Twenty-six point two miles is a specific, historical, and grueling physiological contract. You run the distance, you get the metal. That was the deal. But the Los Angeles Marathon recently decided that the contract is negotiable. By offering finisher medals to those who tap out at mile 18, they haven’t "opened up the sport." They’ve turned a feat of human endurance into a $170 nature walk with a souvenir.
If you think this is about inclusivity, you’re the mark. This is about retention metrics and suburban vanity.
The Eighteen Mile Mirage
The logic presented by race organizers is predictably soft. They claim that by awarding medals at the 18-mile mark—specifically for those participating in the "Charity Challenge"—they are celebrating the "effort" of the journey.
Let’s be precise about what happens at mile 18. In exercise physiology, this is usually where the body begins to transition from glycogen-burning to fat-oxidation. It is the doorstep of "The Wall." By handing out a "Finisher" medal before the wall, you aren't celebrating a marathon. You are rewarding someone for showing up to the starting line and staying hydrated for three hours.
Calling someone who runs 18 miles a "Marathon Finisher" is like calling someone who watched the first two acts of Hamlet a Shakespearean scholar. You missed the point of the ending. The ending is where the meaning lives.
The Economics of Ego
Why would a major World Athletics sanctioned event do this? Follow the money.
The marathon industry is facing a crisis of "one-and-dones." Most people run a marathon to check a box. If they find it too hard, they don’t come back. If they fail to finish, they feel a sense of shame that prevents them from registering the following year.
By lowering the bar to 18 miles, the L.A. Marathon solves its churn problem.
- The Participant gets the Instagram photo and the heavy zinc alloy to hang in their office.
- The Charity gets the fundraising dollars from someone who wasn't actually prepared to train for 26.2 miles.
- The Race Organizers get to report "record finisher numbers" to their sponsors.
Everyone wins except the concept of truth. I’ve spent fifteen years in the endurance sports space, watching brands pivot from "Harder is Better" to "Everyone is Special." When you prioritize the ego of the customer over the integrity of the achievement, the achievement ceases to exist.
The Death of the "Standard"
The marathon has already been diluted by "Corral Creep" and generous 7-hour cutoff times. That was fine. If you want to walk for seven hours, you’re still covering the distance. You’re still enduring the time on your feet.
But the 18-mile medal is a structural collapse. It creates a tiered reality where "Finisher" no longer has a definition.
Imagine applying this to any other discipline:
- Aviation: "You didn't land the plane, but you handled the takeoff beautifully. Here is your Pilot's License."
- Academia: "You finished your sophomore year. Here is your Master’s Degree."
- Finance: "The trade lost 40%, but the spreadsheet looked great at noon. Here is your performance bonus."
We recognize these as absurd because they involve stakes. We’ve decided that distance running has no stakes, so we’ve turned it into a pageant.
The Counter-Intuitive Truth: We Need More DNFs
The "Did Not Finish" (DNF) is the most important result in sports. It is the physical manifestation of "Not Today."
When I crashed out of a technical trail race at mile 40 of 50, I didn't want a "40-Mile Participant" ribbon. I wanted the sting of the failure. That sting is the only thing that drives a human being to wake up at 4:00 AM in January to run repeats on a hill.
If you remove the possibility of failure, you remove the value of the success. By guaranteeing a medal at mile 18, the L.A. Marathon has effectively told its runners that their training doesn't actually matter. If you hit a wall, just stop. You’ll still get the shiny thing.
This isn't just a "boomer" rant about participation trophies. It’s a critique of the commodification of struggle. We are selling the aesthetic of struggle without the requirement of it.
The "Inclusivity" Lie
The most common defense for this move is that it makes the marathon "more inclusive" for people with different physical abilities or those running for heavy emotional causes.
This is a patronizing lie.
True inclusivity is providing the resources, training groups, and extended course hours to help everyone—regardless of pace—reach the 26.2-mile mark. It is not moving the finish line closer because you think certain people can’t make it. That’s not inclusion; that’s a lowered expectation disguised as a hug.
I have seen runners finish marathons on prosthetic limbs, at age 80, and while battling stage IV cancer. They didn't do it for an 18-mile medal. They did it precisely because the distance is uncompromising. It doesn't care about your story. It only cares if you cross the line.
Reclaiming the Finish Line
If you want to fix the L.A. Marathon—and the sport at large—you have to stop lying to the participants.
Stop pretending that 18 miles is 26.2. Stop pretending that a "Charity Challenge" is a separate reality where the laws of physics and distance don't apply. If a runner completes 18 miles, give them a shirt. Give them a banana. Give them a ride back to the finish line in a van.
But don't give them the medal.
The medal is a symbol of a completed contract. When you hand it out for a partial effort, you aren't being "kind." You are devaluing the effort of every person who actually gutted out those final, agonizing eight miles through Brentwood and Santa Monica.
The industry thinks it’s "democratizing" the marathon. In reality, it’s just making it boring. If everyone is a finisher, then nobody is.
Take the medal away. Bring back the DNF. Make the finish line mean something again. Or just call the event "The Long Walk" and stop pretending this has anything to do with the legacy of Pheidippides.
The wall is there for a reason. If you don't climb it, you don't get the view.
