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By Max Linsky

I cut the line to get this picture taken after running the New York City Marathon last week, my second 26-miler of 2011. Eighteen months ago, I was not running marathons. Mostly, I was smoking cigarettes. For a solid decade before I quit, I was one of the world’s great smokers—naturally talented, fiercely committed, a real workhorse.

Which is to say: if you watched the marathon last week, or any marathon ever, and thought to yourself, “Wow! Too bad I could never do that,” you actually can.

Running a marathon really isn’t that hard. The training will take up your free time for a few months. You’ll have to eat better, drink less. And, you know, run a bunch. But it’s eminently doable. There’s a whole overwrought industry catering to first-time runners; avoid its calf sleeves and Gatorade belts and shock-absorbing socks. No purchase necessary to enter. Just find a training schedule and follow it, even loosely. Heed the experts’ advice on what to eat the night before, when to drink water, how to stretch. Wear one of those t-shirts that wick sweat. Protect your nipples. You’ll be fine.

But for all its technical help necessary and superfluous, the distance-running industry overlooks basic guidance when it comes to the less commodifiable dynamics on race day. They don’t prepare you for your fellow runners.

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