The Marathon
I begin this rant knowing I have absolutely no data to back this up, well, only arguably historical patterns. I’d like to begin my tinfoil conversation by comparing it to an actual race: a two-person marathon.
Runner One (the United States) is the favorite. Top shape, best times in the field, sponsors lined up around the block, the gear that has all the sponsors on it. The one the cameras follow at the start line. Commentators are discussing how this is the most important race of their life, one they have to win no matter what. And how could they not? They’ve got the physical and financial backing to all but guarantee they’re going to cross that finish line. Commentators are already drafting the victory headline before the gun goes off.
Runner Two (China) is a runner that everyone is fearful of. Quiet, stoic, and oddly unfazed by the other opponent. There’s no entourage, no logos on their spandex, no pre-race interviews about how they’re going to “win it.” They trained, but not as hard, honestly. They’ve been racing for decades and are quite fine with simply crossing the finish line. They are not the runner that people gush over, but over the decades, people have grown respect for them. They’ve rarely won any race, but they’ve shown grit and determination, and they’ve always finished. It’s the person that slammed down a Grand Slam at the Denny’s half a block down the street and then moseyed over to the starting line.
As the racers stand at the starting line, Runner One looks over at Runner Two and gestures with their hands in a way that indicates Runner Two is “going down.” Interestingly, Runner Two isn’t even looking in their direction. They’re stretching, mentally going over the track, and preparing for the race.
The Gun Goes Off
Runner One explodes off the line like the gun was a personal insult. Out front instantly, strides eating the track, arms pumping with the kind of intensity that looks great on a sponsor reel.
Runner Two doesn’t flinch at the start, doesn’t surge, doesn’t even seem to register that the race has begun in any urgent sense. They just settle into a pace. The pace is deliberate, fixed, and only adjusted as needed. The commentators focus on Runner One, because that’s where all the action is.
By the first mile marker, the gap is enormous. Sponsors continue to pressure Runner One to run faster and harder. Meanwhile, Runner Two remains unfazed, keeps moving forward, and keeps making progress. Runner Two’s stomach rumbles, and well, that Denny’s is coming back to haunt them, but it’s only mild discomfort and they proceed forward. Runner Two’s eyes are locked on Runner One’s back. They adjust their technique and tactics when they see how it benefits Runner One. They learn what Runner One does to exhaust their reserves and adjust their own accordingly. They watch Runner One’s form, their breathing, the exact moment the stride starts costing more than it’s producing. Every mile Runner One banks early, Runner Two banks as data.
The Finish Line
By mile twenty, Runner One is drenched in sweat and panting. The form that looked so clean at the start is falling apart, stride getting shorter, breathing getting louder. Their sponsored spandex indicates that there’s more than just sweat their body is releasing. I mean, who has time for a bathroom break when there’s a race to dominate?
Runner Two is still back there. Their pace and rhythm have improved over time, sharpened every mile at the expense of Runner One’s mistakes and achievements. Essentially copying what works and learning from what fails.
Runner One crosses first. There’s no version of this story where they don’t, the gap was too big and the moment too symbolic for anyone to let it go any other way. They collapse the second they break the tape. Somebody hands them water they can barely hold. They’re exhausted, overheated, and overextended. The medical team wraps an oxygen mask around them to keep them from passing out. The trophy goes up, and they don’t have the strength to hold it. The headline screams victory.
Runner Two crosses five minutes later. Doesn’t sprint the last stretch. Doesn’t need to. Walks the final few steps, because there was never a reason to do anything else. No collapse. No water needed. Just a runner who ran the race they intended to run and finished it in the same condition they started it.
Runner One, the victor, looks up at Runner Two and gestures that they’re number one. Runner Two smiles, acknowledges the victory, and walks off. The Grand Slam they had earlier in the day demands to be freed.
The Point
Historically, China has never been the country determined to win “the race,” and yet they remain one of the most influential regions in the world. The US presents them as inferior, and yet they remain the boogeyman.
Manufacturing was basically born in this country. Assembly lines, mass production, the entire 20th century industrial identity, that was us, full stop. So where does manufacturing actually live now? Yeah, you know the answer to that.
Consumer-grade automobiles were born from manufacturing. China didn’t really enter the automotive industry until many decades after we claimed the trophy. American and European manufacturers held the lead for decades and, by most measures, still do. However, today their industry is rapidly growing and taking substantial market share. China kept copying what worked and discarding what didn’t, the exact same mile-by-mile education Runner Two ran on Runner One’s back. And the gap kept closing, quietly, year over year, right up until it closed enough that we banned their vehicles outright rather than compete with them on price and capability. To the best of my limited grey matter, you don’t ban something you’ve already beaten.
The US invented the internet. Birthed it, funded it, built the backbone of it through DARPA and a handful of universities decades before anyone else had dial tone. In fact, we practically collapsed the economy betting on it. And for a long stretch, American companies owned the scoreboard: Amazon, Google, eBay, the whole Web 1.0 and 2.0 gold rush. China showed up late to that race too, the way they showed up late to automobiles. Alibaba studied Amazon’s playbook and then out-built it for a market four times the size. Tencent watched what worked in messaging and gaming and turned WeChat into something no Western app has matched, a single app that’s your texting, your banking, your shopping, and your ID card all at once. TikTok didn’t just compete with American social media, it became the thing American social media companies now openly copy, feature for feature, in a panic. Some of the most profitable, most influential tech companies on the planet now sit behind that same firewall we assumed would keep them irrelevant.
That’s the tell, and it’s the same one every time. China has never once set out to win a single race outright. They don’t measure success in finish-line photos or trophy ceremonies. What they measure is whether their position improved since the last lap. Manufacturing, automotive, e-commerce and the internet. And now, in my opinion, artificial intelligence. Same patient, unglamorous strategy, run by a competitor who’s been doing this long enough that there’s really no such thing as “losing the race,” because the finish line is fake.
Which brings us back to the marathon, and to the sentence I can’t shake.
America is definitely winning the AI race. I’m just not sure China cares.
We’re the ones drenched in sweat, oxygen mask on, leveraged to the eyeballs in debt to fund a sprint nobody’s required us to run this hard. Pull up isaiprofitable.com if you want the receipts, a live tally of what the entire AI industry has spent against what it’s actually made back. At the time of ranting, the gap isn’t close, and it isn’t closing. Now, you can argue the exact numbers on a site like that, revenue attribution is messy, profitability timelines are debatable, fine. But nobody’s arguing the capex gap between what the US is spending on AI infrastructure versus what China is spending. That one’s not up for debate. China’s the one who finished the race in the same condition it started, having spent the whole time studying our form, copying what worked, and letting us foot the bill for every lesson, the training data, the failed approaches, the trillion-dollar tuition. The question that worries me is this:
Is the trophy worth the price tag?
