COLUMN: Top of Utah Marathon is really top of the world
Saturday morning I was proud of myself as I dragged my way out of bed to play a game of touch football with some friends.
Ever since Pee-Wee’s Playhouse went off the air, I made it a policy to stay in bed until noon on Saturday.
After my game, I went to see my sister. She, along with approximately 2,200 others Saturday, was running in the Top of Utah Marathon.
It was 10 a.m., and she had already run 18 miles.
I ran a mile with her, and as I watched her, along with the other 2,199, I gained great respect. Lining the road from Hyrum to Logan were people cheering them on. It was truly inspiring.
As I ran, I felt guilty, but amused, knowing that those cheering thought that I, like everyone around me, was on my 19th mile. Still, I didn’t correct them.
Prior to Saturday, my only exposure to these grueling events was small video clips on the newscast from the Boston Marathon. They would show the beginning, where millions of people were all lined up, and then they would cut to the finish line where some Kenyan was breaking through the tape with his arms raised, followed by 15 other Kenyans. It didn’t even seem like much of a sport.
However, watching on Saturday I gained a much different perspective. A lot of the runners weren’t finely tuned athletes, and I don’t recall seeing a lot of Kenyans making their way down Main Street (apparently there was one). What I did see though, moved me.
In different team sports I have participated in, I have rolled my eyes when coaches said, “we are only competing against ourselves”, or “we are all winners as long as we try hard.” It was usually just an unsuccessful attempt to make me feel better about losing.
However, when I saw runners who were hitting the 20-mile wall with tears streaming down their face, I realized those running had to convince their bodies to do something that a body shouldn’t be able to do. Cars are supposed to go 26.2 miles before noon, people are not.
There have been times during sports where I was tired, and have really had to push myself. But Saturday, I saw people whose bodies were screaming no, but their minds wouldn’t give in.
In the poem The Race, an unknown author describes a boy who falls three times during a race. Each time he falls he has to decide whether he will continue. An excerpt of that poem describes Saturday’s events:
“Get up!” an echo sounded low,
“Get up, and take your place.”
You were not meant for failure here,
Get up, and win the race.”
With borrowed will “get up,” it said,
“You haven’t lost at all.
For winning is no more than this;
To rise each time you fall.”
So, up he rose to run once more,
And with a new commit
He resolved that win, or lose,
At least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now
–the most he’d ever been-
Still, he gave it all he had,
And ran as though to win.
Three times he’d fallen, stumbling.
Three times he’d rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win,
He still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner,
As he crossed the line first place,
Head high, and proud, and happy
No falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen youngster
Crossed the line last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer
For finishing the race.
Clark Jessop is a senior majoring in Broadcast Journalism.
Comments can be sent to
clarkjessop@cc.usu.edu