ATHLETICS:As I run the last 385 yards down The Mall tomorrow, my thoughts will turn to Dorando Pietri and that famous finish to the 1908 Olympic marathon

ALL I wanted was some inspiration to help me through tomorrow’s London Marathon, and ended up with this chilling reminder of how suddenly it can all go wrong. Right now I’m not worried about the first 26 miles – it’s the last 385 yards that has me peeling my ninth banana of the day.

With the obvious exception of poor Pheidippides and his fatal jaunt from Marathon to Athens back in 490 BC, there is no more terrifying tale of distance running than what happened in London 104 years ago, at the climax of 1908 Olympic marathon. Most of us know the story, or believe we do, of how Dorando Pietri, the young pastry chef from Italy, staggered bow-legged into the stadium like a hopeless drunk, was bundled over the winning line, then promptly disqualified.

It’s given London part copyright on the original drama of marathon running – and the madness of it too. Indeed more than any event at this summer’s Olympics it might as well be coming home, which explains my spontaneous registration for tomorrow’s 32nd London Marathon (along with about 45,000 others).

It’s not the first time I’ve fallen for this sort of romantic immersion, and paid a sore price, but why break tradition, even if I haven’t trained properly in months?

Anyway, as part of my usual crash course I’ve been reading up on Pietri, what exactly happened in 1908, and which could easily have uncovered an old Monty Python script. It’s not that the truth is stranger than fiction, or that some of it is too good to be true, but how close the whole thing came to another Greek tragedy:

“It was a spectacle the like of which none living had ever seen,” said the New York Times, the next day, “and none who saw it expect ever to see repeated.”

Like most people, I always blamed the royal family for adding those last 385 yards, which very nearly cost Pietri his life, not just his Olympic gold medal. Those early marathons were all around 26 miles, and according to most accounts, it was agreed to begin the race inside the grounds of Windsor Castle, at the request of the Princess of Wales, so her five children would get a better few of the start. From there it would run westward, through the old villages of Eton, Ickenham and Ruislip, then into Shepherd’s Bush, and the mammoth White City Stadium, where Queen Alexandra demanded it finish directly in front of the royal box.

It’s a lovely story, although there’s no proof of any royal intervention: what more likely happened was the official race clerk, Jack Andrew of Polytechnic Harriers, moved the original start at Eton High Street into Windsor Castle for logistical reasons, to avoid overcrowding, while the finish was always likely to be in front of the royal box.

What is certain is Andrew measured his course only once before the race, found it to be 26 miles and 385 yards – and the rest is marathon running history. It was 13 years later before those extra 385 yards became the standard, when the newly established IAAF, heavily influenced by the British, agreed 1908 was somehow the correct distance.

They didn’t agree on the 1920 Olympic marathon in Antwerp, which was 26 miles, 992 yards! If anything, Irish intervention in 1908 more profoundly altered the course of marathon history. In the field of 55 runners, Pietri, all 5ft 2in of him, was one of the least known, but aged just 22, ran tactically astutely, and when British pair Fred Lord and Jack Price faded first, then the South African Charles Hefferon, he breezed into the lead, with just two miles to run. Hefferon was reportedly handed a glass of champagne at 24 miles, a premature celebration if there ever was one, as he immediately cramped up.

Pietri looked a certain winner as he approached White City, the crowd of 100,000 anticipating his heroic entrance: what they actually got was more Chaplinesque, as Pietri, with his thin black moustache and in a white vest and long red shorts, verged on the comical.

“It was evident at once to everyone that the man was practically delirious,” said the New York Times, “his head so bent forward that the chin rested on his chest.”

Pietri swung right, instead of left, and when officials tried to send him the correct way he appeared flustered, obviously afraid they were trying to deceive him. He had 385 yards left to run, but fell over. One of the first to help him up was Dr Michael Bulger, of the Irish Amateur Athletic Association. Although clearly in breach of the rules, Bulger later explained he was merely stopping Pietri from falling back on his head.

Then, about 30 seconds later, Johnny Hayes entered the stadium – wearing the stars and stripes of America. Hayes was actually “as Irish as you find them,” according to the New York Sun, a “slim, little nickel steel athlete from his toes to the crown of his head”. Indeed Hayes was a son of Nenagh’s finest, either born in New York, or moving there at a very young age. No one knows for sure.

But it’s important to note that during those 1908 Olympics the British and the Americans had developed a childish animosity, beginning with the opening ceremony, when the British somehow forgot to display an American flag. So, as Pietri fell for the fifth time, it didn’t matter who or how they got him over the finish line, as long as they got him there before the American.

So they did, in 2:54:56, with Hayes finishing 22 seconds later. They immediately raised the Italian flag as a sort of victory salute, as was customary, and almost as immediately the Americans protested – not so much against the help Pietri received as the motive behind it. Around 9.30 that evening, while recovering in his team lodgings, Pietri was told he was disqualified, the only consolation being Queen Alexandra, so moved by his effort, would present him with special cup at the closing ceremony the next day. Hayes was presented with the Olympic gold medal.

What if Andrew had stuck to his original course, started the marathon at Eton High Street? Would Pietri have still collapsed?

What happened in 1908 sparked the first real marathon craze, with imitation races soon cropping up around the world: Pietri actually ended up racing 108 times, winning 88 of them, and earning himself a small fortune – before his brother ran off with it.

Incredibly, when the Olympic marathon returned to London, in 1948, there was another frantically exciting finish: Belgium’s Etienne Gailly entered Wembley Stadium a full 50 yards clear of Delfo Cabrera of Argentina, but in a near action replay of 1908, staggered around the last 385 yards, and was passed first by Cabrera, then Britain’s Thomas Richards, although mercifully held on for the bronze.

Tomorrow’s race follows a completely different course, zigzagging through the city centre, using the Thames as a sort of handrail, before a last 385-yard run down The Mall – the same finishing stretch as the Olympic marathon this summer. I know exactly who’ll be on my mind at that stage, how even with just 385 yards to run, everything can very suddenly go wrong.