'A world class runner can usually finish the New York City marathon in a little over two hours. It took Diane DiMarco almost nine hours - well past nightfall-but she did finish the race. In her early twenties, Diane had lost her leg to cancer. Always athletic, she had continued to be as active as could with the aid of a prosthetic limb.

Doubled over and haggard, she seemed literally to drag herself across the finish line. It was another half hour before she recovered enough to talk to the reporter sent from her native Ohio to cover the story. After asking a few brief questions, the reporter moved on to what he supposed was the heart of the story he had been sent to report.

'What statement do you think you've made for physically challenged people here today?' he asked, readying his pen for the stock reply.

'None', she said.

'But surely,' the reporter said, a bit thrown, 'people can find inspiration in-'

He was interrupted by Diane's laugh.

'Look,' she said, I don't mean to be rude, or spoil your story - but I ran because I decided to run. I didn't do it to prove anything - not even to myself. You decide to run. You start running. An hour goes by. Two hours. Three hours. You may be hurting, but you're already three hours into the race. So you keep going. Four, five, then six hours. Now you're really in deep. If you stop now, you've just wasted six hours. It gets to the point where you've got to finish to justify starting the thing in the first place, you know? If you quit once you've crossed the finish line, you've run a marathon. If you quit before, you haven't done anything but run. Faucets run, noses run, pantyhose run. But I finished a marathon. That's all.'

Life's marathons are less about statements, defining moments and inspiration - and more about just hanging in long enough to cross the finish line.