As an active distance runner and triathlete, I work out five or six days a week, usually in the morning. People who know this often say something like “You’re amazing. It’s great that you can do that.” Please allow me to set the record straight – I’m NOT amazing. In fact I hate leaving my bed. And crawling out from under the covers is not great … It’s horrible almost every time.

After more than a decade of consistent early sessions on the run, on the bike, or in the pool, those first few moments of consciousness are not any easier than they were the first time. I’m not singing the Hallelujah Chorus when the alarm goes off. I’m hearing dirges in my head about then.

So why do it? Because of a saying I picked up many years back: “You never regret the workouts you do. You always regret the workouts you skip.” Deciding whether to go from idle to active will set the tone for the whole day. I can either be energized or feel like a slug for the next 24 hours.

So to anyone who sees that runner / triathlete / yoga practitioner / spin class enthusiast / etc. as some sort of superhuman, I’ll bet money on the contrary. Most likely he or she faces the same struggles, but has learned that although waking up is difficult, breaking up with this lifestyle is even more hard to do.

“As much as you run, you can eat anything you want.” I wish I had a celery stick for every time someone’s told me that. In truth, this assumption is only partially accurate.

Sure, runners burn a lot of calories. In theory, they can put back a lot. But this formula overlooks a much bigger reality that has to do with the running community’s very view of caloric consumption.

Food can be many things: A friend … a means of comfort … an indulgence … a reward. Most athletes, however, don’t think of it this way. Instead, it’s primarily nutrition. AKA “Fuel”.

In practicality, the scene plays out like this. The runner might want the cheeseburger and fries, but there’s an eight-mile tempo workout on the calendar tomorrow morning. Heavy, greasy stuff will lead to all kinds of complications, some of which are unmentionable, while others include normal consequences like feeling sluggish and the self-loathing that comes from lack of discipline. So it’s grilled chicken breast, a dry sweet potato, and broccoli. No butter please.

After a while, the body stops craving the tasty – I mean horrible – stuff. Clean eating becomes preferable. Mostly.

Granted, this formula doesn’t hold up 100% of the time. Now and then caution is tossed to the wind. Pizza, chicken wings, Philly steak sandwich, ice cream, and whatever make it to the table. But that’s OK. After all, as much as we run, we can eat anything we want.

As someone who runs a fair amount, I’m often asked “How long is a marathon?” Here are three answers to that question.

First, the strictly factual. A marathon is 26.2 miles. That’s 26 miles plus 385 yards, or just over 42 kilometers. And to dispel a couple misunderstandings …

— If it’s not called a marathon, aka “full marathon”, it’s not one. People sometimes say things like “My cousin ran a 5K marathon.” Nope. A 5K is 3.1 miles; a 10K, 6.2; half marathon, 13.1. While those are all respectable events, they’re not marathons.

— All official full marathons are the same length. Whether it’s world-famous Boston or one raising money for a local charity, they’re equal in mileage: 26.2.

A less literal reply to the question “How long is a marathon?”, is what I’ll call Response Two: A marathon is far. Really, really far. In fact it might be best not to think about it.

Out of curiosity, I once decided to clock the distance in my car. I reset the trip odometer and took off. The results haunt me to this day. Whether you’re prone to marathon running, or don’t think you ever will be, you might try this just for kicks. It will surely bring perspective to the sport.

(For those familiar with south Florida – Starting on Hollywood Boulevard, two blocks west of Dixie Highway, I went west on Hollywood Boulevard to I-95. North to 595. West to State Road 27. Then 3.1 miles further north before the odometer hit 26.2. Yikes!)

The third response is philosophical. How long is a marathon? It’s the figurative space between two intangible points: The degree to which a person is living life now; and the realization of that person’s potential. Let me explain:

To complete a full marathon, you must first sign up. That takes courage. Next come several months of discipline, usually involving getting out of bed way before you want to. Pre-dawn workouts, some glorious, others torturous. Denial of comfort foods. Sore muscles. Oh, and the actual act of running for quite some time – close to five hours for a mere mortal like me.

Crossing the finish line is euphoric. It’s also transformative, because according to statisticbrain.com, you’re now in the one half of one percent – that’s .005 – of the U.S. population who’ve ever done so. You feel like you can achieve anything to which you commit. And maybe you can. (This of course isn’t the only human feat with the same outcome. Many other pursuits will get you there as well.)

How long is a marathon? It’s 26.2 miles. It so far that it might be best not to think about it. And it’s a journey from mediocrity to a life without limits. That makes it long enough for me.

Runners come in all varieties. Some love the 5K, others the marathon, or even the Ultra, which can be 100 miles and more. Many take to the water and hop on a bike as well, tackling different lengths of triathlon. I met a guy recently who’s preparing for a Double Ironman – 4.8 mile swim, 224 miles cycling, then a 52.4 mile run. Yeah, that’s nuts.

People new to the sport might succumb to comparisons, which can be discouraging. But those emotions are unfounded. I speak from experience: Being a little older and slower than most of my buddies, I feel no judgment – just mutual respect. We wave, smile, and utter encouragements as we pass by.

The spectrum of ability and experience is broad. Athlete A’s distance workout is Athlete B’s warmup. Recovery day for this person is that one’s speed training. We’re all OK with that, understanding that we share the same road, the same groan when the alarm clock rings, and the same elation at the finish line.

So if you’re contemplating that first trip to the local store for a pair of real running shoes, stand tall. Be proud. Then join a club and you’ll soon be in good company.

Sure, you’ll meet a few true warriors who will leave you in their dust. And once you get past the initial fitness curve there will be folk who can only dream of staying on your shoulder. None of that will matter, though, because we’re just a big community.

Runners accept each other right where they are. We know it’s all relative.

It’s been said that the hardest challenge a runner faces comes somewhere around mile 20 of a marathon. There’s truth to that. But in my experience, an equally tough spot is what I call Mile Zero. And even worse, the latter pops up several grueling times a week.

Mile Zero begins when the alarm goes off, usually between 4:30 and 5:00am. Various activities follow – Select clothes and shoes that match the outside conditions … Apply Body Glide … Choke down that banana, half a bagel and sport drink. Each action carries with it a decision: “Do I really want to do this, or can I go back to bed?”

Next comes the defining moment, the start of the actual run. Those first few stiff steps are going to hurt. Ugh.

Transitioning from half asleep stupor to fully alert athlete occurs gradually. Before long, mercifully, the good stuff kicks in. Like the familiar stride, the regular breathing, friendly conversation if the workout is being shared with others, and that wonderful euphoria that you just have to feel to understand.

Mile Zero was brutal, but worth it. I’ll try to remember that tomorrow.