We all know that running with headphones on can be dangerous, and that in nearly every race it is officially banned by the race organizers (though that ban is rarely enforced). But ESPN s Jeff Pearlman has discovered an even better reason to go pod-free in the marathon: wearing headphones makes you really slow. At least, that s why he thinks he finished the Philly Marathon in 3:41 instead of 3:05:

By tuning into music and tuning out, well, Philadelphia, I lost sight — and sound, and touch, and taste, and smell — of everything that is truly great about the marathon experience. As the non-iPod-wearing runners burst down Ben Franklin Parkway to start the race, they were embraced by deafening cheers, by the “Rocky” theme, by signs and posters and high-fives and screams and shouts. I, meanwhile, was listening to Kiss “Psycho Circus,” head down. As the non-iPod-wearing runners turned onto Race Street, past the National Constitution Center and near the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, they focused on some of the most beautiful and historic scenery that a city-based race has to offer. I, meanwhile, was listening to Jay-Z s “IZZO (H.O.V.A.),” head down. When we reached South Street, the non-iPod-wearing runners could absorb a greeting as loud and intensive as a date with Courtney Love. I, meanwhile, was listening to Bad Ronald s “Bad Idea,” head down. From beginning to end, my Philadelphia Marathon was one long playlist — peppy and uplifting, yes, but eminently forgettable.

And lest you think it s just that he had the wrong music, bear this in mind:

Marathon running, however, is an ode to quiet strategy and reflection. You become one with your body. A quad quivers, you immediately notice. A nightmarish hill awaits a half-mile down the road, you mentally prepare. You get pumped when spectators scream and mellow when the world seems barren. In the end, you are your own master. No coach. No colleague. No rendition of Twister Sister s “I Wanna Rock” can suffer on your behalf.

Somehow, some way, an iPod does not merely cheapen the experience. It robs from it. Even the greatest marathoners of my lifetime — the Alberto Salazars, the Rod Dixons, the Martin Lels, the Paul Tergats — feel intensive pain upon reaching miles 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26. Your legs freeze up. Yours arms stiffen. You want to walk, to crawl, to literally die. Why am I doing this? Never again! Never, ever, ever again! No way in hell.

Torture is rarely fun. But it s an integral part of the marathon. What better to bond the legions of runners who do this semi-regularly?

Black or white, Jew or gentile, a 6-minute miler or a 12-minute miler — we can relate over the putrid hells of cramps and blisters; rain and snow.

But music … music softens things. It s a crutch, an enabler — excellent for training, wrong for racing. At the end of the day, I wanted my iPod to make the Philadelphia Marathon just a wee bit easier. I craved the euphoria of a PR, sans the struggle.

That may be the best summary of modern marathoning we ve seen. What better way to describe the headphoned hordes wearing cotton shirts that say “Didn t Train” as they shuffle along at a speed that has more in common with a Sunday stroll in the park than with any sort of running, than as people seeking euphoria without struggle?

But there is no euphoria without struggle, as Teddy Roosevelt noted over a century ago:

I wish to preach, not the doctrine of ignoble ease, but the doctrine of the strenuous life, the life of toil and effort, of labor and strife; to preach that highest form of success which comes, not to the man who desires mere easy peace, but to the man who does not shrink from danger, from hardship, or from bitter toil, and who out of these wins the splendid ultimate triumph.

Finishing a marathon is no longer a triumph; the marathon boom of the last decades has shown us that with modern training methods, and enough time to finish, there is not a person on this earth who can not cover 26.2 miles, even if some of them have to crawl at the end. But while anyone can finish a marathon, there are fewer and fewer people who seem capable of actually running a marathon; of preparing for the race for months in an effort to cut 10 minutes — or even 10 seconds — off their PR, knowing the whole time that a thousand things could go wrong on race day to foil that goal; or even that they just may not have 10 more seconds in them.

The pod-people will never have to worry about that. They tap so little of their marathon potential, and set their goals so low, that there is no way for them to be disappointed. But what is that worth? As TR also said, “It is hard to fail, but it is worse never to have tried to succeed.”