Those equine that ate hippophae had healthy and vibrant coats.
Turns out sea buckthorn berries are a truly amazing superfood, loaded with vitamins and minerals, fiber, and antioxidants. More than 190 different bioactive compounds have been identified in sea buckthorn. Additionally, it is one of the only known natural sources of omega-3s, 6s, and 9s in a sing
le food. Turns out those horses had pretty resourceful noses!
According to Dr. Sears, the ancient hemerodromoi’s food combinations would have created a favorable hormonal balance that helped regulate blood glucose levels and preserve intramuscular glycogen reserves. Using glycogen reserves sparingly helps prolong endurance.
Dr. Sears also explained that if total calorie intake became restricted, as it likely would have during exceedingly long runs, hemerodromoi would draw primarily upon stored body fat for energy. Fat is the body’s most concentrated source of energy, and even those with little body fat hold several days’ worth of energy reserves. Pheidippides’s body would tap into these stores to help propel him through long stretches of countryside where there was no food or water to be found.
Of course, ancient Greece was an incredibly fertile and biodiverse land with wild fig, olive, pear, and citrus trees growing abundantly. Hemerodromoi would be adept at foraging the land for these goodies. As well, given that many of their assignments involved delivering news to surrounding city-states, they could gather additional supplies at these junctures. Although Greece was one nation, the neighboring city-states often feuded with each other. But it was agreed upon by all that heralds were national ambassadors and thus immune from harm. Hemerodromoi were servants of the people and benefited all of Greece’s development and protection, so they were considered inviolate and placed under the protection of Hermes, the divine herald. They were guaranteed safe passage and could be provisioned with additional food and water when passing through outside city-states, much the way modern marathoners can stop at aid stations along the course for energy gels and cups of Gatorade.
As Professor Cartledge explained to me, certain hemerodromoi would likely have specialized in certain routes. This would have provided them with a familiarity of the topography and access points to food and water along the way. Given that there were multiple alternatives for choosing a course between a starting point and a destination, heralds would be expert navigators and possess an intimate understanding of weather patterns and of seasonal shifts in winds and temperatures. They would also be attuned to the cycles of the moon and the position of the stars as navigational guideposts. Sometimes following a wider, less severe path might be the best choice, even if it meant running additional mileage, if that route circumvented abrupt climbs and dangerous descents over mountains, especially at night if the moon was low in the sky or dimmed by clouds. Other times, deviating onto narrow and rugged goat trails that shortened the route would be a better option, even if the path were steeper and rockier. A trained herald would be a good judge of not just these external variables but also of his own internal state. Was he feeling fresh and alert, or was he flagging and in a condition of exhaustion and fatigue? All of these factors would be considered when choosing the best path to follow between points A and B.
Running south through the Santa Ynez Valley, I was struck by the many similarities between the area I ran and what I knew of the countryside of Greece. The coastal regions of California are one of the few known areas on earth—outside of Greece—that have a Mediterranean climate. Thus, summertime temperatures are comparably warm and dry, especially as you move farther inland and away from the cooling influences of the Pacific Ocean. Also quite similar is the topography found along the coastline of California and that of Greece, with hilly, mountainous terrain being the norm. Overall elevations of the surrounding peaks, as well as the percentage grades of these inclines and declines, are fairly analogous, too.
The same holds true of the local flora and fauna. California and Greece share related types of foliage as well as a number of the same species of vegetation, chaparral, and low-lying ground coverage. In fact, one of the few known relatives to sea buckthorn grows exclusively in this region of the world. Heteromeles (commonly known as toyon berry) is a colorful plant that was used by the local Native American Chumash, Ohlone, and Miwok for strength and healing (another close relative to toyon and sea buckthorn is the maqui berry of South America, which the Mapuche warriors ate for energy in battle). The Native Americans would consume the ripened, brightly colored toyon fruit directly or sun-dried. They also prepared a tea out of the leaves as a stomach remedy. Even further connecting California with the Southern Balkans, the indigenous land animal populations and local varieties of aquatic life are remarkably similar between the two regions, despite being continents apart.
Having spent many of my years in the outdoors along this California coastline, I’d developed an intimate familiarity with the subtle nuances in weather patterns and distinctive microclimates of the region. I’d reached a juncture along my current travels where I needed to rely on those instincts, as I had a choice to make between two potential variations in the route. One would take me along a flatter path running parallel to the coastline, while the other would divert farther inland and over the notoriously steep San Marcos Pass. This latter route was 15 miles shorter, but climbed to 2,224 feet along the way. It could also be much hotter compared to running along the immediate coastline.
