"We have won!"

The story goes that after the Greeks defeated the Persians at the Battle of Marathon, they sent the messenger/soldier named Pheidippides to bring the good news to Athens. The man ran without stopping for 42.2 kilometers (that's 26.2 miles for those of us continuing to reject the metric system) until he reached Athens where he exclaimed, "We have won!" and promptly died.

Why we continue to run marathons in remembrance of a distance that once killed a man is indeed an enigma. Perhaps it is modern man's way of sticking it to the Ancient Greeks: So you built the Parthenon and invented math? Big deal. We have ergonomically designed sneakers and training regimens, so we can defeat death by running distances your people couldn't handle. Take THAT, Ancient Greece!

Maybe we're trying to prove something to either history or to ourselves as individuals, but whatever proud and determined fuel it is that sends people to a death-defying run of endurance, it is undeniably intoxicating.

To commemorate the Battle of Marathon, Athens has an annual fall run. The runners conclude their 26.2 miles with a final 100m dash through the 1896 Olympic Stadium (the first year of the Olympics where the marathon was incorporated as a competitive event) where they cross the finish line feeling like Olympians, gods, and champions. People run this race decked out in full Hermes gear (olive branches tied all over one's body and golden wings attached to hats) in an effort to channel the spirit of the respectable messenger god.

This year marked the 2500th year of the running of the marathon. Crazy people come from all over the world to have their own moment of "We have won!" And I had mine. Sort of.

Donning a tennis ball yellow "I [heart] NY" t-shirt, I set out for a casual afternoon run. As it turns out, my usual running route merged with the Athens Marathon route, and the next thing I know, I am in the midst of all the hubub and in the throngs of people sweating and dying as they passed kilometer 35. Now, as I had just begun my run, I looked like a total champ. People were clapping and cheering and yelling, "Bravo! Bravo!" and "You are running the Marathon!" (Which I wasn't). The wonderful volunteers kept thrusting water bottles and granola bars at me with words of encouragement including: "Let's go, New York! I love New York! I love New York, too!" More applause. I refused to accept any water or snacks as there was no way I could justify their consumption without having properly deserved them, but I thanked the volunteers for their words of motivation. Eventually, however, I had to turn around and run back home. People were very concerned by this: You're going the wrong way!!!! The marathon is this way!!! At least my fellow runners were looking out for me. As it turns out, running in general on a day when there is a marathon in town is a bad idea; even when I was just running through my neighborhood-- nowhere near the actual race route-- people were stopping me to ask if I was lost and pointing me in the direction of the marathon.

I turned around to go home and didn't take a victorious sprint through a 114 year old Olympic Stadium this time because I haven't yet earned it. I'll earn it someday, though, and count myself among the crazy people who feel they have something to prove to their bare-footed ancestors. But for the time being, I'll enjoy the fact that I ran 5/42 of the Athens Marathon. We WILL win!