As I cruised down the road with my windows down, the warm scent of spring enveloped me, a welcome change from the long winter months. Music blaring, I noticed a familiar sight: the local middle school track team gearing up for their first practice of the season.
It had been years since I laced up my own track shoes, but some things remain unchanged. Up front, the top runners were all business, focused and serious, dressed in their flashy gear, calculating their times in silence. Then there was the middle group — a mix of athletes who enjoyed various sports, laughing and joking as they jogged along, embodying camaraderie. Lastly, I spotted the slower runners, their sneakers less impressive, pushing through with little conversation, save for a few tired jokes and wishes for water breaks.
Rolling past them all, I felt a sense of nostalgia. But my gaze caught one more runner trailing behind. He was a big kid in worn-out sneakers, a clear struggle written on his face as he ran — or rather, shuffled — along. It seemed like an uphill battle for him, yet there he was, giving it his all. I couldn’t help but wonder how he’d feel when he crossed the finish line, far behind the others. Would he face ridicule, or would his teammates acknowledge his effort with a supportive pat on the back and a refreshing drink of water?
In that moment, I realized that he wasn’t actually the last. He was ahead of countless others who opted for the couch over the track, who chose to stay home and indulge in their screens. While it’s easy to view finishing last as a defeat, it’s crucial to recognize the courage it takes just to participate. This kid had already triumphed simply by showing up.
As a parent, or even as a friend, this is the message we would share: “You did great because you were out there.” But I must admit, I struggle with this philosophy myself. In my community, it’s hard not to feel self-conscious when I see the fit, stylish adults training for marathons. Their sleek cars sport the “26.2” stickers, and their long runs are the distances I only consider driving. I’ve found myself running later and later in the evenings just to avoid being seen, not wanting to feel the weight of comparison.
However, I’m inspired to channel the spirit of that determined kid at the back of the track team. Tomorrow, I’ll lace up my shoes and hit the pavement in broad daylight, embracing my less-than-ideal pace and attire. After all, I’ll still be out there, moving and breathing, which is a victory in itself. So, let’s all take a cue from that kid and just get out there.
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In summary, finishing last doesn’t equate to losing. It’s about participating, pushing boundaries, and embracing the journey, regardless of the pace. So let’s celebrate every step we take, slow or fast.
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