By Karen Sternheimer
If you want to see the best humanity has to offer, run a marathon.
Emile Durkheim, one of sociology’s founders, coined the phrase “collective effervescence” in his 1912 book The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life to describe coming together to experience something outside of everyday life. These experiences take on a religious-like fervor, with rituals that heighten a community’s cohesion.
Durkheim probably wasn’t thinking about marathons when he wrote about collective effervescence. The revival of the classic Greek 26.2-mile race had just recently happened in 1896, a few years before Durkheim’s book was published. Based on my first marathon experience, it fits Durkheim’s concept very well.
First, participants spend months preparing, often in groups. Training plans and run clubs help prepare the body as well as create a bonding experience for runners.
There are also public rituals that signal the annual event’s approach for the community. In traffic-centric Los Angeles, signs pop up around town warning of road closures, which can make traffic particularly awful. The anticipation is heightened by news coverage in the days leading up to the event.
Participants prepare with rituals like tapering (reducing training mileage), carb loading, and getting their gear together days in advance. Posting a bib—a runner’s number–on social media is a common practice, one that organizers actively discourage because it promotes fraudulent duplication of bibs. This can enable “banditing,” or running the race without registration and payment. Banditing, as NPR host Peter Sagal found when admitting to it in a 2011 column, is a quick way to running infamy. Not only does it add to course congestion, but races are limited to a certain number of participants for safety and security reasons. There is a patina of sacrilege to those who commit this running “sin.”
Other rituals promote a sense of community cohesion. Like most sporting events, a marathon often begins with a performance of the national anthem, and sometimes with a military display like a fighter jet flyover or color guard. In Los Angeles, playing the unofficial local anthem, Randy Newman’s 1983 hit “I Love LA,” reflects the collective cohesion Durkheim wrote about.
And then there’re the spectators, thousands cheering on the runners. Some may be supporting friends or family, but many are there to witness the spectacle, to be part of the crowd, and offer physical aid. From ice to sunscreen to snacks and water, people lined the entire course and made sure no one would be hungry or thirsty for long. The race organizers provide support too, supplemented by people in the crowd offering orange slices, candy, and chips, and unexpected things like beer, vodka shots, and for the really adventurous, chili cheese dogs. Businesses and sponsors handed out bagels, donuts, cookies, and Pop-Tarts.
It’s easy to get caught up in the excitement, even for someone like me who doesn’t like crowds. Strangers high-five you and encourage you to keep going while holding up signs that can be heartwarming and funny. I saw many versions of “You’re My Favorite Runner” and “A Stranger is Proud of You” as well as slightly bawdy signs about endurance. One sign pointed out that we were at mile 6-7, or that we had 6-7 miles to go, based on the 2025 meme with no apparent meaning. The crowd offered lots of reasons to smile.
The sound is intense. You pass by live music and music booming from loudspeakers, and the endless sound of cowbells and screams.
Sunrise at the start of the 2026 Los Angeles Marathon, courtesy of the author
As Durkheim described, it’s an opportunity to feel like you are part of something bigger. For runners, it’s a storied distance, one uncomfortable for most. It’s a chance to share a struggle, and then feel like you are a part of an international running community with races of the same distance worldwide. Finishing times can be status markers, since they can be easily compared. The ritual concludes with a medal that can be worn that day and then displayed at home.
Even in a large, sprawling, multicultural city like Los Angeles, a marathon brings people together and makes it feel a bit like a small town. The experience of transcendence helps people feel connected and brings people back every year. It’s probably why I’ll be back next year.
What other examples of collective effervescence can you think of? Share in the comments below.