Appreciating the Boston Marathon

I will confess to you that, having lived in Boston all of my adult life, up until now I have pretty much taken the local Marathon race for granted. I used to belong to a health club that was right on the route near the finish line, and “marathon day” was a great excuse for a midday party, but lately, I have paid little attention.

In thinking about it the past day or so, I have come to appreciate just what an extraordinary event it is. It is unlike any other sporting event I can think of, in that it really isn’t about winning or losing.

Sure, there’s a guy who “wins the race” (and there’s the fastest woman/wheelchair entry too), but in the greater context of the event, these “winners” have no more standing than an asterisk/footnote. Unlike most other sporting events, there are no “losers.” Unlike pro sports like basketball or football, we take no pleasure in “our guy” beating the “other guy.” Every single person who runs that race is viewed by the spectators as a champion. Every single participant is cheered by the crowd. It’s one of the few truly ecumenical community events we have. We are genuinely thrilled to see disabled people coming past. We are genuinely thrilled to see senior citizens participating in the event.  Anonymous amateurs are cheered on just as much (or more) as the famous pro’s.  It is a genuine “everybody gets a trophy” day.

Let’s pause for a moment and think about just how rare this is. Virtually every other aspect of our lives contains some elements of what I like to call “cascading belittlement.” There are winners and losers and pecking orders that manifest themselves in virtually every other area of social interaction.  This person is more attractive than that one, this one is richer than that one . . . Even in symphony orchestras, we have “seating charts” that imply that some people are better than others. In the dance world, we have endless competitions where people are ranked and judged. We have endless competition-based television shows where a few people are given the accolades and laurels of “winners,” while others suffer the ignominy and tearful exclusion of being “losers.” Even in our school systems, there is constant testing and sorting and grading and comparing to see which kids are smarter than others. And if you haven’t been to a Little League ball game or youth hockey league game lately, they actually have to restrain some parents who are so totally obsessed with the concept of winning and losing.

While I have no hard data to share, my artistic sensibilities tell me that the average person is extremely stressed by this constant sense of being expected to struggle towards being in the winner’s circle, and being terribly afraid of the consequences of not being the first-place finisher.

One would think that artistic endeavors would be more universally inclusive . . . certainly, that shared artistic experience of the crowd at the recent Boston Bruins game singing the national anthem embodies that ideal . . . But as mentioned, most of our “artistic” activities have been layered over with a grid of competition and comparison between better and worse, winners and losers. We have precious few spaces where we can all feel that we “belong.”

So hooray for the Boston Marathon. Even though many people couldn’t actually finish the race due to the bombings, they were still all winners. Even the people who didn’t even get halfway to the finish line were all winners because they at least gave it a try.  Even the loss of the day, a loss of innocence, was felt by all concerned.  I’m sorry it took such a tragic happening for me to become conscious of just how special an event it is.

© Justin Locke

PS I will be speaking on my latest book at the Waltham (MA) Library this thursday, 4/25/13, 7:00 pm, should be fun.