Soundings, January 2002

This year marked the twenty-sixth running of the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C. For the last few years, I have run this race wearing a black shirt with bold white letters, on front and back, that ask the proverbial question: "Who is John Galt?" It makes running 26.2 miles go by like . . . 24.5. But seriously, it does help. It always seems that at the times I need a boost most, someone from the crowd will yell, "Go Ayn Rand!" or "Go Atlas Shrugged!" and lift my spirits. I smile, give a thumbs-up, and add a little spring to my step. After all, if I in some way represent John Galt, I had better run proudly. I certainly can't allow myself to walk or grimace (at least not in front of a crowd).

I run this race very slowly—for maximum exposure. O.K., that's not entirely true. I run as fast as I can, but, at my five-hour pace, it provides pretty good exposure.

This year's marathon was exceptional in many ways. It was an absolutely perfect day to run, crisp and clear, with light wind. eighteen-thousand excited runners of every race, color, creed, age, and degree of sanity were assembled beneath the Iwo Jima monument. We bounced and stretched, laughed and cheered, as we moved to the starting line. From my distance back in the pack one can never hear the starting "gun," even though it's a Howitzer cannon! But the wave of cheers and the slow shuffle of feet tell when the race has begun. Thanks to technology, there's no need for haste at the start. Everyone's time begins when the microchip tied to his shoelace passes over a mat at the starting line that triggers a timer. From there one can run at one's own pace. Technology even allows those with a PC at home to check on personal interval times and finishing time. Coaches can watch whole teams. (Thank you, Mr. Gates.)

The overwhelming patriotism I witnessed this year was something few Baby Boomers have ever seen. Red, white, and blue were everywhere. People wore flags in every possible fashion, from head to toe (even nail polish). Somehow, thousands of people acquired American flag transfer tattoos and put them on their cheeks. Notable patriots included a woman dressed as the Statue of Liberty, a fire fighter in full regalia (including helmet), a female airline pilot in uniform who ran with pictures of lost loved ones pinned to her back, and four ladies in red, white, and blue sparkling square-dancing outfits with cowgirl hats, petticoat skirts, star-spangled boots, and all.

A few very fit and devoted runners bore tall poles with 10-foot flags—for 26.2 miles. And the crowds cheered them on.

The course ran very close to the side of the Pentagon that was hit on September 11. Some runners tripped from staring. The exposed steel glistened in the sun. You could look up and feel yourself standing in any of those hundreds of three-walled offices. Some were still appointed with furniture and pictures. A sole armed guard stood watch on the top corner of the building, but there were many guards on the ground. The whack! whack! whack! of the Chinooks pounded over our heads through this area. It was truly unforgettable. I couldn't look for long, as my vision was blurring with tears.

Next, this enormous herd of anorexics ran through a tunnel. Runners always yell and scream in a tunnel for the echo effect. This year, however, it was different. There was a deafening chant: USA! USA! USA! Three miles later, the course doubles back through the tunnel. The chant was still going.

Now, as for "Rand response," this year's marathon was by far the best. One needs to know that many runners put their names on their shirts in the hope that spectators will yell, "Go Mary!" "Go Harry!" So naturally, as in past years, people were yelling, "Go John Galt!" "Who is John Galt!" But this year the crowd was amazing. I can tell you without any exaggeration that there were hundreds upon hundreds of people yelling, "Who is John Galt!" throughout my run. Although the majority of people had no idea of the meaning, I am certain that the phrase clicked with many who heard it being shouted.

Of course, what I really enjoy are the comments of those who do recognize the reference. The first was among the best. A fellow ran up and said, "Pardon me, but can you tell me how Objectivist epistemology integrates with marathon running?" I looked over to see his tongue deeply embedded in his cheek. I replied, "Well, it integrated better last year before they renamed this the People's Marathon." He got a big kick out of that and went on by.

"Who is John Galt?" asked another young man who came up alongside. I told him a bit about Ayn Rand and added that her philosophy is based on individual rights. He said he would make a point to read it and added, "That's what made this country great, you know." "Yeah, I know," said I.

From other runners I heard: "The man who wouldn't live for the sake of others." "Thanks, that gives me something to think about at mile 20." "That's the greatest shirt I've ever seen."

One runner said, "That's the architect, right?" I told him no; he was thinking of The Fountainhead. He told me that he had read both a long time ago and had forgotten. He got about 25 feet ahead of me, then turned around and shouted back, "But I didn't forget about individual responsibility!"

From the crowd there were dozens of shouts: "Go Atlas!" "Go Ayn Rand!" (Folks in Georgetown were especially astute.) Some other shouts I heard were: "Ayn Rand for president!" "Go Rearden Metal!" "Where's Dagny Taggart?" Sometimes I'd hear a question asked and another person answer it!

One family of four, the children in their late teens, yelled in unison, "We know!" They all nodded their heads in affirmation, and Dad said, "Ayn Rand!"

But there was one comment I will never forget. We had just run down the length of the Mall. This area was barren of spectators and eerily quiet save for the ubiquitous helicopters. As we circled behind the Capitol, three Marines stood at attention blocking the back gate. They wore camouflage and were armed. The young man in the center stepped forward and yelled in that "OOH-RAH!" voice only Marines can make: "He stopped the engine of the world! sir!" I was simply too astounded to reply. I just turned and gave him the best salute I could muster.

This edition of Soundings was contributed by Craig Phillips.