Speed

I've been thinking about speed a lot since yesterday. I've talked to friends, discussed finishing times and agreed that the atmosphere during the race was amazing. The slower ones of us marvelled at the winner's finishing time (just over an hour) and also at those of our friends who run faster than us (that is, most of them). Some of our fast friends were pleased with their results. Others wanted to run even faster.

I think it's unbelievable how ”amateurs” can maintain such high speed over the course of 21 km. Elite athletes do nothing else all day but train. It's their job. So even if it is amazing finishing times they achieve, even if it is world records, I can't help admiring my friends just a little bit more. The ones that have a day job and a family. The ones that have no coach. No sponsors. No dieticians. The ones that get by and succeed on their own. The unsung heroes.

I am slow by comparison, but I don't mind. I run because I enjoy being out there, in the forest or by the sea, alone or with others, moving at my own pace. I've never run a half-marathon faster than 1:50, and I probably never will, because my motivation with running is not to shave off some minutes from an official time, but to have fun. I simply don't train to run fast.

Yet, there is something glorious and inspiring about fast athletes, be it elite or amateurs. Most people want to run faster, to break their personal records or to beat their work pal. Even those who claim that they only want to get around the course – I believe that they also have a time goal, however modest it might be. Everyone wants to move their limits a little bit further. To outdo themselves, to prove to themselves that in that moment they are doing something grand. In that moment, they are immortal.