Yesterday, I wrote about what it means to be a consistent winner.
In every race, there is a moment that justifies the struggle and legitimates the pain. At the 20th mile marker, I encountered a man sporting a too tight t-shirt and an impressive Jewfro. He enthusiastically beat a cowbell, dancing to his own music. As I ran past, I shouted, “More cowbell!” He beat that cowbell even harder, and I ran faster. Since the Fargo marathon bills itself as “Rock ‘n Roll,” bands line up along the course. From a solitary man plucking a banjo on his front porch to a garage band playing heavy metal, the acts were humble and inspiring, head-scratching and repellent. Unlike at the St. Louis marathon, Fargo residents blanket the entire route, listening to their local talent and cheering on the runners. When legs start to give out, it helps to hear a cowbell’s manic rhythm. Continue reading
