The American Spectator

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BUT FOR ALL OF THIS, YOU get to a point in New York where you know you will finish no matter what, if you literally have to crawl to the finish line. Forgetting about your pre-race aspirations, you are now pushed along by a perhaps more powerful motivator: Shame. Your life is not at stake, but it feels like some aspect of your character is. This is the effect of the public nature of the race. For some, the crowds are a salvation. For others of a more severe turn of mind, they are a chastening. Either way, they will push you along.

This is also where the marketing phrases about overcoming adversity are true, but only as a minor premise. The marketers leave out the main idea: that you overcome adversity in order to survive, not to win. Winning went out of your mind miles ago, and I don't mean winning as in finishing first. I mean winning in the way the race's organizers and boosters position it -- as a triumphant, life affirming growth experience, etc.

I understand why they speak of the race this way. How would you recruit people to run the marathon if you spoke of it like I do? But the true spirit of the marathon for me is encapsulated in a story of the Civil War. After a battle in which they suffered horrid losses, General Sherman said to General Grant, "Well Grant, we've had the devil's own day, haven't we?" To which Grant replied, "Yeah. Lick 'em tomorrow, though."

Running marathons is about losing, and going forward anyway. You do that enough in life, and you will go far. I'm not sure if you will grow, or if you will have new insights into yourself, or if you will even want to run the race again. But when you cross the finish line in New York, you won't just be humble, you will be tough, because you will have gone through a great public trial.

That's worth running a race for, I'd say. That's worth loving a race for, I know. If you don't believe me, just remember I left out the fun parts on purpose.

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