THE Marathon Medal

Commemorate your achievement with an exclusive medal celebrating where it all began

One night on the Internet I found the Athens marathon. I found The Place – Marathon – where the legend began. Marathon is the site of the historic battle in 490 BC where it is said that Pheidippides, the messenger, immediately after the battle, but before cell phones, ran to Athens to announce that the 20,000 invading Persians had been defeated by the vastly outnumbered Greeks. Only 192 Greeks died, compared to 6,400 Persians.

That event inspired a story, which centuries later led to a poem (see below), that in turn begat some ideas, that eventually led to the original 1896 Olympic marathon; the same route used in 1896 was also used in the 2002 Olympics.

2500 years later the historic battle from which the marathon movement evolved is commemorated by the ‘Marathon Medal’.

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AND IF YOU’D LIKE TO ORDER THIS UNIQUE MEDAL, AND BY DOING SO CONTRIBUTE TO WORTHY CHARITIES AT THE SAME TIME…

Please contact Malcolm Anderson at: runplacesmalcolm@gmail.com

Some more context

The Persian plan had been to invade and capture Athens. Legend has it that Pheidippides was sent to Sparta to request Spartan help to repel the Persians; word was out they were on their way. He covered the distance of about 150 miles in two days without Nikes, gels, sports drinks or an MP3 player. The run is now commemorated with the annual Spartathon race each year.

Depending on which source you read, the Spartans either didn’t want to help because of the festivals they were currently engaged in, or the Athenians couldn’t wait for when the Spartans would be ready. With email down, Pheidippides ran back to Athens to pass the news on and immediately headed over to Marathon for his moment in history. The Athenians prepared for the worst and planned to evacuate the city, once they had burnt it down so the Persians couldn’t have it.

The Greeks strategically outsmarted and out-battled the Persians, and claimed an outstanding and extraordinary victory. The Persians retreated, and Pheidippides, no doubt still feeling the effects of his brisk run to Sparta and back, was ordered to speedily return to Athens to share the breaking news before the folks set the place alight.

Pheidippides made it, as we know, and told the Athenians the battle had been won. He then dropped dead, the story goes, from exhaustion. Who wouldn’t?

Legends take time. The Greek historian Herodotus made mention of Pheidippides’ journey to Sparta and the Battle of Marathon.  but said nothing about his death. Plutarch, another Greek writer, added this about 500 years later. Not long after, Lucian, another writer, added the words to Pheidippides’ arrival in Athens: “Rejoice! We are Victorious.”

Then in 1879, while the British and the Zulus fought in South Africa and the Pirates of Penzance was first performed, Robert Browning, the English Poet, wrote the poem “Pheidippides”.

Inspirational enough to motivate Michel Breal, a French professor of Languages, to propose and market to the 1896 Olympic planning committee that a race from Marathon be held. The first Olympic marathon Gold medalist was Spiridon Louis (below), from Greece, over the course which was then just 25 miles.

The marathon run of today, like in 1896, finishes in the famous Panathinaikon Olympic Stadium in the centre of Athens, a short stroll from the Acropolis. And so to run this route and immerse yourself in the history and mystique seems a perfect way to understand more about marathons.

Pheidippides by Robert Browning, 1812-1889

First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock!
Gods of my birthplace, dæmons and heroes, honour to all!
Then I name thee, claim thee for our patron, co-equal in praise
Ay, with Zeus the Defender, with Her of the ægis and spear!
Also, ye of the bow and the buskin, praised be your peer,
Now, henceforth, and forever, O latest to whom I upraise
Hand and heart and voice! For Athens, leave pasture and flock!
Present to help, potent to save, Pan, patron I call!

Archons of Athens, topped by the tettix, see, I return!
See, ’tis myself here standing alive, no spectre that speaks!
Crowned with the myrtle, did you command me, Athens and you,
“Run, Pheidippides, run and race, reach Sparta for aid!
Persia has come, we are here, where is She?” Your command I obeyed,
Ran and raced: like stubble, some field which a fire runs through,
Was the space between city and city: two days, two nights did I burn
Over the hills, under the dales, down pits and up peaks.

Into their midst I broke: breath served but for “Persia has come!
Persia bids Athens proffer slaves’-tribute, water and earth;
Razed to the ground is Eretria. but Athens? shall Athens, sink,
Drop into dust and die, the flower of Hellas utterly die,
Die with the wide world spitting at Sparta, the stupid, the stander-by?
Answer me quick, what help, what hand do you stretch o’er destruction’s brink?
How, when? No care for my limbs! there’s lightning in all and some,
Fresh and fit your message to bear, once lips give it birth!”

O my Athens, Sparta love thee? did Sparta respond?
Every face of her leered in a furrow of envy, mistrust,
Malice, each eye of her gave me its glitter of gratified hate!
Gravely they turned to take counsel, to cast for excuses. I stood
Quivering, the limbs of me fretting as fire frets, an inch from dry wood:
“Persia has come, Athens asks aid, and still they debate?
Thunder, thou Zeus! Athene, are Spartans a quarry beyond
Swing of thy spear? Phoibos and Artemis, clang them ‘Ye must’!”

