This makes training if not pleasant at least doable. You rarely have to worry about the weather (particularly snow) interfering with your longest runs. You may have to wait for Friday's rain to become Saturday's sun or wake up early on Thursday to circumvent a weekend storm. But for the most part you can, with a little patience and planning, count on completing the double-digit mile runs at the core of any marathon regiment outside, with plenty to look at, and a nice non-digital distance to look back on. It is kind of cool to fulfill your 13-mile day by running from Ann Arbor to Dexter, even if it is less cool, of course, trying to figure out how to get back.

Spring marathons are less accommodating. To complete a standard 16-week training schedule in time for Cincinnati's famous Flying Pig Marathon in May, you have to start in January. For the Boston in April, Day 1 of 112 begins in December. This explains the treadmill. I had qualified for Boston last fall. But unless I was going to develop an affinity (not to mention talent) for snow shoes as I worked my way through the pre-race training, I was, at some point, going to have to make friends with the belt, buttons, and beeps of a Precor USA or Horizon T20, or one of the many other trail substitutes that help Northerners avoid runners' hibernation each winter. I would not be able to wait for Friday's snow to become Saturday's sun. More likely it would just become Saturday's even more snow, followed by Sunday's "Yup, still snowing" and Monday's "You know there are universities in Arizona, right?" snow.

So I packed up some supplies, channeled my inner hamster and headed off to the CCRB to run, essentially in place, for 3 hours. Remembering from Huck Finn and, more recently, Lost, that intense situations create some of the strongest friendships, I had decided to start this new relationship not a with a simple "3-mile pace" or even a "45-min Tempo" run. Nope, I would go for the max: 20 Miles. A distance that would lead to the appearance of seven different people on the treadmill next to me. A distance that would require I change my shirt three times. A distance that would give me the time to read, or try to read, the entire Sunday New York Times. And a distance, also, that would teach me some things.

First, it is really hard, as a physical matter, to read while running. My sightline kept bouncing to a different byline. Worse, I discovered that my newspaper folding technique, clumsy when I am stationary, caused paper-cuts when I was moving. I had included a couple bottles of water among my supplies. I hadn't included any band-aids. This was an oversight. I expected to give my treadmill a lot of toil, even more sweat, and possibly a few tears. Now, completing the Churchillian sacrifice, I would give it some of my blood too.

Second, it is even harder, as a psychological matter, to read about food while running. My treadmill would eventually tell me that I burned 2431 calories. By calorie 907 I was ready to eat the meal reviewed that day by Times food critic Sam Sifton. By calorie 1543 I was ready to eat the review itself. "All the news that is fit to print" quickly became "all the news that is fit to scarf down."

Third, many treadmills, including the one I was on, reset after sixty minutes. This creates two conflicts. The first is with your conscience. Signs indicating that workouts should be limited to thirty minutes when people are waiting create what might be called soft pressure not to turn your workout into the running scene from Forrest Gump. This gets elevated to hard pressure, even "Dude, get off!" pressure, when the machine actually shuts off on you mid-stride.

The second conflict is with your vanity. My treadmill reset three times during my run, always erasing the previous hour's mileage when it did. What people saw on my face as I neared my end goal was anguish, exhaustion, and the kind of ravenousness that says, "Yes, two minutes longer and I will start eating newsprint." What they saw on my screen was: "Mile 1.3."

Of course the most important thing I learned was that, after surviving Treadmill Tedium, even Heartbreak Hill seems manageable. I think I am ready for Boston. I may even bring the Times.

(1) Despite its title--Nike Women's Marathon--this race is actually open to men. And it would be a shame if it weren't. Race weekend amenities include massages, yoga classes, Ghiradelli chocolate, and even a Tiffany necklace handed to you after you cross the finish line.

Patrick attends Michigan for all his non-law needs. Ask him about the vagaries of the U. of Chicago academic calendar at rg@umich.edu.