CANCEL THAT RACE? (November 14, 2001)

I'm back home after running the Marine Corps Marathon on October 28 and New York City a week later--a post-September 11 assignment for the February Runner's World. Obviously, my editor knows how to make a guy work for his paycheck.

Each day my legs feel a bit better. It's clear they'll eventually recover and forgive me for pushing beyond what was, at best, marginal preparation for running two marathons a week apart. But as the aches and pains fade, the memories seem to grow stronger:

--Passing the Pentagon and staring, stunned, at that gaping hole.

--Rounding the U.S. Capitol, a quiet section of the Marine Corps course, while the carillon chimed "God Bless America."

--Starting across the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge while the loudspeaker played Sinatra's "New York, New York." Thousands of runners sang along.

--Spotting a runner carrying a small flag in each hand, wearing a T-shirt with these words on the back: "For those who died. Twin Towers. All wars."

These and other memories remind me that, as I recover and ruminate, I need to thank organizers of both marathons for the decision they made. Given recent events and ongoing security concerns, it would have been reasonable to cancel. Thankfully, they didn't.

I spend a fair amount of time each year helping organize the Lilac Bloomsday Run, so I have an idea of the tremendous amount of work involved in orchestrating large events in urban environments. Hundreds of meetings take place, thousands of hours of volunteer work are logged, and over half the race budget is spent well before race day. And then there are the thousands of runners who have been gearing up for the day. The momentum to complete the process, to hold the race, is enormous.

But then so is concern for safety. Race organizers do everything possible to make sure race entrants arrive at the finish line in one piece. Most years, this means focus on traffic control and medical needs. This year, it also meant attention to the possibility of additional terrorism in two cities reeling from recent attacks. No race is ever 100% safe, but the possibility of runners as targets must have certainly given organizers pause. And then, of course, there was grief--unimaginable in its enormity. Could a race go on in cities where so many people had so recently suffered such tragic deaths?

In the aftermath of that numbing morning of September 11, many races did, in fact, decide that the best course of action was to cancel or, if the logistics were manageable, to reschedule to a later date. I've read and listened to the rationale for different decisions, and I find it hard to find fault. Men and women of sensitivity and good conscience--not to mention varying circumstances--arrived at different conclusions. And no matter what the decision, you can bet those same race organizers fielded dozens of complaints from runners sure they had made the wrong choice.

But know this. Two races that went on in spite of everything--Marine Corps and New York--were spectacular pep rallies, spirit-lifting gatherings for runners and spectators alike. Multi-national, multi-cultural, but singularly exuberant crowds came out to applaud their fellow humans, most of whom were total strangers. Is there anything that brings people together better than our sport, with its parade of tiring but determined humans tromping through urban neighborhoods?

Heading up the canyon of First Avenue on a blue-skied morning, sidewalks jammed with spectators, I heard a voice boom over the crowd: "Is there anywhere in the world you'd rather be today than in New York City?"

No way. And thanks, organizers, for making that possible.