No bolt launched from Olumpos! Lo, their answer at last!
“Has Persia come, does Athens ask aid, may Sparta befriend?
Nowise precipitate judgment, too weighty the issue at stake!
Count we no time lost time which lags thro’ respect to the Gods!
Ponder that precept of old, ‘No warfare, whatever the odds
In your favour, so long as the moon, half-orbed, is unable to take
Full-circle her state in the sky!’ Already she rounds to it fast:
Athens must wait, patient as we, who judgment suspend.”

Athens, except for that sparkle, thy name, I had mouldered to ash!
That sent a blaze thro’ my blood; off, off and away was I back,
Not one word to waste, one look to lose on the false and the vile!
Yet “O Gods of my land!” I cried, as each hillock and plain,
Wood and stream, I knew, I named, rushing past them again,
“Have ye kept faith, proved mindful of honours we paid you erewhile?
Vain was the filleted victim, the fulsome libation! Too rash
Love in its choice, paid you so largely service so slack!

“Oak and olive and bay, I bid you cease to en-wreathe
50 Brows made bold by your leaf! Fade at the Persian’s foot,
You that, our patrons were pledged, should never adorn a slave!
Rather I hail thee, Parnes, trust to thy wild waste tract!
Treeless, herbless, lifeless mountain! What matter if slacked
My speed may hardly be, for homage to crag and to cave
No deity deigns to drape with verdure? at least I can breathe,
Fear in thee no fraud from the blind, no lie from the mute!”

Such my cry as, rapid, I ran over Parnes’ ridge;
Gully and gap I clambered and cleared till, sudden, a bar
Jutted, a stoppage of stone against me, blocking the way.
Right! for I minded the hollow to traverse, the fissure across:
“Where I could enter, there I depart by! Night in the fosse?
Athens to aid? Tho’ the dive were thro’ Erebos, thus I obey
Out of the day dive, into the day as bravely arise! No bridge
Better!” when, ha! what was it I came on, of wonders that are?

There, in the cool of a cleft, sat he, majestical Pan!
Ivy drooped wanton, kissed his head, moss cushioned his hoof;
All the great God was good in the eyes grave-kindly, the curl
Carved on the bearded cheek, amused at a mortal’s awe
As, under the human trunk, the goat-thighs grand I saw.
“Halt, Pheidippides!”, halt I did, my brain of a whirl:
“Hither to me! Why pale in my presence?”! he gracious began:
“How is it, Athens, only in Hellas, holds me aloof?

“Athens, she only, rears me no fane, makes me no feast!
Wherefore? Than I what godship to Athens more helpful of old?
Ay, and still, and forever her friend! Test Pan, trust me!
Go bid Athens take heart, laugh Persia to scorn, have faith
In the temples and tombs! Go, say to Athens, ‘The Goat-God saith:
When Persia so much as strews not the soil, Is cast in the sea,
Then praise Pan who fought in the ranks with your most and least,
Goat-thigh to greaved-thigh, made one cause with the free and the bold!’

“Say Pan saith: ‘Let this, foreshowing the place, be the pledge!’”
(Gay, the liberal hand held out this herbage I bear
Fennel, I grasped it a-tremble with dew, whatever it bode),
“While, as for thee…” But enough! He was gone. If I ran hitherto,
Be sure that the rest of my journey, I ran no longer, but flew.
Parnes to Athens, earth no more, the air was my road;
Here am I back. Praise Pan, we stand no more on the razor’s edge!
Pan for Athens, Pan for me! I too have a guerdon rare!

Then spoke Miltiades. “And thee, best runner of Greece,
Whose limbs did duty indeed, what gift is promised thyself?
Tell it us straightway, Athens the mother demands of her son!”
Rosily blushed the youth: he paused: but, lifting at length
His eyes from the ground, it seemed as he gathered the rest of his strength
Into the utterance “Pan spoke thus: ‘For what thou hast done
Count on a worthy reward! Henceforth be allowed thee release
From the racer’s toil, no vulgar reward in praise or in pelf!’

“I am bold to believe, Pan means reward the most to my mind!
Fight I shall, with our foremost, wherever this fennel may grow,
Pound, Pan helping us, Persia to dust, and, under the deep,
Whelm her away forever; and then, no Athens to save,
Marry a certain maid, I know keeps faith to the brave,
Hie to my house and home: and, when my children shall creep
Close to my knees, recount how the God was awful yet kind,
Promised their sire reward to the full, rewarding him, so!”

Unforeseeing one! Yes, he fought on the Marathon day:
So, when Persia was dust, all cried “To Akropolis!
Run, Pheidippides, one race more! the meed is thy due!
‘Athens is saved, thank Pan,’ go shout!” He flung down his shield,
Ran like fire once more: and the space ‘twixt the Fennel-field
And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs through,
Till in he broke: “Rejoice, we conquer!” Like wine thro’ clay,
Joy in his blood bursting his heart, he died, the bliss!

So, to this day, when friend meets friend, the word of salute
Is still “Rejoice!” his word which brought rejoicing indeed.
So is Pheidippides happy forever, the noble strong man
Who could race like a god, bear the face of a god, whom a god loved so well,
He saw the land saved he had helped to save, and was suffered to tell
Such tidings, yet never decline, but, gloriously as he began,
So to end gloriously, once to shout, thereafter be mute:
“Athens is saved!” Pheidippides dies in the shout for his meed.