It's almost as inspiring as "Impossible is nothing", and makes you feel like, even though you have as much chance of placing in the top 10 as Donald Trump has of becoming America's Next Top Model, you'll still feel good about finishing whatever distance you signed up for.

Too bad the T-shirt sizes for the event didn't match the slogan.

A quick glance at the turnout at Singapore's second annual night race showed a diverse representation of all shapes and sizes – many dressed in anything but the official shirt.

Runners chose to wear shirts that fit, rather than those provided
PHOTO: Hivelocity

Two friends who both ordered extra large are not planning to wear them because they are just too tight – they were hoping for a loose fit.

Meanwhile, another willowy mate who usually eases into a medium feared she might have had trouble breathing if she had worn this year's shirt.

Evidently, many others felt the same (barring those who run in "lucky shirts" or are superstitious about wearing white).

It didn't matter that the changed size chart had appeared on the official website stating new measurements.

It didn't matter that the brand had apparently introduced a new "Asian sizing standard" which was smaller than its European model.

The size-down tended to make the event unnecessarily exclusive, with wearers of the T-shirt being typically petite, emaciated or admirably body conscious.

Everyone else just wore our own T-shirts.

For the brand, the tighter fit must have meant a somewhat diminished branding opportunity.

If adidas had been hoping for a white-out of runners dressed in the event's official tee, it must have been disappointed.

Instead, runners were dressed in leftovers from all manner of other run events.

To distract myself from the monotony of the tarmac I counted at least the Shape Run, the Great Eastern Women 10K, Standard Chartered Singapore Marathon, Saucony 100Plus Passion Run and, oh yes, last year's inaugural Sundown Marathon.

In terms of colour, Saturday's all-nighter was nowhere close to the very successful nearly-all red of Nike's Human Race last year, or the blue swathe of the annual StanChart run.

Having said that, as a frequent participant of the run events that pepper Singapore's calendar, this year's organisers got a lot of things right when it came to logistics.

Race pack collection was a cinch – the Millenia Walk counter was easily accessible and pick-up times, reasonable.

New D-Tags that looped around shoelaces replaced plastic timing chips, meaning you didn’t have to risk forgetting to return them and pay a penalty.

My personal favourite: the precision distribution of cold 100Plus, water, banana, medal and visor the minute you crossed the finish.

This year, new, shorter categories were included – 10.5km for team/corporate, and for women – staying true to event's tagline inasmuch as its categories were concerned.

Even if you didn't have the mind-boggling stamina of Straits Times' sports reporter Jeanette Wang, there was still room for everyone – men or women, speedy or shuffling – basically, anyone willing to attempt a distance of at least 10 km.

Jeanette Wang's winning style at the adidas Sundowner Marathon on Saturday. PHOTO: Samuel He

Still, if you want participants to associate a sense of achievement and accomplishment with each time they wear your sporting apparel, it would help if the majority of them could actually put them on.

After all, isn't it true that every runner is different?

But all this while, it has remained true to its prime directive: To explore strange new issues, to seek out new discussions about life and civilisations; to boldly talk about what no man has talked about before.

Any show that can withstand the test of time without Simon Cowell deserves an award.

It is a testament to the cachet of entertainment that contains intelligent social commentary.

Ages before meaningful discourse and issue-discussions became the hallmark of The West Wing (or The Simpsons, for that matter) this show offered a place for debate on how we could be in a society.

That place: Space, the final frontier.

You want globalisation? You got it.

In the original series, Captain James T. Kirk helmed a crew with members from Russia, Scotland, yea, even the faraway planet of Vulcan.

Interracial relationships? Affirmative.

Kirk was notably quite the inter-galactic Casanova, with girlfriends in just about every colour of Saturn's rings.

What about respect for elders? Yep. Got that too.

Was it not this series, after all, that made famous the salutation, "Live long and prosper"?

Each series' captains also embodied a zeitgeist.

The original Kirk (William Shatner) was the sixties' trigger-happy space cowboy version of John Wayne; The Next Generation’s Jean-Luc Picard (Patrick Stewart), the erudite eighties leader who would rather engage than annihilate; the sadly short-lived Enterprise's Jonathan Archer (Scott Bakula), a man who had noughties' "faith of the heart", as Bryan Adams sang in its theme song (Actually, a reader pointed out that it is Russell Watson, not Bryan Adams, who sang the theme song. He just sounds like Bryan).

As a life-long fan, I never wearied of the show's themes, inferences, mystery and dialogue.

I adored all its captains, especially a certain Captain Kathryn Janeway (Kate Mulgrew) of Voyager, who in the mid-nineties became the first female commanding officer in a Star Trek series.

