“Victory!” The messenger announced through belabored breaths. “We are the victors.”
In an instant, the Athenian council erupted with joy and adulation. Their victory over the Persian army would bring vigor and hope to all the Greeks.
Amidst the celebrations, the messenger, Pheidippides, collapsed to his knees. Only one of the councilors had the presence of mind to notice and ran to his aid.
“Messenger! Are you ill?”
Pheidippides lacked even the energy to shake his head. Through weak lips, he uttered the words, “Too great…”
The councilor leaned in, “I can’t hear you, what are you saying!”
Pheidippides felt the life draining from him. But his final words were too important. He had to get them out. “The distance was too great… No man should ever do it again.”
Pheidippides then slumped over, at peace that his final words might save future runners from his agony.
But through the noise of the celebratory cheers, the councilor heard something else:
“Did you hear that brothers? The runner has said, ‘It was great! Man should do it again!’”
“He wants to be remembered!”
“Yes! We will have a race once every year to commemorate the achievement!”
“And we shall name it after him in his honor—er, what was his name again?”
The Athenian councilors exchanged clueless glances.
“Well he just came from Marathon, so that shall be its name!”
The councilors all clapped and patted each other on the back, while Pheidippides lay lifeless on the marble floor.
