Winning

January 29, 2018

Greetings from the tape,

Some days are not pretty.  Every day is filled with the clash and spin that comes how it comes.  There are bulldozers and poetry and cursing and laughing and friendship and flat tires.  The moments do not line up in order, there is not always a clear connection between what you do and what happens after.  It will unfold like it does and often there is only one way you know you are done, or if you’ve done well.

I leave the starting line of a marathon and I know what I want.  I run among runners who will be faster and slower than I am.  I am competitive and on many occasions have pushed to catch a runner or keep ahead of another. As satisfying as that can be, it is often contrary to my strategy and can as often harm as help. I pay passing attention to age group victories, but it never occurs to me while I run.  

The people I run with, race with, are my companions in this effort.  Each brings their own agenda, and unless they share it I’ll never know.  What I want has nothing to do with beating them or losing to them.  What I want is in in the run, not at the finish.  When I reach the finish what I want will be there.

I do not dream of winning.  There has never been a fantasy where that occurs.  I have seen others win, witnessed the battles to the finish line, the dramatic breaking of the tape, the victor leaning in to edge out the vanquished.  The crowd chanting his name, rushing around him, lifting him up, carrying him off to the podium where the laurels are placed. 

None of those images were in my head a week ago as I lined up at the start of a small marathon in Dallas.  The day was hot, split by a steady wind that took turns cooling us and slowing us down.  By the time we settled into the first miles I could see the few people ahead of me, knew how far back the rest of the pack was.  I chipped away at the miles and watched a few people drop off as the heat did its work.  I had what I wanted.

By the end of the race the sun had set, and the finish line was dark, crowded with people, but no one looking with any particular interest at me.  I staggered past the finish and spotted someone with a clipboard, universal icon for ‘person of authority’.  I gave her my name and told her I’d just finished the marathon. 

 “Oh, looks like you’re first.”

There was this awkward moment that even as I experienced it seemed like a punch line.

“I won.  I am first?”

“Looks that way.”

It was that way.  It was not pretty, not my fastest time, not a duel to the finish.  But it was a win.

I’ve been running marathons for thirty years.  I’ll be the first to admit not all of them have been pretty, and a few were so slow you could challenge me on whether it counted as ‘running’.  But a finish is a finish.  And a win is a win.

It could have been anticlimactic.  No screaming crowd, no band playing, no winner’s podium. There was no one to tell who would care.  I hugged the woman with the clipboard and told her.  “I won.” But she already knew.  It could have been a hollow moment, but not for me, because I already had what I wanted.  Here’s what it felt like: End of summer you put on your favorite pair of jeans you haven’t seen since spring.  You put your hands in the pockets and find a ten-dollar bill.

It wasn’t until later when I walked back to the hotel with my friend Graham that I got to process it.  We talked about the race and the conditions and the water and the heat and the wind.  We talked about other races we’d run and some we would run if the fates allowed.  Graham, kind friend that he is, gave me just enough congratulations about the win so neither of us would be embarrassed.  Those moments meant more to me than a dusty trophy ever will.

Running has taught me lessons I am still figuring out how to use.  I run against goals I set for myself, and no matter what happens with that, I run to see the best I have on that day.  If I’m honest, there have been plenty of races where I have been disappointed in my finish, at least for a moment.  There was a season when that might have spoiled running for me, but thankfully age has wrung that out of me.  That and the perspective of good friends.

On most days I win.  I invest myself in the training, in preparing for what is important to me.  I show up, I put all I have into the challenge in front of me, and the feeling that comes from being the best I can be is what I want.  Where I am in the crowd crossing the finish line only matters for small talk with other runners or answering the polite questions of curious spectators.

Why should you care about any of this?

Some days are not pretty.  How you get through the challenges and disappointments may not be how you planned.  Some days you don’t see all the fun you hoped for or when you needed it most.  Sometimes other people do better than you.  Sometimes you are left to help those who need more.  Every day holds both beauty and tears in the same sip of coffee.

But here is what I know; every day you bring the gifts you own, the best you have, means you have triumphed.  You get to live what you were created for, what was meant to be long before you laced up and began.  And that’s a win.  The only thing that keeps you from it is remembering it when it’s hardest.  When I wrote the first words this morning it was to remind us both.

Hope this finds you victorious,

David

Copyright © 2018 David Smith