MAHDI: The fountain of youth

Spiderman once mused that with great power comes great responsibility. What he should have said was, with great weather comes great responsibility.

As spring descends upon us, we dig out our wrinkled short skirts and summer caps as weapons to prepare for the battle against the sun. Wrapping our dry hands in scratchy gloves evolves into massaging lotion into our palms. We trade our earmuffs for daisy chains rested on our heads and the onset of panic attacks that the year is almost at an end sets in with a paralyzing grip. Yet, college students across the country are grappling with the final hurdle. The last sprint. Or any other equally clichéd metaphors for finality that come to mind.

So it’s fitting that as we reach the final stages of our metaphorical marathons this year, a physical one in the form of the Boston Marathon elicited poignant inspiration.

Spectators crowded the barricades while the incessant din of cowbells filled the crisp Boston spring air. A giant screen called for more cowbells, simultaneously streaming hundreds of bouncing heads filling the streets. All of a sudden, these superhuman, fluid beings glided by, their muscles rippling under a layer of sweat as they unwaveringly pounded the pavement with the steady beat of their agile feet.

Whether you were seeing double in a drunken stupor in honor of Marathon Monday or you were a relative cheering on someone you love (or both), the electricity that hung in the air as Kenya’s Caroline Kilel crossed the finish line, collapsing in a heap of elated exhaustion was unparalleled, coupled with Geoffrey Mutai’s resounding smash of the previous Boston Marathon record.

However, the true ingenuity of the Boston Marathon is not restricted to these Greek-like gods and goddesses of physical fitness. Hundreds of people, including the disabled, completed the marathon as a testament to a cause they believe in regardless of whether they were world class athletes or mere determined mortals who were willing to foray into the uphill battle of mental strength versus bodily fatigue.

Much like a college student’s test of endurance when challenged with a 10-page research paper, stamina is not found in the body but in the mind. And probably in the Starbucks Frappuccino drinks that seem so appealing at three in the morning from the dorm vending machines. The variety of participants included a running gorilla, military men with heaving backpacks and elderly men and women jogging steadfastly past the crowds in exceptional concentration. Men and women as old as 60 or more competed in a marathon that few of us students could even fathom participating in, some for admirable causes but some for themselves.

Catherine Mayer of Time Magazine coined the phenomenon as “amortality.” As gender roles blur, so do the societal stereotypes of aging. There is no longer such a thing as “acting your age”: being simply young at heart is not enough. With the advent of inconceivable plastic surgery acting as a fountain of youth spurting pointier chins, fuller cheeks and tighter backsides, age really is just a number. A haven for these ageless wonders is in Las Vegas, home of the Cenegenics Medical Institute. Its specialty? “The world’s largest age-management practice.” As life spans increase and the appeal of growing old decreases, this new breed’s quest for vitality is relentless.

In a bizarre rearrangement of society, it seems that the real youth strive for adulthood while the actual adults regress to new extremes in order to appear in the prime of life. If the athletic elite can run marathons, why can’t we? If the social and celebrity figures we revere can inject collagen into their faces to remove the telltale lines of experience that burrow into their faces over time, why shouldn’t we? The frightening reality is that this quest for immortality is not restricted to the human exterior. Pushing the envelope in cell manipulation experiments has become commonplace in aims of lengthening life. The potential side effect of these quick fixes? A satirical death.

Walking down Beacon Street, I spotted an older woman gulping for air as she pursued the remainder of the course. On her back was a sign that read “Boston College, Class of ’86. Cheer for me!” The mixture of admiration and empathy overwhelmed me as she slowly jogged past revelers and fallen marathon signs toward the finish line, gray wisps of hair frizzed under her cap. Perhaps she is not driven by the scavenger hunt for youth but for proof that she remains young at heart.

A marathon is probably the most tired metaphor for a journey in human history but it holds as an apt one. The same emotional and mental strength propels us through relationships, semesters and life itself. Much like the course of a race, we begin our lives in earnest before settling into a steady rhythm. But there will be times when we need to slow down: the borderline sprint must decline to a leisurely jog. Will we ever snap out of the mentality that we can’t swap Nikes for bedrooms slippers until we can no longer cheat death? One may have turn off the water supply to the fountain of youth to find out.

Sofiya Madhi is a freshman in the College of Arts and Sciences and a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. She can be reached at sofiya218@gmail.com.