This Sunday I found myself pushed up against a steel barrier alongside thousands of other people, red in the face from yelling our lungs out at even redder and sweatier people. The Košice Peace Marathon had 1,600 runners who had taken on the challenge to push through a gruelling 42km, running on what would have otherwise been a pleasant Sunday morning. Alongside them ran 4,000 other runners who were doing half the distance with more smiles present among the runners. Among the runners that we were cheering – I knew 3. We watched the majority of the race to see 3 runners, in the streams of people that ran on by us, I could only recognise 3. In short most of my Sunday morning was spent raking through faces I had never seen before watching a mixture of agony, pride, annoyance and joy flash across their eyes.
At first, my main preoccupation on the people that I knew, looking out for them, paying little attention to the other runners. The runners (obviously) were focused on themselves, should I make my strides bigger, I need to stop for some water soon, what time will I be making? We were both present in the same place but the barrier that physically separated us somehow also limited our interactions.
But as the race went on a man over 40 was walking along, drenched in sweat, watching others run past him – his head hung in defeat. My colleagues and I were on the other hand casually sipping drinks and chatting amongst each other – oblivious to what he was going through, but conscious of the fact that he was giving up. As a team of individuals drawn together by the idea that we can teach innovation and leadership to others – our voices were roaring with encouragement for this man that we did not know. At first, he was confused, trying to see if he recognised us from anywhere. But soon our voices acted as the fuel that his engine needed to restart and reignite the determination in his eyes.
Before we knew it, we were doing this for anyone who carried their limbs heavy with defeat. Cheering and yelling, whistling and shouting “Yassss! You can do it” From the lady in the tutu to the man rocking his afro (if you’re reading this I need some tips) people thanked us with smiles in their eyes for supplying them with hope when they have little left.
Taking you all back to warm evening in September, I was casually dying on the roadside (AKA jogging) and a random guy gave me a high-five. I wasn’t running a marathon, nor was it likely that I would see him again, but his high-five encouraged me to believe that someone was proud of me, and someone was cheering me on during my ordinary afternoon jog. The high-five meant, even more, considering he didn’t know me. This weekend I was on the other side of the high-five, and even though I only knew 3 of you personally – I am so proud of everyone who challenged themselves at the Košice Peace Marathon last weekend. You pushed your own boundaries and reminded me of the importance of cheering on people who don’t know, ultimately, you have no idea of the miles they had run to get here.
Oh and – the first male and female athletes to cross the finish line were Kenyan – just saying ;)
