If someone had wanted to write about the New York City Marathon they probably would have done it by now. Ideally right after the race or even the next day. Certainly not over a week later- that ship has sailed. What would be the point?

For most of the people running the marathon, the entire point is to complete it. They set out to conquer the unknown and prove to themselves that they can do it. It doesn’t matter what time they finish it, just that they do.

As the sun went down on Marathon Sunday, I stood in the dark next to two complete strangers somewhere near mile 23.5. Together we cheered for another ten thousand complete strangers as they entered Central Park- a scene that marks the final and arguably most mentally challenging act in a performance that runs through each of the city’s five boroughs.

Where earlier the sidelines were packed with crowds three rows deep, now only a small handful of spectators remained. Some keeping vigil for friends or family members yet to pass, others (like myself) cheering for anyone still headed toward the finish line:

A small elderly man whose upper body was bent almost entirely to one side, steadily jogging arm-in-arm with his wife…their smiles beaming through the darkness.

Another gentleman powering through with a look of unshakable determination on his face and a wooden walking cane in his hand.

Multiple runners who had pushed another person in a wheelchair for the entire length of the race but still had the energy to throw a wave toward the dwindling cheering section.

A father walking by whose family had joined him on the course for the final stretch.

The tall, lanky middle-aged man with tousled brown hair who looked me squarely in the eye and simply said “thank you” as he jogged past.

Running can surely be a lonely sport, but the marathon will leave most feeling anything but. Tens of thousands of strangers from all over the world, overcoming pain and weakness to finish this 26.2 mile trek, together. And as this motley crew came trickling in, so too did the genuine spirit of the event.

I can’t say for sure if the words of encouragement that myself or the two strangers next to me shouted made a difference to those runners at all- if any of them carried those words past mile 23 or even past the finish line. I do know, however, that four years ago I carried the words of the kind strangers who cheered me on through every bit of my 26.2 mile trek through NYC. Maybe that’s why I was standing out there in the dark rooting for people I’ll probably never see again. Crossing that finish line was a memorable moment indeed, but when I think back on my experience, the things that come to mind first are the ones that happened during all of the miles and all of the hours that came long before the grandstands.

The most trying part of setting out with grand ambitions is to push past everything that creeps in before you’re actually able to realize them. To finish what you started, without letting darkness, loneliness, or doubt get the best of you.

We’re all part of a marathon in one way or another- and leaning on loved ones, a cane or even strangers to push us forward is all part of the journey. It’s the everyday marathon that connects us all.