Hers was a character all young women could have looked to as a role model.

In fact, what I liked most about the characters of creator Gene Roddenberry's future were that they were not predisposed to the whinging so fashionable on Desperate Housewives or Grey's Anatomy.

You also got the sense that they evolved in a good way after every adventure.

They represented a kind of future anyone might want a stake in.

But recently, as I searched for a deep theatrical experience in Star Trek Rebooted, I found quite a different revelation.

Although a flick touted by some of my best mates as nothing short of a spiritual experience – such hardcore Trekkers as to own (and wear) custom-made "Starfleet" uniforms – I discovered one thing lacking.

Women.

Going by a wholly unscientific observation – I recently found myself at one screening among just a handful of females in a dark room surrounded by men – it struck me that the franchise marketing starship had warped past Venus by several light years.

Instead, most women glaze over at the mention of the series.

And, going by nothing other than my own sad experiences, some more diplomatic ones say things like "erh, I'm not really into Star Trek", "oh you poor thing" or "stop that talk right now please".

Most do not care that Star Trek paved the way the sci-fi fare they love, including George Lucas' Star Wars.

Instead, the majority of my species are more likely to balk at my understanding of jokes involving the "Picard manoeuvre" or debates on how long a symbiont can survive outside a humanoid host.

There are sympathetic "uh-huhs" to my excited outbursts of trivia like "they never said 'Beam Me Up Scottie' on the orginal series", or what NCC 1701 means (it's the, uh, Enterprise licence plate number).

But mostly – I'm speaking in general and mean no offence to other federation loyalists like me – women would rather just ignore this sector of geekdom.

Enter the prime directive of this reboot: To hell with it, let's just boldly get the women in the door.

As far as Trek movies go, this film's greatest success is the unabashed casting of eye-candy factors Zachary Quinto and Chris Pine at its fore.

In their own new tangent, they might just convince more women to be aware of discussions of xenophobia, racism, bigotry, and why to a Klingon, revenge – even when nothing good comes of it – "is a dish best served cold".

Compared to previous reboots, there is more in it to engage female audiences, based on the strength of the cast and an extremely modern plot, rather than just historical baggage.

This reboot's central theme of how our lifelong relationships with significant others define us is also less about sci-fi, more the stuff of Hallmark.

So to my sisters outside the federation zone, I beseech you, don't let this undiscovered country pass you by.

There's a lot more we can take from it than just Phasers and geekspeak.

Time to engage.

In this online frontier, the rules of engagement are still being invented by the people who know it best – never mind that they are just children. 

The Straits Times surveyed 100 youths who all said they had been stung one way or another by online venom; this, long before even reaching the legal age for drinking.

In gaming circles, they are subjected to any number of insults, taunts and put-downs, say veteran youth gamers, who in the same breath add that they themselves do some of that bullying. 

Others say that at schools, classroom disagreements are taken outside – and launched into all-out battles in cyberspace. Petty jealousies, grievances and grouses are no longer settled with just playground fistfights, but viciously perpetuated at online blogs, forums and social networking sites.

Yes, it’s hard out there for a kid.

Let loose in a world beyond the protection of their parents, they are exposed to a harsh cruelty which was previously muted by lower-grade technology. 

A generation ago, a poison-pen letter could be linked to its author by its handwriting, and disseminating it called for some financial outlay – there were stamps to think about, envelopes to be purchased, photocopies to be paid for.

Not anymore.

When you arm even a responsible, sane adult with a loaded gun, it is possible to expect grievous hurt. Imagine then, what is happening to young persons, still prone to easy tantrums, who have posionous missiles at the touch of their keyboards? 

William Golding’s allegory of what unleashes the baser aspects of human nature made his book a classic. If his observations are anything to go by, we can expect the worst.

Already, in the United States, cases of suicide have resulted from relentless cyberbullying attacks.

It is not hard to see why.

To hear someone say something nasty about you is one thing – those effects do not linger in speech bubbles, thankfully, as they do in comic books. 

It’s quite something else to read a slur about your looks, your weight, your character, your flaws, writ large and bold, in 24-point font for the world to see. 

Words, aimed at a hypersensitive young psyche, can have a corrosive effect on the spirit.

Already, youth we spoke to revealed a disturbing desperation about cyberbullying.

They fear having their personal information hijacked and turned into something like pornography. Victims feel they can trust no one, without knowing their assailants’ real identities. 

In the worst instances, some even contemplate ending their lives.

Does such inner turmoil deserve a place among youths? Or is it better off as a diary entry of a prisoner of war?

Then again, maybe this is war, and it is time for keepers of young people’s well-being to prepare for combat.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.