While filling up my car's gas tank coming home from a race, I was shaken from my insightful retrospection (like, was that fartlek workout 11 weeks ago too close to race day?) by the arrival of a voice.

The sudden sound caused me to reflexively pull the handle from my tank. As I stared at the hose, nozzle to face, I unconsciously uttered the words of Robert DeNiro in "Taxi Driver": "Are you talkin' to me?"

Incredibly, my gas hose was engaging in a monologue. Not a great way to start the day: first a less-than-stellar race performance, now this. And it was still only 10 a.m.

It appeared that the gas-station gurus, concluding pumpers could not entertain themselves for the 2 minutes, 45 seconds it takes to fill tanks, had furnished oral info to help see us through this time.

My feeling is if someone wants to join me at the gas pump, they should pump, pay or at least clean out empty water bottles in my car. Don't play fuel ventriloquist to amuse me.

This reminded me of how entertainment at some races has turned into a smorgasbord of performances. It often starts with an over-enthusiastic Jazzercise teacher who thinks a good marathon warm-up is five minutes of furious, high-impact dancing to the "Flashdance" theme: "What a feelin', bein's believin.' I can have it all, now I'm dancing for my life!" This leaves me not only wondering for the next 26 miles what "bein's believin'" means, but thankful I didn't rip my singlet when pre-race jitters got me break-dancing to the beat.

In many races, before you've gotten through the first five miles you've been privy to bands, jugglers and sword-swallowers designed to divert your attention and amuse you.

It seems as if race directors are part entertainment directors too. The managers of merriment. Maybe it wasn't enough to advertise that the course was pancake flat, that energy gels were available at miles 15 and 20, and they'd provide free pictures of you crossing the finish line. Nowadays you could entice potential participants with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir at mile nine, classical piano music at mile 13, the Flying Wallendas' trapeze act at mile 16, dancing flamingos and singing parrots at mile 21, and videos of thrilling Olympic Marathon finishes shown on a big screen at mile 25.

Of course race directors, in contrast to gas-pump gods, have a reason to entertain us. Their goal is, partly, to divert us runners from thinking about what we're doing and/or disassociate us from discomfort that might be occurring. Nothing like thinking back on that mud-wrestling contest you witnessed at mile 23 to make time fly to mile 24.

I enjoy these diversions as much as the next guy, but recognize they're more necessary for some than they are for me. It doesn't take much to distract me. My lack of attention span is one of my running gifts.

I can go on a long run and quickly become unaware I'm moving. It helps the time pass ... as long as I do, at some point, remember to head back home.

On the other hand, this "talent" isn't always so beneficial. I've been known to lose so much attention during races that I think I'm approaching mile 13 when I'm only at mile six.

There have been times I've forgotten I'm racing a 5K, settling into half- marathon pace instead. It's always startling to see the finish line come up an hour quicker than expected.

On those occasions I wish I had an alertness-predictor gage. I'd know exactly how much time I could allot to a particular task before my effectiveness would vanish. I could use my diminished focus to its utmost productivity that way.

Knowing my attention level for a specific day would help me decide on which race to enter. Should I sign up for the 10K, or might I be better suited to set a PR in the 200-meter kid's fun run?

I recall reading how Michigan-raised U.S. running great Todd Williams used the power of concentration to overcome a repetitive side-stitch problem. Apparently, the two ligaments that attached to his liver would spasm and cause a stitch. To fight this, Todd learned to breathe in a 2- to-1 ratio and let air out only on left-foot impact.

Sometimes I'm lucky to remember to breathe at all. Not Todd. He has a Buckingham Palace guard's power of concentration. The man can focus. He was not going to be distracted by the Fleetwood Mac reunion tour playing at mile 18 or the tractor-pulling contest at mile 22.

I enjoy all the measures used to entertain during races. They add spice to things. Just stop short of seeking to have me partake with the karaoke machine at mile 19 or to play pin-the-headband-on-the-runner at mile nine. The participatory portion of running a race is enough for me.

But don't stop showing the uplifting film clips at mile 25, and feel free to send in the clowns anytime. Nothing wrong with getting me chuckling on the run.

Just don't ask me to also open an energy gel packet at that point. I've got my limits.

Excerpted by permission from I Run, Therefore I Am - Nuts! by Bob Schwartz. Copyright (c) 2001 by Human Kinetics Publishers, Inc. Available at bookstores, Amazon.com, humankinetics.com or 1-800-747-4457. MR