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    The Mouse Island Marathon


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      Dear mouse friends,

      Welcome to the world of

      THE RODENT’S GAZETTE

      EDITORIAL STAFF

      Geronimo Stilton

      A learned and brainy

      mouse; editor of

      The Rodent’s Gazette

      Thea Stilton

      Geronimo’s sister and

      special correspondent at

      The Rodent’s Gazette

      Trap Stilton

      An awful joker;

      Geronimo’s cousin and

      owner of the store

      Cheap Junk for Less

      Benjamin Stilton

      Asweet and loving

      nine-year-old mouse;

      Geronimo’s favorite

      nephew

      THE MOUSE ISLAND

      MARATHON

      REST IN

      PIECES

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

      Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted,

      downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced

      into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by

      any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter

      invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For

      information regarding permission, please contact Atlantyca S.p.A.,

      Via Leopardi 8, 20123 Milan, Italy; e-mail foreignrights@atlantyca.it,

      www.atlantyca.com.

      eISBN 978-0-545-39246-4

      Copyright © 2004 by Edizioni Piemme S.p.A., Corso Como 15, 20154

      Milan, Italy.

      International Rights © Atlantyca S.p.A.

      English translation © 2007 by Atlantyca S.p.A.

      GERONIMO STILTON names, characters, and related indicia are

      copyright, trademark, and exclusive license of Atlantyca S.p.A. All rights

      reserved. The moral right of the author has been asserted.

      Based on an original idea by Elisabetta Dami.

      www.geronimostilton.com

      Published by Scholastic Inc., 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

      SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered

      trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

      Stilton is the name of a famous English cheese. It is a registered trademark

      of the Stilton Cheese Makers’ Association. For more information, go to

      www.stiltoncheese.com.

      Text by Geronimo Stilton

      Original title La maratona più pazza del mondo!

      Cover by Giuseppe Ferrario

      Illustrations by Valeria Turati

      Graphics by Merenguita Gingermouse

      Special thanks to Kathryn Cristaldi

      Interior design by Kay Petronio

      First printing, June 2007

      1

      HOLEY CHEESE ...

      It was a beautiful summer morning. The

      sun was shining like a round ball of cheddar

      in the sky. What a great day, I thought as I

      headed off for work.

      Then I missed the bus.

      I tried running after it,

      but I had to stop.

      My whiskers were

      sweating. And I

      could barely bieathe!

      Holey cheese, I was out of shape!

      Eventually, I made it to the office.

      Oops, I almost forgot to introduce

      myself. My name is Stilton,

      -

      2

      Geronimo Stilton. I am the publisher

      of The Rodent’s Gazette, the most famouse

      newspaper on Mouse Island.

      Anyway, I got to the office just as my

      Yes, I mean roared. She likes to ride her

      motorcycle indoors!

      “Wow, big brother, I just heard the

      news. When did you turn into such a

      SPORTSMOUSE?” she chattered, grinning.

      I shook my head. I definitely wasn’t a

      SPORTSMOUSE. I could barely chew a

      sister

      ROARED through the lobby.

      3

      cheese stick and walk at the same time.

      Just then, my cousin Trap strolled in. “Hey,

      Germeister. How’s the training going? Who

      would have thought a wimpy rodent like you

      would become such a SPORTSMOUSE?” he

      snickered.

      A minute later, my nephew Benjamin

      appeared. He tugged at my sleeve.

      “Uncle Geronimo, what are you doing

      in the office? A SPORTSMOUSE like you

      should be out running in the park. After all,

      you’re in training,” he SQUEAKED.

      4

      I twisted my tail up in a knot. Had my

      whole family gone crazy? The last time I

      went for a stroll in the park, I tripped over

      a pinecone and twisted my ankle. I was on

      crutches for three weeks!

      “would someone please tell me what

      you're all squeaking about!” I shouted,

      plopping down behind my desk.

      Before they could answer, a rodent strode

      into my office. He wore bicycle shorts,

      sunglasses and a whistle. I would know that

      mouse anywhere. It was my friend Champ

      Stronggpaws.

      CHAMP STRONGPAWS

      First Name: Champ

      Last Name: Strongpaws

      Background info: An all-around star

      a

      thlete. He’s into the latest training

      trends. He works for a sports radio station,

      and loves to get lazy rodents up and running.

      Sports: He does all kinds of endurance sports

      lik

      e cycling, running, and swimming. And he

      loves marathons!

      His advice: Eat right, sleep right, and keep

      t

      hose paws pumping.

      What he believes in: Exercise!

