A Little Effervescence
The sky was still dark at the pre-dawn gathering, a time I call “the magic hour.” As the field of marathoners began to build, the starting line swollen with runners, the anticipation of what lay ahead was palpable. Well-trained, over-trained, or under-trained, 22,000 runners gathered with a single, unifying purpose, to do what they had spent months getting ready to do — run 26.2 miles from Dodger Stadium, past the iconic vistas of Los Angeles, to the finish line at the famous Santa Monica Pier. The stadium scoreboard was counting down to the start time. The usual emotions surfaced, but in this one very particular moment, athletes were feeling an unusual kind of collective uncertainty about what lay ahead. It felt different from any other marathon. It wasn’t normal pre-race jitters. It felt like shared precarity. It was March 2020, and we knew we might not get to do this again for a very long time.
The governor of California had just declared a state of emergency, but allowed the Los Angeles Marathon, the last major marathon to precede the pandemic, to go on. Everyone at Dodger Stadium knew something, but really, we didn’t know anything. What did it mean for me to be standing shoulder to shoulder with so many people when I wasn’t even sure I would be allowed to board a plane to return home or to take a call from my daughter, worried I didn’t have enough toilet paper, and when I got home, there wouldn’t be any to buy. I was set to run over 26 miles. Toilet paper wasn’t on my radar. What did it mean to be in proximity to so many people, breathing their air, with a mysterious virus on the loose, a virus that was killing people. Whatever was happening and whatever we were feeling, 22,000 people were in it together, and rarely have I felt such a sense of collective unity at a marathon starting line. I would relive that terrible, beautiful uncertainty with those people again in a heartbeat and I didn’t know a single name.
More than a hundred years ago, French sociologist Emile Durkheim noticed something lovely and universal about we human beings. It’s an idea I love coming back to, especially at this time of year when I am working to build our next season of races. This time of year is always an existential season for me and I find Durkheim’s idea helpful. When people go through something together with a shared sense of purpose or in collective behavior, they can experience a kind of joyful unity, what Durkheim called “collective effervescence.” Collective effervescence modulates challenge. The something can be just about anything, a concert, a Husker football game, a church service, a holiday celebration, or a marathon on the precipice of a pandemic. I remember another experience of collective effervescence in 1976 in a movie theater filled to the brim. At the end of the movie, we in the audience leapt to our feet in unison, the theater exploding in applause and deafening cheers as Rocky Balboa goes the distance with Apollo Creed. I think a case could be made that the reason “Rocky” won Best Picture in 1977 was because its story brilliantly created collective effervescence. What “Rocky” offered that the more critically acclaimed “Taxi Driver” didn’t was a shared experience of purpose and unity. Rocky just needed to make it to the final bell and when he did, we felt utter and collective joy.
There are a couple of peak-type experiences that elevate collective effervescence even more. One is singing in tandem which is why a church service can be incredibly powerful, and the other is when we move in unison as we do in a race. Our events, our races, are experiences in collective effervescence. Using the work of Emile Durkheim, Harvard Business School social psychologist Amit Goldenberg unpacked this feeling of effervescence in his work on collective experience and collective emotion. A Platte River Fitness Series race would have been a perfect laboratory for his research.
Collective effervescence has a positive impact on all three pillars of well-being. Experiences shared with others are good for our hearts, both the physical one that beats in our chest and the metaphorical one at the center of our emotions. Our heart rates are generally lower, and our blood pressure reduced during these experiences. Good neurochemicals flood our systems. People report a sense of connection and fewer feelings of loneliness, two things that affect our physical and mental health. Even we introverts need to feel that sense of connection stirred up in moments of collective effervescence. I love to run in a group, and I love to run alone. Both things can be true. Even the most ardent lover of solitude needs a little collective effervescence.
Experiences of collective effervescence are good math. They add something to the total of our lived experience, and they add up to something real. They put something in the positive column of moments that not only leave us with a great memory, but also subtly grow us. They ever so slightly build our capacity for connection. Capacity building is important because we are built for connection.
I love the magic hour before the start of any race. Race day registration and packet pickup, that’s when the connection begins. To the uninitiated, it might seem like simple “housekeeping,” chores that need to be done before we hit the start button on our watches. What I see in that hour before a PRFS race is the first blush of a collective experience, the first sign of something amazing bubbling to the surface, the beginning of collective effervescence. I see a community growing and gaining strength. Fast or not-so-fast, chatty or focused, we all share something that looks like uncertainty at every race. Well-trained, over-trained or under-trained, the race can hold surprises.
