The Loveliness Of the Long-Distance Run

And I wasn't even running.

Three days ago, I was standing on the side of Commonwealth Avenue in Boston watching two of my friends compete in one of the greatest sporting events of the year. The Boston Marathon might only get two lines of coverage in the North Carolina papers, but up in New England, an extended weekend is dedicated to this historic race every year.

This marathon is an event like none other in the country. On race day, no one works, no one attends class and thousands of people either run or watch for the entire day.

Reporters, business owners, police officers, families and even farm animals all anticipate this weekend, when the city overflows with excitement and tourism. Imagine a season's worth of Tar Heel football tailgating combined into one Monday afternoon and raised to the fourth power. Then you might begin to approach the magnitude of the festivities surrounding this race.

I doubt Philipides ever imagined in his wildest dreams that his run from Marathon to Athens thousands of years ago to deliver the news of Greece's defeat of the Persians would manifest itself in the three-day revelry that is the Boston Marathon today. In fact, he would probably drop dead if he heard of the celebration honoring his 26.2-mile run. Oh, wait ...

The best part of all of this was that I got to experience it firsthand.

Comfortable in my jeans and Carolina sweatshirt, I was one of about a million spectators who lined the streets of Boston at noon to cheer on friends and strangers.

Down in the South, we don't really appreciate how hard it is to run such a distance. Think about it: Most of us don't even like driving 26 miles. Can you even fathom how hellishly long such a run would last?

But in Boston, people praise the ground you walk on if they find out you merely know someone running.

I began to realize that the people who compete in the Boston Marathon are the true athletes (unlike our whiney, quitting men's basketball team members). These runners train for months or even years, racing in numerous other marathons to try to qualify. Daily, they push their bodies to their physical limit, running seven-minute-mile after seven-minute-mile.

On Christmas day, when you were vacationing with your family in Florida or at home stuffing your face with turkey, ham, and yams, these marathoners started their first official training day for their April 15 race.

When it's cold and rainy outside on a Saturday afternoon in February, these people are outside getting splashed by callous frat boys whizzing through puddles in their SUVs.

And for a mere three hours in the spotlight of glory, they continue to train for months with incredible discipline to fine-tune their bodies into perfect shape.

Because of all their hard work, I enjoyed every second of the marathon that I saw.

I watched the beginning on television with hordes of people crossing the start line. I rushed outside of Boston College to see the leaders go by: the wheelchair champion who defeats his competitors by 30 minutes, the Kenyan men whom I see three times a week training in Chapel Hill, "Catherine the Great" -- the only woman to have ever run a sub-2:20-hour marathon. My heart wouldn't stop pounding the entire time.

I cried as I cheered on the father who has pushed his son the entire race for the past 20 years in under four hours. I cried as I encouraged the wheelchair competitors heart-wrenchingly struggling up the four-mile stretch known as Heartbreak Hill. And I cried with pride as I watched my friend surmount the hill with a huge grin on her face.

At one point I even totally embarrassed myself by running beside one of my friends in my jeans and hiking boots to make sure she was healthy and happy and going to make it.

To all those who competed, regardless of whether they finished or not, I salute you.

Johanna Costa gives mad props to Emma and Mandy for their amazing marathon runs. She can be reached at costa@email.unc.edu.