The Half of It

 

Sunday is New York City’s “Half Marathon,” a concept I understand even less than a full marathon. Why do something if you can only do half of it? You wouldn’t defend ending the Super Bowl at halftime or driving half-cross country.

There’s little accomplishment in doing half. In a way, you’ve already lost before the race starts, by admitting that it’s not a complete task. Children won’t ingratiate themselves to their stressed parents by doing half the dishes, half the laundry, or making only half of their bed. You might argue doing half is worse than doing nothing. There’s a fuller ideal in the total abandonment of one’s filial duties. When you shovel half the sidewalk, you were better off leaving it as an ice rink for neighborhood children to skate, sled, and fall. 

There is one exception to the half rule, which of course involves another different half. That is half soup half sandwich lunch special dating back to ancient times. Since we’re fast approaching spring, prime soup weather is fading. For those participating in this weekend’s misbegotten Half Marathon, have the decency to enjoy a half sandwich at the finish line. Without it, you should stay home.