To quote author David Shields, "the body-in-motion is, for me, the site of the most meaning." I agree with that sentiment and have spent a disproportionate amount of my life trying to glean meaning from watching professional athletes practice their craft. But how much meaning can I get just by watching? If I can't imitate the conditions of play, can I really understand all the things professional sports have to teach?

Long-distance running is the one exception to this paradox. It's a sport where the average person can begin to understand what professionals go through. The last-place finisher in the 2008 Olympics men's marathon was Atsushi Sato of Japan, who completed the race in two hours, forty-one minutes and eight seconds. Several participants did not finish. To achieve that time, Sato averaged an approximate speed 9.77 miles per hour, which is about the equivalent of running a six minute and eight second mile.

Most people on this earth can reach a speed of 9.77 miles per hour. Whether on a treadmill, a dirt path, or a track, the average human, when pushed, can achieve that type of speed. It may take a hefty ounce of determination, or an oversized can of Red Bull, but running 9.77 miles per hour is achievable. The average human cannot, however, maintain that speed for anywhere near as long as Mr. Sato of Japan, but by replicating that speed for as long as possible a person can begin to understand the level of fitness Olympic runners possess.

So when the Olympic marathon rolls around on Saturday morning, grab your tennis shoes, hop on a treadmill, and program it to run at a six-minute-mile pace. That's the easy part. The tricky part will be to see how long you can keep it up. If you're like me, you'll be reprogramming the speed dial at some point before you complete your first mile, and after you've completed three miles, you will opt to watch the rest of the race from the comfort of your couch. Whenever I try to sustain Olympic Marathon type of speed, my lungs start to burn, my legs turn to rubber, and my complexion begins to resemble the colors found on most Valentine's Day cards. I cannot, and probably never will be able to, fathom how a human being can run at that speed for over two and a half hours—though it pleases me to know I could match strides with the world's best distance runners for about four minutes. My best recorded mile time is six minutes and four seconds. Mr. Sato of Japan completed 26.2 miles at around that speed. Even though he finished last at the 2008 Olympics, he is still a superhuman athlete in my mind.

Running is the most elemental sport we have. Its premise is so simple: Run a certain distance in less time than everyone else. And people of all ages can relate to it. Children stage races in schoolyards and cul-de-sacs to determine who is the fastest kid on the block; adults run and jog to stay in shape. Olympic running gives us a sense of who the fastest person of all the blocks around the world is. While the vast majority of us will never be able to experience the speeds achieved by top sprinters, we can run, for at least a short amount time, at the same speed as Olympic marathoners. And when our bodies begin to falter after one mile or five or 10, the truly difficult nature of this sport will mean more to us than ever before.