Ron Judd / Times staff columnist
Stirring scene at marathon

DEAN RUTZ / THE SEATTLE TIMES Deena Kastor of the U.S. breaks down after winning the bronze medal in the women's marathon yesterday.

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ATHENS — I cheered.

So shoot me. There was no other imaginable response, really.

Not if you were a living, breathing human being, standing there on the front steps of history, watching the women's marathon finish line at Panathinaiko Stadium on a hot August night in Athens.

I cheered when Mizuki Noguchi of Japan ran through the open end of the marble-walled, ancient stadium and seized the gold medal, finishing in 2 hours, 26 minutes and 20 seconds, just ahead of Kenya's Catherine Ndereba, who crossed 12 seconds behind.

I clapped when an American, Deena Kastor, 31, of Mammoth Lakes, Calif., made a charge in the final minutes to claim bronze — the first marathon medal for the U.S. since Joan Benoit won the inaugural women's Olympic marathon in 1984 on the streets of Los Angeles.

I kept standing, in respect, along with maybe 8,000 other people, as 63 other finishers, from Elfenesh Alemu of Ethiopia, in fourth, to Luvsanlkhundeg Otgonbayar of Mongolia made their way into the stadium and around that hallowed track.

It probably wasn't appropriate; you're not supposed to cheer from the press box. But shoot, there really wasn't one. Panathinaiko, the site of the first modern Games in 1896, is a marble-clad bowl with seats for 35,000 and not much else — no luxury boxes, drinking fountains, smoking lounges or other flotsam.

Even if there had been, nobody would have minded on this rare occasion. You couldn't squelch the emotion at what played out before you.

The world's greatest female marathoners didn't conquer the course that follows, at least in some fashion, the route of the original marathon, run by a guy who drew the short straw more than 2,000 years ago — and then reportedly died.

They survived it. Just barely, in some cases.
 
The Athens heat was oppressive — one of the hottest days at what surely will go down as one of the hottest Summer Games on record. The temperature at the start was well over 100 degrees. It never got much better.

As they finished, the runners all stopped and just stood there, grasping for balance, dazed, bobbing and weaving.

Several of them made their way out of the spotlight and, as discreetly as they could with the world looking on, vomited. One woman was taken off on a stretcher.

Eighty-two women had started this race at 6 p.m. in Marathon. Sixty-six finished in the muggy darkness of Athens. One of the "did-not-finishers" was Britain's Paula Radcliffe, the world-record holder at 2:15.25. She led for a time, but nearly collapsed two hours into this race, finally, agonizingly, conceding defeat.

This was a contest against nature — the stilted air, the incessant heat radiating upward off 26 miles of blacktop. The winners looked shell-shocked, the losers needed medical attention.

Maybe it was fitting. The myth of the original marathon holds that in the 5th century B.C., Phidippides ran some 26 miles from Marathon to Athens to herald a Greek victory over the invading Persians. After passing on this headline, he reportedly died on the spot. History shows it didn't actually happen this way.

Doesn't matter: The myth lives on, and the modern marathon race is based upon it, keeping the same Athens-to-Marathon distance of just a tad over 26 miles.

At the end of the road for this one, the heat was trying even for spectators. Early arrivers at Panathinaiko packed the shaded side of the bowl first. Even as the sun sank slowly behind the open end of the stadium, painting the nearby Temple of Zeus in an orange-juice glow, the heat raged.

Everyone who took a seat on one of those marble slabs could feel the heat of thousands of summer days over thousands of summer years oozing through the pores of the stone, sandblasted by time to a rough finish.

But fans were enthralled with the scene. They watched the runners on a big-screen TV, cheering for their favorites. They danced to music pumped from temporary speakers, forming one giant international melting pot of sweaty bodies.

It was stunning. The stadium is a marvel in marble. This version of Panathinaiko is actually only 109 years old. But the site is hallowed ground — a shrine to ancient athletics that was uncovered by archaeologists in the late 19th century, more or less in its present shape and form.

This spot in the center of Athens is believed to have hosted athletic competitions like this since four centuries before Christ.

That, in itself, is moving. Combine it with the brave defiance of the women running through the gates, and you've got a serious lump-in-the-throat moment.

Every Olympic Games produces a few of these: moments so unique, so profound, that you feel compelled to stop taking notes and just join the rest of the world community surrounding you.

And this crowd was exactly that. Most fans at the women's marathon probably couldn't define "Olympic spirit" to save their lives. But they know it when they're acting it out. And last night, it was infectious.

The crowd stood, from the first runner to the last, paying homage to survivors of one of modern sport's most grueling challenges. They shook hands and, more often than not, ignored language barriers by just patting one another on the shoulders and smiling.

Back in 1997, when Athens was awarded these Games, before everyone got scared, worried and indignant, you pictured moments like this — sweet slices of linkage between the birth of athletics and modern sport; moments that Greece, and only Greece, could provide.

Here was a beauty. Everyone who was there will carry it around forever.

Especially the runners — 66 women, on an imperfect night in a perfect setting, thrilling the world by doing what great athletes and the Olympic Games, for all their foibles, do best.

Transcending.

Ron Judd: 206-464-8280 or at rjudd@seattletimes.com.