      His passion: Exploring new countries and

      getting to e

      xperience other cultures.

      His slogan: “Sports can make the world a better

      place!”

      His claim to fame: He built a super-fast bicycle

      t

      hat can seat five mice.

      His dream: To explore the ten most beautiful

      countr

      ies in the world in ten days, with ten

      different bicycles.

      A MARATHON?

      Champ slapped me on the back. I

      checked for broken bones. Did I mention

      that Champ is a super-muscular mouse?

      “Oops,” he snickered. “Guess I don’t

      know my own strength. Speaking of strength,

      we’ll need to build up those puny muscles of

      yours, Mr. G. After all, I’ve entered you in

      THE MOUSE ISLAN MARATHON

      Marathon? I blinked. I could never run a

      marathon. I couldn’t even chew cheese and

      wiggle my ears at the same time.

      But before I could protest, the door to

      my office burst open. The entire staff of The

      Rodent’s Gazette marched inside.

      They LIFTED me up into the air and

      carried me out of the room. The outer office

      had been decorated with tons of balloons

      and colorful streamers, and there were lots

      of snacks!

      I was just about to stuff my snout with

      a few yummy doughnuts when Champ

      slapped them out of my paw.


      “NONE OF THAT Mr. G,” he

      ordered. "You can’t run a marathon unless

      you eat healthy foods.”

      Then he offered me a carrot stick.

      Oh, why did Champ pick me to do

      something athletic? “So, um, how long is

      this marathon race thing?” I muttered.

      Champ grinned. “It’s nothing, Mr. G.

      Just a mere twenty-six point two miles.”

      I almost choked on my carrot. “twenty -

      six miles!! Twenty - six miles

      ”

      7

      8

      I squeaked. “What kind of a race is twenty-six

      miles long?

      THAT'

      S CRAZY

      ”

      Champ’s grin grew even wider. “That’s

      right, Mr. G. And they call the Mouse Island

      Marathon the craziest marathon ever!”

      I pictured myself running. But not in the

      race —away from Champ Strongpaws! Far,

      far away where no one would ever find me.

      Then I fainted.

      Kreamy O’Cheddar, my editor in chief,

      had to revive me with her Parmesan cheese-

      scented smelling salts.

      ONE TWO, ONE

      TWO, ONE TWO ...

      The next morning, I was snoring away

      peacefully in my bed when the doorbell rang.

      one bleary eye. Who would be ringing my

      doorbell at such an unmousely hour?

      I shuffled to the front door in a daze.

      Champ was standing on my WELCOME

      RAT mat. “Wakey-wakey, Mr. G! Training

      begins today!” he screeched.

      I thought I must be having a nightmare.

      But then Champ began to sing. Loudly.

      Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

      I opened

      I put my paws over my ears, hoping

      Champ would take the hint. Unfortunately,

      Champ dragged me out .... He made me run around the block .... I felt sick ....

      Champ didn’t seem to care.

      He dragged me out onto my front stoop in

      my pajamas. “Come on, Mr. G., it’s time for

      your morning run.” I was mortified. What

      if someone saw me?

      Champ’s squeak interrupted my thoughts.

      “One two, one two, KEEP THOSE KNEES

      UP

      !” he yelled. He ran alongside of me,

      checking his stopwatch every few seconds.

      I felt sick. My muscles were aching. My

      head was pounding. Even my fur hurt.

      Champ made me run around the block

      thirty times. Finally, I collapsed outside the

      local flower shop. Green Paws, the florist,

      came running out.

      11

      I passed out!

      “Mr. Stilton, are you feeling OK?” he

      asked worriedly. “You look a little

      around the leaves, as we say in the flower

      business.”

      I wanted to tell him I was not OK. Far

      from it. But I was so exhausted, I could

      hardly breathe. Sweat dripped down my fur

      like water from a leaky shower faucet.

      Two minutes later, I was hit with another

      shower.

      green

      Champ dumped a whole vase of cold

      He dumped cold water

      on my head.

      11

      12

      water on my head.

      “Aah” I yelled.

      Champ looked satisfied. “Now, let’s see

      here, for the rest of the week, your training

      program will include a five-mile run, three

      hundred laps in the pool, and two hours of

      weightlifting. That’ll separate the strong mice

      from the weak, right, Mr. G?” he chuckled.

      I wanted to reply, but I was too busy

      bawling my eyes out.

      Oh how did i get myself into such

      a mess!

      13

      YOUR TURN,

      G

      ERONIMO!

      The next morning, Champ took me to

      Fastfur Fields, a sports complex for serious

      athletes. I, Geronimo Stilton, am not a

      serious athlete.

