Have you ever run a marathon? You know, 26.2 miles
of agony? If you haven’t, it probably just means you aren’t crazy. If you have,
not only are you nuts, but you’re probably incredible. My wife, brother, and
sister-in-law ran the Detroit Free Press/Talmer Bank Marathon on Sunday,
October 20. It started at 7 am, which meant we got up at 3:30 in the morning to
go. It was 44 degrees when the run started. I didn’t run it because, well, I
possess a modicum of common sense, and after knee surgery, my doctor told me I
had to stop running. I might have been disappointed if I had any interest in
destroying my body.
I stood at the race’s end, waiting for my family
to show up. I saw numerous people begin weeping when they saw the finish line. It
was touching when couples held hands. A guy in a penguin suit encouraged the
crowd into cheers. Two women in super-hero costumes finished together. One
runner wrapped herself in her county’s flag as she ran the homestretch. Everyone
who started the race wearing garbage bags (and there were loads of them for
some reason) finished without them. Several children ran out and finished the
race with parents. My wife finished with numerous blisters on her feet, hip
pain, and the bold statement that she would never
do that again.
Along the 26.2-mile route, bands played and kindhearted
souls cheered on the runners, offering jellybeans, M & M’s, Jolly Ranchers,
Chex Mix, water, Gatorade, orange slices, and beer. Beer? I thought alcohol
caused dehydration? Maybe the beer chuggers were hoping to get inebriated so
they wouldn’t feel so much pain. Various signs portrayed encouraging words. One
sign that was hard to ignore said, “Smile if you’ve pooped yourself.” I wonder
if the beer drinkers even cared? Another said, “Does my T-shirt make my butt
look fast?” Men of the world: you could answer that question with a yes. One
busty onlooker held a sign that said, “Of course I’m an organ donor. Who wouldn’t
want a piece of this?” A male onlooker’s sign said, “You have great stamina.
Give me a call.” One blatantly honest sign stated, “You run better than the
government.” A T-shirt said, “If you can read this, it means I’m not last.” One
sign said, “Toenails are for sissies.” Another said, “Run faster. The Kenyans
are drinking all the beer.” My favorite was, “This is the worst parade I’ve
ever been to.”
But in a way, it really was quite an awesome
parade. I asked my wife if she was glad she did it. She hesitated and said yes.
Yes, because she could say she did it, and yes, because she helped raise money
to provide clean drinking water for the needy in Africa. When I asked her if
she’d do it again, she said—and I quote—“Never in a million years.” I had my
suspicions she wasn’t completely crazy. But in that parade of parades people
proved the human spirit. They attained an accomplishment that was absurdly
ridiculous to say the least. Something torturous, nearly debilitating, and
mentally agonizing was completed. Everyone who finished was a winner. Everyone
who trained for months and finished the run completed the goal. If they could
survive that madness and succeed, what can’t
they do? And amazingly, a huge number of participants were there, not for
themselves, but for others. Numerous groups were there in support of various
charities. Thousands of runners shed gloves and hats and jackets, leaving them
in the streets for volunteers to pick up and donate to the homeless shelters.
Other groups did things like my wife, brother, and sister-in-law who raised nearly $3,000.00 for clean drinking water. It again showed that people can be generous
and selfless. They tortured themselves so people they didn’t even know could
wear some warm clothes or drink some clean water. I saw that the human spirit
is alive and well. I was able to witness an exhibition of the good in mankind
in the parade of parades, and I’m proud of my wife and the other participants
who helped to renew my faith in people. And isn’t that what a parade is—a
celebration of some kind? The marathon in Detroit was a celebration of the
human spirit.