Each of us seems convinced he is the sole member of the family
running home from the battle at Marathon, bearing good news. We
have fought bravely and survived, and are now fully aware of the
irony that the long sprint back will kill us. We ask from the
outset Are those we're running to tell really worth the trouble?
and How come they weren't out there with us, fighting alongside?
we make a pact with ourselves that this time round we won't die.
if we die, we won't reveal that we stopped a few times along the
way, strayed from the legend, and walked to catch our breath. We
won't reveal that even catching our breath wasn't enough in
end--that we gave ourselves over completely and savored the sight
of olive leaves in the hills, the smell of the marshes behind us,
the mist in the laurels at dusk, still throbbing with victory.