Race Report: Athens Marathon

I went to Athens on a pilgrimage.  A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to commemorate probably the only 2,500th anniversary of anything that I will ever live to see.  In 490 BC, the underdog Athenians won a critical battle against the attacking Persians at the Battle of Marathon.  As legend has it, a soldier-messenger named Pheippides ran back home from Marathon to Athens, about 25 miles away, to proclaim the good news "we have won" ... and dropped dead.  Certainly the stigma of the modern marathon was born of this heroic run and perfectly scripted collapse.  (Note to any ultra-marathoners reading, if the 25-miler wasn't enough, Pheippides had allegedly run back and forth from Athens to Sparta several other times already!)  Around the time I was finishing the Mardi Gras marathon this February and considering what the heck I could possibly do next after such a high, I noticed that the race tracing that original route - and used in the first modern Olympic games in 1896 - was preparing to open for registrations.  So what if it was in Greece?  This wasn't something to miss - so I registered.  As best I could tell, anyway, what with the website being only somewhat in English.

I went to Athens having finished four marathons (including one at the end of the Ironman) and having a tremendous respect for this distance, and the incredible emotions that it evokes.  Part of what continues to draw me to this magical distance is the strange and surreal high that comes about with the decision to persevere through intense fatigue and impossible doubt.  I have made a lot of progress this fall on my book, considering what we learn about ourselves and our lives through the races, considering how I have grown through my experience of becoming an "athlete."  I set out on this transatlantic journey to a place so rich with history - the birthplace of democracy, for crying out loud! - that I figured there simply would be no way around being overwhelmed with some kind of transcendent connection with the history of the place.  I thought that during the run, I would empathize with Pheippides, or somehow be transported to his historical setting and experience.

But it wasn't quite like that. What I found wasn't myself living in the legend of 490 B.C., it was something more relevant - something even more timeless.

I had not been in the Newark airport for an hour when I spotted the first purple bracelet and struck up a conversation with a fellow Team in Training alum on her way to the race.  It didn't take more than a couple minutes for the conversations on the plane to begin as passengers took their seats - to realize that they were practically all going to Athens for the race.  The plane was alive with the buzz of race stories and all the anticipation of Athens.  Around the city of Athens, the streets were alive with a special group of tourists, sporting Boston jackets and Ironman caps and race shirts in all kinds of languages.  At lunch Saturday we spotted a group of Chinese runners, looking particularly professional with their warm-up clothes, but as soon as we took out our camera to take a picture of them, they motioned to us and insisted that we all take photos together.  Athens, I believe, is as close as I will ever feel to being in the olympics.

We took a bus tour of the course from the Expo Saturday, and arrived at the stadium in Marathon just as a ceremony was wrapping up, with young men and women sharply dressed in their country's military best, meeting each other before competing in an international championship as part of Sunday's marathon.  To the side of the stadium, the Olympic flame was burning, and as we stood next to it to take photos, a young man asked if we could take his photo with the flame.  Of course we did; he asked us where we were from, seemed to be thrilled to be talking to Americans, then told us with a huge smile he was from Germany and eager to run in tomorrow's championship.  I couldn't help but think in the quiet of the bus trip back that barely two generations ago, he and I might have tried to kill each other on a battlefield, but this weekend we had the privilege of sharing a starting and finish line, each doing battle with none other than himself, with each other's support rather than fear and hatred.

On race morning, I was delighted, but to be honest not surprised, to come across probably 20 purple shirts.  Individuals like me - alumni sporting our colors in dedication to the Team - and groups as well, like "Grease Lightning" from Texas, raising money and training together for this big race.  As a charity runner, I often hear various thanks along the way, but to hear them standing here, in Marathon, made me very proud.  Proud to recognize that if a person's first language is American English, they see purple and shout "Go Team!" Proud to realize that the sport of modern marathoning would not be what it is without the empowering powerhouse of Team in Training, accepting anybody who wants to dream about a finish line and watching them earn a medal around their neck.  Proud to know that we fund research that lets someone who once heard their doctor say "I'm sorry, you have cancer", later go to Athens and run in the footsteps of Pheippides, both of whom can proclaim "we have won" 42.2k later, but only one of whom dies at the end of the story.

