Yesterday I enjoyed the privilege of a phone conversation with a luminary in the world of running. I asked if being recognized creates awkward moments and log jams on starting lines. I could hear a smile in his voice when he said humbly, “No. The community of runners isn’t like that.”
He’s right, of course.
I have always been struck by what a great leveler of people the marathon is. I have stood many times at the starting line of the New York City Marathon on the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge and distractedly scanned the crowd of runners that surrounds me. I sense no nationality, age, gender, education, profession, bank balance, religion, political affiliation, ideology, language, or worldview. We’re all merely humans clad in runners’ clothes that hide no flaw. On that bridge, we’re as real as we ever get. And even though we each run alone among the thousands, we’re all people on a collective mission to bring our best to unforgiving streets, leave nothing behind, and deliver everything we have at the finish line in Central Park.
When the cannon signals the start of the marathon, something sweet and secret happens in the back of the pack where I run. Instead of a massive surge forward in dog-eat-dog jockeying for position, the field quiets and spreads slightly so that each runner has a little room and no one will tangle up or trip. There is unspoken agreement that this day is going to be long and the marathon is going to be hard and none of us is going to win, so we’re going to take care of each other and make sure we all finish. People smile and wish companion-strangers well before the pace quickens and we gently crest the high point of the bridge. By the time we start down the other side, no one speaks at all anymore, but grace and respect for each other and our mission remain.
I love this about the New York City Marathon. I hadn't thought about it in a long time … until yesterday. There are lessons of the marathon that we carry far beyond the course.
Runners are good people.
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