Bite My Stinky, Dusty, Retired New Balance 857s

Saturday’s edition of Salon contained an article lovingly entitled “How Oprah Ruined the Marathon“. Published on the eve of the New York City Marathon, it produced a rash of comments and blog reactions, outraged at Edward McClelland’s blaming the downfall of the American marathoner on Oprah, John Bingham, and every other person who has dared to mar the field by not digging deep enough to race to win. The admittance of anything less than sub-elites seems to have contributed to the United States’ poor standing in the World Marathon Majors, I suppose.

I can’t say anything that hasn’t been said in response to McClelland’s ridiculous article—and I believe that zuzu at Feministe said it best:

Note that he’s conflating a few things in the piece: the lack of American men winning marathons and the average time of American men running marathons. Yeah, if you get a bigger field, with more first-time runners, you’re going to get slower average times . . . However, that’s why they start the elite runners up front — and those elite runners continue to set world records, course records and personal records even as the average finish times of the overall field get slower. That more American men aren’t at the top of the heap of elite runners has a lot less to do with the democratization of the marathon in America and a lot more to do with the quality of international runners, particularly the Africans.

Couldn’t have said it better myself.  The elites start up front; that American men in particular (because, much as I disliked the few Runner’s World interviews I read with Deena Kastor, that woman can run) have not had a contender in years has nothing to do with us rabble infiltrating their ranks; it has everything to do with the United States not producing runners to compete with the world field, which is absolutely fabulous.  The attitude by McClelland pisses me off because it’s American hubris in focus for the marathon: the States must be the best in everything and if they’re not, it’s because the people of the country are somehow ruining it for those who could triumph.  If you’re not with us, you’re against us!

Sorry.  But let’s please remember that the U.S. does not have to win every single goddamn title that there is to win.  So American men suck at running right now—boohoo, so does their men’s soccer team.  Is it because every fifth grader from Maine to California is playing in a Saturday game where they don’t even get to see the elites?  Nope—as zuzu pointed out, the running elites start separately and aren’t subjected to the factors that can slow down the overall field: crowding, uneven pace and first-time runners (or hell, veteran runners who are slow but do it for the love of the sport).  The U.S. has not produced a viable contender, period (and McClelland clearly want a U.S.-born male to dominate).

I’m straying from the point I wanted to make, though.  Instead of harshing on McClelland’s article again,  the marathon means this to me: the chance to act upon as-of-yet unrealized potential.  All evidence regarding my running—I’m a fricking camel, my overpronation is slight at best, I have naturally good running form and I don’t injure very easily—points to a runner that could’ve been.  As a kid, I was never encouraged to participate in organized sports or to engage in exercise on my own; had I been a runner much earlier in life as opposed to starting at the age of 20, I could have maybe had some success on the local circuits.  Not elite, obviously, that’s a pipe dream, but I could’ve been much faster than I am now.  As it was, I was overweight and klutzy (two things running could have helped me with)—running was a scary proposition back in the day.

Had I known then what I know now, I would have started running much earlier.  It would’ve boosted my self-esteem, I could have focused on my time and I probably would have tackled the marathon much earlier than I did.  For the record, I started running in 1998; I did not run the marathon until 2006.  McClelland dismisses slower marathoners as casually signing up for the race and not putting in enough training, necessitating a seven hour haul.  Not true—I agonized over the decision to enter a marathon because I knew what the commitment would be.  It meant 18 to 21 weeks of hard work that built on my foundation as a runner, hours on paved and unpaved trails, and aches and pains I never thought I’d experience.  It meant putting myself out there in front of veteran runners and  spectators.  It meant trusting my body enough to carry me through 26.2 miles of challenge—I only have to look at Paula Radcliffe’s 2004 Olympic marathon to see that anything can happen to anybody on any course.  Finally tackling the marathon meant that I had conquered some psychological demons and that I felt ready enough—felt that I’d done a nice apprenticeship in the sport—to deserve to be on the field that morning last November.

The marathon is definitely not for everyone but it has to be that person’s choice; to be excluded because he or she is perceived as negatively affecting the field would be outrageous.  Maybe not everyone takes years to decide upon a marathon, but everyone has a right to follow their own path to the start line.  And all of us, past, present and future marathoners, deserve enough respect to not be accused of ruining the sport for the elites.  We all have goals, and even if it means that the good majority of us will never cut the tape at the finish line, we should all have the chance to meet those goals.

Mine for next year’s New York City Marathon?   Well, unless McClelland succeeds in getting me banned, I’m shooting for a 4:45:00.