What's the Point? (runners edition)

A marathon started as a commemoration of the run made by Pheidippides, a messenger from the Battle of Marathon to Athens, who reported the victory. It became an Olympic event in 1896 and now there are many races held across the world, yearly. The total marathon is 26.219 miles and for more people to experience the running atmosphere, there is also a version of half that.

Here in Lincoln, Ne that version of the fabled run is highly adapted. 

Why are we all running though? Why do we all gather, wait in line, pay $60, dedicate almost our entire weekend, to run 13.1 miles? The common sense here escapes a logical man. If someone wants to go run 13.1 miles, or 15 miles, or the whole 26.2, then they are free to do so whenever they want, without paying and everything. In fact, with social media and Bluetooth devices hooking us up more than a cardiac patient at a hospital, we can even display our achievements to thousands of people online. Again, all logic points to the idea that an organized running event shouldn't exist. 

People, in masses, seem to create an energy that we can never capture alone. Much like at a concert when we all start bumping into one another, throwing our hands in the air, screaming, exhausting ourselves past what we would ever do alone. When we get in masses we become consumed by the people around us, as though there is a connection where we are all a little less of self and a little more others. The connection is powerful for life and community to exist, we are created to love. When we are alone, we can be more logical, we can apply our intellect more rationally, however too much of this is just as much a problem as being too much in the crowd. Losing ourselves in a crowd has the potential for riots, or possibly paying money to run a distance shown to be ineffective for health or weight loss. 

As my brother and I started our run, as we finally got to the start for my brother thought the minute per mile markers were actually miles per hour (the 10 being miles per hour versus 10 minute miles), we were chatting and connecting with people around us, all here for a common purpose. We were running a race to be here, to do nothing more and nothing less than this. We wanted the connection without admitting it. Again, the logic says "go run, save the money," however, and as my brother experienced, the people around us, the fellowship no matter how brief, meant so much more than the run. Yes, we gained a personal achievement, but how far do those words, the story of our individual runs go? After all, even posting on social media as an achievement we made was another drop in the ocean of the thousands who also did the same thing. 

Individual achievements are deemed to be so important in life, like a job title, it is some of the earlier information we are privy to about another person. However, what we are all trying to do is fit-in in some way. We are trying to connect. Some people are trying to connect by ways of showing adequacy through a job title. Obviously work sees me as something important, so here is my title to reference to you that I am somebody, somewhere. Yet, the achievements fall flat to the person, their ability to be open, communicate, show vulnerabilities and authenticity to connect to another person. This is what community is, this is how we form relationships, not through the mere individual achievements we sometimes, selfishly give credit to. 

Running alongside my brother, I battle with the individual achievement to run faster. I train more on running and have done a few other running events, so it only makes sense that I could run it faster, but why? Why would I rather put my head down, miss the crowds, miss the interaction with my brother, conserve the energy that would have been injected back in the ground for a faster footing, simply to finish alone? This makes as much sense as signing up for the half marathon in the first place. To end, alone, missing out on kindness of people who came out on their Sunday morning to cheer on runners, give encouragement, is missing the point. 

At the end of the race I asked my brother how he felt, "Good actually." I know he appreciated the people, for we talked about it on the way home. As the individual achievement medals hung from our necks we were both easy to dismiss what we had done and seemed to focus talk on what we felt primarily through the connection and appreciation we had for others. As my brother exited my vehicle to be alone with his achievement he also could feel inside a sense of accomplishment, but I know that ultimately that connection, the reminder of the people cheering, the thousands of runners, the step after step with his older brother will be what he remembers most. Not just what HE did, but what WE ALL did together. 

Thank you. 



As a community of people who care I want to contribute to anyone with a body image disorder for which I have written a book. To keep the dream of contribution alive the book is available here. Spread the word.