On this particular day, the prevailing northwesterly winds were unusually strong in the Lompoc region and through the valley of Los Olivos. These winds helped usher in cooler marine air and served to moderate inland temperatures. Such knowledge was an important factor to consider in making my selection between the two alternate routes. Cooler temperatures inland were a good thing to be sure, but a corresponding consideration was that the coastal route would potentially be buffeted by a robust tailwind that would push me along nicely from behind. Even though the total distance required of this route was longer, it was the flatter of the two alternatives, and having a wind at my back would be hugely advantageous. However, there was a counterintuitive weather phenomenon that I sometimes observed when the northwesterly winds were exceptionally strong in this region, as they were on this particular day. During such instances the directional airflow could sometimes abruptly shift once south of Point Conception, which is where the coastal route would take me. Referred to as the Catalina eddy, the effect is created when the adjacent offshore Channel Islands redirect the powerful northwesterly winds back upon themselves, thus creating a counterclockwise vortex. It doesn’t happen often, but if it did on this day, it would mean an obnoxiously vexing headwind instead of a pleasantly uplifting tailwind along the coastal route.
My gut instinct said to avoid the coastal route, and thankfully I did, because the Catalina eddy was in full force. Once upon the summit of the San Marcos Pass, I could detect the counterclockwise twist in wind patterns by the refraction of sunlight upon the water. Had I chosen the coastal road, I would have spent 15 miles battling a demoralizing headwind directly in my face.
I tell you these things as though they are just as important to you as they are to me. In all likelihood you’re sitting here reading this passage wondering why the heck this guy cares so much about these obscure atmospheric phenomena. None of this is need-to-know information in today’s modern world. Weather.com tells you if it’s going to rain, and that’s all you need to get through most days. Yet these were the things that captured my imagination. I could question why this was so, as I had on many occasions, but I couldn’t change my internal hard-wiring. Running down the California coastline was the sort of adventure that enlivened me. I found it all fantastic, enthralling. I could either psychoanalyze why this was so, or I could stop at the wild raspberry bush growing along the roadside and fill my belly. What’s in your DNA cannot be altered—that’s a battle not worth fighting. And so I stopped at the wild berry bush to eat and left it at that.
A handful of days later I arrived at the starting line of the Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon. The journey had been a long one—there was no denying that—but it was not yet complete. Rest could wait another day—there was still one more race to be run. And with that I departed on a final marathon, knowing that it soon would all be over, but not stopping until that point, 26.2 miles in the distance.
9
THE PERSIANS HAVE LA
NDED
Black as the night, there were no finer horses on earth than the Arabian stallions of Babylonia. Invincible in battle, the early Median and Lydian military forces effectively used these prized animals to quash the pesky Persian uprisings and greedy, expansionary land grabs of their neighboring adversary.
But the Persians were a resourceful and crafty lot. After years of being thwarted by the almighty Lydian cavalry, the Persian leader, Cyrus, noticed something peculiar. Those regal stallions had never seen camels before, and they were repulsed by the strong odor the hideous beasts exuded. In fact, the stallions were so overwhelmed by the stench that they would naturally veer away from the camels, not wanting anything to do with these vile monsters.
Cyrus took this as an omen and mounted many of his men on camels. He put the camel-mounted cavalry on the front line and sent them into battle. The results were beautiful. The Babylonian stallions refused to go anywhere near these foul-smelling creatures, thus forcing the Lydians to dismount and fight on foot. The vastly outnumbering Persian forces slaughtered them easily, and soon Babylon belonged to Cyrus and the Persians.
King Darius took control of this massive, combined empire in 522 BCE. A mighty ruler, Darius had aggressive expansion plans for his kingdom, and Greece was one of his prey. It was only a matter of time until he set about destroying this nascent republic with their absurd notion of collective governance by the people. And for their part, the Greeks didn’t take such threats lightly. The Persians were greatly feared. Among the many tools of Darius’s war chest were his elite fighting force known as the Immortals. Thought to be invincible, the Immortals wore long robes, high felt caps, and leathery armor vests of interlocked thorny scales, like the skin of a crocodile, into battle. Equipped with lightweight, reinforced wicker shields, bows and arrows, short throwing spears, and scimitar-hooked swords for hacking, they were quite a formidable sight to behold. Well-trained and superbly disciplined in battle, they fought in a distinctive way. Quick afoot, they would rush to within bowshot of the enemy, then hold up and dispatch a quiver of arrows in rapid-fire succession using their advanced Scythian bows. Given their ability to volley enormous numbers of arrows skyward and with terrific force, the effects were often devastating, killing or wounding large numbers of their enemies on first strike.