The stadium — with marble from the famed Mount Pendeli quarries outside Athens — was built over the site of ancient festival grounds for the goddess Athena. The stadium price tag was picked up by an ethnic Greek businessman from Egypt. The cinder-and-clay track was squeezed into the narrow infield with curves so sharp that runners had to slow or risk tipping over.

But such shortcomings were mostly overlooked by the athletes of the age — a collection of amateurs, adventurers and heirs with time on their hands.

"Why, it was a moment to inspire," wrote a Boston triple jumper, James Brendan Connolly, in a memoir on his days as an Olympian in Athens.

Connolly paid his own way because his Suffolk Athletic Club lacked the cash. He quit Harvard after the dean refused his request for leave. He never regretted the decision.

Connolly became the first Olympic champion in more than 1,500 years with a leap of 44 feet, 11 3/4 inches in the triple jump — which was then a hop-hop-jump combination. His prize: a silver medal and olive wreath.

The gold medal was not introduced until 1904. Coubertin wanted gold to be the top prize in Athens, but Greece's Crown Prince Constantine didn't want it to seem as if the athletes were being paid.

The Greeks had expected to dominate the Games. Instead, the Americans were on their way to taking the most victories: 11 in all. The marathon became a point of national pride for the host country.

The race is inspired by the legend of messenger Pheidippides running to Athens in 490 B.C. to announce — with his dying breath — Greek victory over Persians in the Battle of Marathon. In 1896, a water-seller named Spyridon Louis joined 16 others in the first Olympic marathon.

What got Louis there in the first place is lost to history. Some versions say he was picked by a military officer impressed by his speed and stamina. A more romantic tale is that he wanted to gain the respect of the family of the woman he loved. Stories also say Louis gulped wine along the route.

With the race entering its final stretch, an Australian accountant named Edwin Flack stumbled. Louis moved to the front.

"It's a Greek! It's a Greek!" the crowd roared as Louis entered central Athens, according to newspaper reports. Spectators pulled out guns and fired in the air. Louis was flooded with offers of generosity: cash, livestock, a sewing machine, free haircuts.

Louis, however, fell on hard times. In 1915, a reporter visited Louis and was shocked to find a destitute man whose clothes were "full of dust and spiders."