The weekend of this year’s Athens Marathon has just passed. A golden one for physiotherapists, though perhaps a little quieter for psychotherapists in the weeks to come.
Because every year, on the second weekend of November, whether you run, cheer, tease, or simply watch your runner friends along the route or at the Panathenaic Stadium, your heart fills with joy.
Back in the rough decades of the ’70s and ’80s, the marathon was only for hardcore runners pounding the open roads, earning curses from drivers in Rafina and Pikermi for “blocking the way.” Today, the whole city vibes to the rhythm of the Athens Marathon.
And this isn’t just in Athens, it’s everywhere. From London and New York to Mumbai, Tokyo, Sydney, and even Antarctica. Running culture is thriving worldwide, with millions of people taking to the streets, and it’s only going upward from here.
This year again, the whole city pulsed to the beat of the Authentic Athens Marathon.
But why do we cry so much, really? What is that emotional switch that makes us tear up over “crazy” strangers running all those kilometers from Marathon to Athens?
History has shown us that running is something quintessentially democratic, and that, to me, is the first reason. Short or tall, smart or not, young or old, rich or poor, trained or untrained, EVERYONE can stand at the starting line. Even those who can’t run because of a disability can still take part.
A great example is the Stoiximan Wheels of Change team, which every year brings together people with and without disabilities in the same race. Runners and wheelchair athletes move side by side and cross the finish line together — a beacon of inclusion. The more inclusive a race is toward all the different subsets of society, the deeper the emotion, the greater the impact.
The second reason is that you’re not running from something or after something, as the funniest race signs often joke, you’re running for something. A purpose, an idea, a person, a memory. It’s different for everyone, deeply personal, often indefinable, and it speaks directly to our emotional core.
Even if we’re not among the runners, we see signs and hear stories that trigger our empathy. Every runner’s personal triumph becomes a shared, collective experience.
I always keep a small asterisk in mind regarding the health message that accompanies marathons. While the running movement promotes a healthier lifestyle overall, the choice to run 42.195 kilometers isn’t always a health-conscious one. It’s a massive physical shock, even for trained athletes, and in many cases, it can cause more harm than good to less experienced runners.
Even those who can’t run because of a disability can still take part
You can witness that every year at the Panathenaic Stadium late in the afternoon, when the final finishers arrive. The most powerful images I carry from the Athens Marathon are from those late hours, whith often older, visibly exhausted runners whose souls seem detached from their bodies, and you genuinely wonder how they’re still moving.
Their bodies may be in pain, but their spirits are healed, and that kind of healing, theirs and yours, can’t be found anywhere else. That’s the magic.
So, same time next year, for our annual collective therapy session.
