It was 80 degrees on a Thursday afternoon when the adults began to gather outside the school. We walked and stretched and chatted as we waited for the girls to emerge. Star-shaped balloons danced in the wind, and when the girls walked out of the school, we cheered and clapped like they were red-carpet royalty.
Each one found her running buddy. I slapped a high-five with my daughter and when we lined up, we put ourselves in the middle of the pack–the “walk some, run most” section. We are realistic about our efforts these days.
This was the practice 5k. In two weeks, we would run the real race.
Weeks of laps around the field led up to this moment. Three miles is intimidating, and I could sense the anxiety from some of the girls early on.
But before we could let our doubts and fears take over, it was time to run.
—
We learn our deficiencies early.
We are not enough this or too much that, and those thoughts burrow deep until we don’t remember ever feeling anything different.
It’s gradual, at least it was for me. Like an erosion. Slow. Steady. Almost unnoticeable, at least in the day-to-day.
When I am in the company of elementary-aged or middle-school girls, I can’t help but think of myself at that age. About all the ways I didn’t think I measured up to whatever the perceived standard was. How I didn’t attempt difficult things because I was sure I would fail. I played my life safe for a very long time.
I wondered about these young girls, if they had any of these thoughts as they set out on the neighborhood course. Did any of them wonder if they weren’t cut out for this? Were they comparing themselves to the other girls on the course?
Because I still do–wonder if I’m cut out for this, compare myself to others.
—
Sometimes we catch a glimpse of who we can be.
While the heat is bearing down as we struggle to catch our breath, to take one more step. When we’re not sure we’re going to make it. We begin to believe other people have it better or different, and we doubt ourselves. Our efforts. Should we have even bothered trying?
But just when we thought we might give up, something happens.
Someone in the crowd calls our name. A sign encourages us to “tap here for an energy boost” and we do it, just for fun. We hear words that sound like “You got this!” and “Keep going!” And as we near the end of the race the cheering intensifies. Something clicks and we remember something true about ourselves.
I don’t quite know what to call it, but I know it when I see it.
My daughter sprints to the finish line with a smile on her face that grabs the attention of those around her. (I’m not bragging here. More than one person made mention of her smile as she finished.)
She wasn’t the only one, though. As we watched her teammates finish, it was the same every time. A girl and her buddy crossed the street to the school and when they hit the sidewalk that was the final stretch, we all started cheering and calling her name.
And the girl’s face would shine like she’s alive for the first time, a smile taking up her whole countenance. It was almost tangible, the belief that she could do the impossible.
It is my favorite part of this particular race. The confidence I see practically dripping off the girls when they finish. Because so many people believed in them. And maybe they believe in themselves just a little bit more.
—
I know it doesn’t always last, this confidence. At least, not in the same measure as after a race. But it also doesn’t disappear. A hint of it remains for the next time, and each time, it grows.
—
Here’s what I’m learning about what it means to be strong: it’s not always about how fast or how much or how hard. Sometimes to be strong is to not give up, to do it in spite of how you’re feeling, to keep going.
When it comes to running some days, it’s easier to stay at my house, to take a breather between work and when the kids get home from school, to enjoy the weather without sweating.
Some days, time is not on my side and the window I have to get my run in for the day is squeezed almost shut. On those days, instead of giving up, I switch it up. Instead of throwing in the towel because I can’t run two miles or more, I see how fast I can run one mile. Sometimes I fall short of my goal. One time, though, I surprised myself and clocked the fastest one-mile time I’ve ever run.
When I think I can’t, I try to remember what I’ve already done and what I know I can do.
—
This isn’t just about running. Not in the least.
Some of us are giving all the effort we have to something or someone and coming up short. At least that’s how it seems. We’re trying and trying and trying, and we don’t feel like we’re getting anywhere. Other people are fast on our heels or blowing right past us. We’re panting, with heads throbbing and faces tomato red from the exertion. We don’t know if we can take one.more.step.
If I could wish anything for all of us it would be to have a cheering squad on the course and at the finish line, calling our name. A crowd cheering us on, reminding us, “You can do it!”
We can.
You can.
It’s this small boost of belief that spurs us toward the finish line with an inexplicable energy, like we haven’t been running for the better part of an hour.
We need to cheer each other on because we’re all in this together.
That sounds vague and idealistic, I know, but I’m convinced more and more that I will cheer you on whether you’ve just started running or you finished a marathon. Whether you’re taking the first steps toward something you’re not sure you can do or you’re out there living your life fully with passion.
I want you to cross your finish line looking like you’re alive for the first time.
—
We finished our practice 5k in 41:25. I timed us, just for my own knowledge, and maybe to give us something to compare to. Our last 5K a month ago was 42:00 even, with quite a bit of walking, and while I’m personally hoping to log a better 5K time on my own, this particular run isn’t about winning. We’re all winning, just by being there.
I want to say that again: Winning is equal to showing up.
I know this isn’t a popular concept, and I’ll admit it doesn’t apply to every situation, but for so many things, if you’re on the field or the course, if you’re showing up, doing your best, and trying, then you’ve already won. (So many of my students want to know what the prize is when they’re playing a review game and I’ve turned into that teacher who is always like “knowledge is the prize.” That’s a story for another day, perhaps.)
My daughter didn’t seem upset with our time or performance. She has such a positive attitude most of the time, and she pushes herself pretty hard when she wants to. Even though we walked a lot of the course, we ran our first half-mile faster than I usually run it, and every time we ran for a stretch, she outpaced me. When I mentioned she might want to pace herself, she said, “My legs just fly under me.” Who can argue with that?
At the end, I reminded her (and myself and anyone who could hear) that there are people who are not even thinking about walking three miles much less trying to run any portion of them. Every girl on the course, even the one who is the last to cross, has already won because she decided to show up. Bonus points for finishing the course.
Showing up and doing it anyway and not giving up. If there’s one thing I hear the girls praise each other for, week after week, it’s that they didn’t give up.
These amazing girls recognize the try in each other.
We would be wise to follow their lead.
[…] After we grabbed our post-race treats, we made our way back to the spot where everyone from our team met up, reconnecting with my son and our friend Carol who has cheerfully been our support team for three years. We stood at the edge of the track cheering on other runners as they finished. I only called two names specifically, and they were both people I knew, but every time a name was shouted, you could see the runner perk up a little, as if it was just the boost she needed to finish strong. […]