When I asked Carey what penance I could perform, he offered two choices. I could work a shift at the chip verification station at the expo for an upcoming Chicago Marathon, sitting there for hours, making sure runners had the right packet, so as to understand how thorough the marathon is about making sure every participant is correctly accounted for. Or, I could take a shift at a water stop—“The last shift, when everybody’s been through it,” said Carey, cheerfully—with a broom and a bucket, cleaning up thousands of cups, so I could observe, firsthand, how much work and supplies and drudgery
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