And as 12,500 runners assembled and met each other in the shadow of the Olympic flame and a long row of flags, the race organizers welcomed us.  The president of the race organization said "The Marathon symbolizes, not only for the humanity but also for hundreds of marathon runners from all over the globe, the values of peace, the fellowship of nations, the importance of human feats and the need of people for great, truthful, and good ideals, this is applied not only in their athletic activities but also in their everyday lives."  The Mayor of Athens concurred that the Marathon "is a tribute to the human will, a race-challenge for the human soul, a race that goes beyond the limits of a simple sport event."  And with a gunshot that contained no bullet, 12,500 runners from around the world set out with a common and peaceful goal.

I ran a smart race.  Checked the forecasts and dressed right, memorized the grades, ate right in preparation and throughout the race, took on nutrition and water, kept my sodium levels up and avoided cramping, cooled myself off with water when I got hot, and walked when I needed a break.  Minded my effort level on the long climbs and minded my form on the (few) descents.  Followed the blue line permanently painted on the road signifying the route and the signs to "Athina"  Kept a casual eye on the clock and got great satisfaction from how much faster each kilometer comes than a mile, then began to really believe and kick in the last 10k to negative split and bring home a PR in the end.  The setting was unique and the topography was challenging, and I could write pages about the mile-by-mile ongoings, but this isn't what made Athens epic.  When I go back to the course in my mind, I see country names and flags on the backs of shirts.  I have to smile thinking of dozens of runners in togas or bare feet, some bearing swords and sporting helmets and shields.  And best of all, I see the entire 42.2 kilometer route - through what looked like dry, desolate and even abandoned rural scenes - lined with Greeks, graciously hosting us and cheering "bravo!", confirming their welcome by waving olive branches over the passing runners.

Sometimes I sense the shadow of a doubt, that when I describe certain experiences in these hyperbolae that I'm just dreaming and making more of something than is really there.  I consider whether my sense of wonder will wear off, though I doubt it.  I love to be a part of a Team in Training participant's journey through training and across their first finish line because finishing a marathon changes things, and I find energy in just being close to the same sense of wonder in someone else.  Once in a while I come across other runners that don't seem to connect with the sport anything like I do, like they are just going through the motions, or are even upset or unhappy.  I think Athens was unique because the field was made up of people with such reverence for the Marathon that they would make the long pilgrimage to honor it with their participation.  People had come to be a part of history, to be part of something so obviously very big that it was okay to let it be big.  Okay to feel waves of emotions rather than try to hide them, because this historic race setting was a safe place for age-old emotions to be realized.  After I bowed to let a Greek woman place my medal around my neck, wiping my tears to take in the stadium around me, I noticed the man next to me: a tall, fit, beautiful German man - weeping.  Other runners were on their knees, kissing the track.

I'll tell you what: that's the legend of Marathon.  Two and a half millenia have no bearing on the timeless truths that the marathon stands testament to: the resilience of the human spirit.  The inability of fear and worldly struggles to get in the way of the great achievements that dreamers turn into reality through their commitments.  On top of everything the marathon means to the individuals who run it, it also creates a bond among them, which on this day included all the world, and reminded me again and again that the human spirit itself is not bounded by black lines on a globe, but by the blue line on the road.  If Pheippides was indeed just a legend, he was certainly actualized on this day in the hearts of the runners who came to know him over his famous route.  But instead of honing the implements of war, we strengthened the elegant machine of the human body and the delicate bonds between the world's people that have far more in common that some may want to believe.  Especially on this day, when the raw power of the marathon challenge unites us.  

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness", said Mark Twain.  So if world peace is indeed our dream, then our challenge is to go out into the world, understand the people who inhabit its other corners, and be peaceful.