A race is the great unknown, and it is so much easier to face it in the company of others. We are not made to face the wilderness alone. We are made to find our way through it together. Things like nervousness and excitement begin to rise to the surface before a race, and maybe even a feeling of mild (or not so mild) dread. We are willingly accepting at least mild discomfort if not outright pain. We signed up for it, and we paid money for it. During the magic hour, people are holding up their new race shirt, rummaging through their race bags. There is a light-heartedness as we pin on our bibs and an unspoken understanding that what is to come will be hard. Our athletes face the hard thing together and hard things are essential to achieving our full potential.
I love what feels like the effervescent fizziness of the starting line. The communal feeling of anticipation; athletes sorting themselves, bouncing around, some practically vibrating, most with a finger ready to hit start. Sometimes I can see the questions in your eyes, “Where should I stand? Who is alongside me?” “Front of the pack? Middle of the pack? Back of the pack?” Wherever you stand and wait at the starting line, one thing is certain, it is a place where you belong. I love the banter and jokes, the smiles and the fierceness of determined faces, the abundance of nervous human energy just before the words, “Runners Set!” are shouted. You are the very best collection of people sharing a moment I can think of. You are a most special kind of collective effervescence.
Once you are off, I sometimes still hear the shared conversation until your voices trail off as the pack moves away. I have never actually done a single Platte River Fitness Series race in twenty-three years, well, because I am otherwise occupied, but I have done enough racing to know what collective effervescence looks like as a race unfolds. We move in and out of ourselves, alone and together. Sometimes our focus is singular, and we go deep into our solitude to find what we have to give this day, in this mile, in this moment. Sometimes, we work hard to find someone, anyone, to run with to take our mind off the suffering. In our races, sometimes we even head back out after our finish to keep others company before their finish. Much of the time, there is both aloneness and togetherness, and it really doesn’t matter, because above all, our shared purpose is the finish line and in the end, all that matters is that we reach it.
In twenty-three years, I’ve seen a good deal of emotion at the finish line, another magical place for me. Collective effervescence is on full display there too. There is joy for sure, and sometimes some frustration when your time isn’t as fast as you might have liked or when you get passed just before the line. The frustration, however, is usually short-lived. The dominant collective emotion that I see at the finish line is one we don’t always think of as a meaningful emotion. What I see in you and what I have felt myself is the gorgeous, capacious feeling of relief. Relief means our burden has lifted. The hard work is done, mission accomplished. It is the empowering sensation of “I did it!” And for those of us who get to witness it, it is a gift.
I keep all of the benefits of collective effervescence in mind when building out a race season. There is more to consider than you might think. I am always fretting about how many races are too many races, races that tax our resources and our volunteers. Conversely, too few races would mean fewer incentives offered to participants, less connection and less opportunity for the very positive experience of collective effervescence. Years ago, and I honestly don’t remember what year, we had 29 races. It was an overwhelming year, and unsustainable to say the least. It was also incredibly rewarding that 29 organizations in our small town saw what we do as being of benefit to what they do. My effort to “trim down” the PRFS the next year felt terrible, so I changed that the year after that. I don’t think there is a perfect number that would satisfy everyone, so I keep our mission at the heart of things and embrace the ebb and flow of our events and their race directors. Things just seem to work themselves out.
The 2025 calendar is set and will soon be released. I know some of you want those dates as soon as possible, and for that, I adore you! We will end 2024 with increased participation in nearly every event, something remarkable after two decades. We will retire two races, the Autumn River Run and the Tamara Hlavaty Gift of Life Run. Tessa and Troy Hlavaty have made their mom proud but are also moving into new seasons in their lives, making it a good time to let their race go. Tammy’s first grandchild was born to Tessa and her husband in September. Boston Pettera, a key member of that team, is off at college. Two potential new events have decided to hold off until 2026 to give them plenty of time to make their races exceptional. I love that thoughtfulness. Our 2025 season will include the 2-month long Richard Deckert Virtual Challenge for January and February, opening for registration in early December, and 16 in-person opportunities for challenge, anticipation, relief, connection and 16 opportunities for the joy of collective effervescence. It seems just right.