      In the afternoon, Champ took me to

      play soccer with some of his friends. I got hit

      in the head with the ball twenty-five times!

      Then we were off to Crunchers, New

      Mouse City’s most exclusive gym. Champ

      made me lift weights. I fainted.

      Finally, Champ took me to a huge indoor

      swimming pool. I was doing great until he

      took my rubber ducky float away.

      The serious sportsmice at Fastfur Fields!

      I got hit in the head with the ball twenty-five times!

      Champ made me lift weights at Crunchers.

      Then Champ made me jump off

      the highdive and swim laps!

      22

      24/7

      Days went by. Every morning was the

      same. Champ woke me up at 6 A.M. to go

      running. I started to go to bed in my sweatsuit

      just so I could sleep for a few extra minutes.

      Did I mention I’m not a morning mouse?

      But Champ wouldn’t let up. He made me

      run the same route every day. I ran all over

      the streets of New Mouse City. I finished at

      the New Mouse City Public Library. Have you

      ever been there? You have to climb up sixty-

      seven steps to even get to the front door.

      I didn’t climb. I CRAWLED.

      Champ ran behind me, shouting advice.

      “Don't give up! Don't give in! Don’t give

      a strange rodent your phone number. It’s

      just not safe,

      ” he babbled.

      23

      My family loved to watch me run. Trap

      waited for me by his kitchen window. He

      put a piece of cheese on a fishing line

      and dangled it above my head. “Come

      and get it, Gerry Berry!” he taunted.

      Thea chased after me on her

      motorcycle. “Better move your

      tail, little brother, or I"LL RUN

      YOU OVER

      ” she teased.

      Then there was Benjamin.

      Every day he met me at his

      school bus stop with a delicious yogurt

      shake. “This is for you, Uncle. You’re doing

      great!” he cheered.

      Thank goodness for my dear sweet

      nephew.

      After a few weeks, something amazing

      happened. I didn’t huff and puff when I ran

      anymore. I didn’t feel faint. I didn’t CRY

      24

      uncontrollably when I got out of bed in the

      morning. Well, except for the day I tripped

      over my catfur rug and broke my pawnail.

      Yes, I, Geronimo Stilton, was starting to

      feel like maybe I wasn"t such a sports

      failure after all"

      Of course, working out with Champ

      wasn’t easy. He was in my snout 24/7. ;He

      told me when to run when to rest

      thrown out all of the fattening food in my

      refrigerator, even my Cheesy Chews. I was

      heartbroken. Still, I had to admit I was

      getting STRONGER. I had more

      energy. After three weeks, I even climbed up

      the steps to the library without stopping!

      I surprised everyone, especially myself.

      I

      DESERVED AREWARD

      Now

      if only I could find those Cheesy Chews . . .

      And even what to eat

      Cham
    p had

      24 /7

      I even climbed the steps to the

      library without stopping!

      26

      I WANT TO GO

      HOOOOME!

      Months passed, and Champ made me

      train harder every day. Soon it was time to

      set off for the marathon.

      The race was going to take place in the city

      of Nibbles. Nibbles is on the opposite side of

      Mouse Island, overlooking Stray Cat Harbor.

      not twenty million, but it was super-long.

      I tried to take a nap, but Champ wanted

      to give me advice about the marathon.

      “Now listen up, Mr. G. Whatever you do, don’t

      worry about the twenty-six long, exhausting,

      painful, backbreaking miles ahead of you.

      Don’t worry if you’re moving slower than a

      The plane ride took TWENTY

      MILLION HOURS

      . Well, OK, maybe

      27

      snail with arthritis. Don’t

      worry if you feel weaker

      than an a n t with a broken

      leg. Don’t worry if you’re more tired than a

      hibernating sloth. Just

      concentrate on finishing

      the race,” he squeaked.

      Oh, why had I agreed to

      enter this crazy race? I wasn’t

      an athlete. I was a newspaper mouse.

      “I want to go home!” I sobbed.

      But Champ just grinned. “Don’t be

      ridiculous, Mr. G. I didn’t spend all that time

      training you for nothing. You'll do great”

      To take my mind off things, I decided to

      read the paper. Bad idea. Staring up at me

      from the front page was a photo of a huge,

      terrifying cat. Felinius ferociousmus,

      otherwise known as Fifi the cat, was an

      1. Brimstone Lake

      2. Roastedrat Volcano

      3. Frozen Fur Park

      The city of Nibbles is on the westernmost tip of Mouse Island. It

      overlooks the Rattenburg River and Stray Cat Harbor, famous for

     


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