In October 2018, on a cool Sunday morning in Arlington, VA, I walked, with my family, to the site of the Marine Corps War Memorial, to stand at the finish line of the Marine Corps Marathon and watch the runners. The crowd was abuzz with anticipation, the sound of cowbells and music filled the air, and a line of Marines stood ready to present each finisher with a medal. There were babies, and grandpas, and loved ones, and curious onlookers. We met a woman who was gushing that she couldn't keep up with her husband and had missed him along the entire route; it was certain he would have finish time to make them proud. I could feel her joy. I stood there and a familiar feeling washed over me, a feeling I experienced the first time I stood along the route of this very race in 2010, and again several years later when friends were training for the Cape Town marathon, in Lagos, Nigeria, in less than ideal circumstances. There were few places to run long distances safely and those badasses w...