Placing

December 16, 2024

Greetings from podium,

Some weeks ago, I signed up for a half marathon race in a small town near me.  It was a last-minute thing, the day before in fact, which will tell you how little I thought of the idea.  I don’t think I’ve ever been to this village, so I couldn’t picture it, wasn’t curious enough to even look at a map.  This matched my outlook for the race, which was a sort of blank slate.

That’s not quite true, although I wouldn’t have said it out loud, I didn’t have high hopes for how I would run, or for the race itself.  It was a low stakes thing, but it was the more interesting choice.  And so I went.

I pulled into the lot and felt my anticipation drop a level. It was a casually organized event, very low key.  In fact you could have been in the park near the starting line and not known there was a race going on.

I didn’t realize it in the moment, but I had come prepared to be disappointed.  I frowned at the flimsy pins used to put on the race number, the plastic cups that were at the only water station on the course.  It felt like the same amount of effort went into planning this race that I put into signing up for it.

The person who organized the race explained the course, which sounded like instructions from Ikea. I grumbled a little and made a sighing noise that even to me sounded bleak.  And then the race began, so informal it seemed more of a suggestion.  In fact if I hadn’t seen people running I might have missed it.

I could feel myself adding to the list of things I would complain about later, when I told people how poorly I ran.  The course turned into a dirt path, dotted with greasy patches of mud, wriggling between trees along a muddy, anonymous river.  There might have been only thirty runners among three different distances, but we all ran together on the trail, which for a while meant dodging in and out of the single file in the woods.  We pivoted at various cones set out in the woods, which seemed amateurish to me. It’s not easy to roll your eyes while you run, but I managed to accomplish it.

It took me a mile to remember why I was out there, and so I did that.  I ran. Even as I write this, I can feel the tension in my shoulders relax again.

Soon the crowd thinned out and I settled into a pace that felt like mine.  And then I remembered something else that felt like mine.  Four words that have shaped countless days, that I never will take for granted.

As my muscles relaxed and my body warmed to the work, I felt myself again.  Because of the three races’ configuration I crossed paths with every other runner and before long we recognized each other.  I traded waves, then smiles, then high fives.  I began to notice the runners who were in the half marathon, passing a few in both directions.  That’s when I figured I was in third place.

It's a silly thing, but this was such a surprise it tickled me.  I began to focus more on the effort, now interested in keeping the pace, picking it up in the straight places.  I imagined replacing one or two of the complaints later with this little side note.  “Oh yeah, and I took third place.”

Even that silly boast faded after a bit, replaced by something I needed more.  I ran a little faster, enjoying the work, feeling the muscles firing, my breathing natural and strong, the familiar feeling of the animal at its best.  Not a world record pace at the New York Marathon, just this simple contest that lured out a better effort from me.  I ran faster.

And then I realized I was in second place, and the young man in first was losing ground to me. I felt self-conscious about passing him, not wanting to take this from him if it was more important to him today.  But we traded a few words and then he was behind me and it wasn’t a choice.  And I ran faster.

As I crossed the finish line, I resolved not to tell anyone about this little win.  There were only a dozen other runners behind me, and my time was not really something to crow about.  What mattered more, especially in that moment, was the four words I remembered when it mattered: Never Underestimate the Day.

I barely caught my breath when another truth was given to me.  I was standing next to the guy who actually finished ten minutes before me, so far ahead I didn’t even know he was in my race.  I no sooner digested that than he pointed to a more interesting surprise, a teenager who beat us both. It turns out this race held a little more than I imagined.

Walking back to my car I had to laugh at myself.  Going from blithely nonchalant about the race, to finally awake enough to appreciate the gift, and then out of nowhere actually winning it.  And in less time than it took to write out how I would remain humble about it, to be put back in my place.  I laughed again just now.

What mattered to me in all of this was not the comedy at the finish line, although that was worth it.  It was being reminded that it matters what I expect from each day, and to pay attention to that narration in my head.  I approached the morning with dull anticipation, a flat uninspired imagination of what might come.  Thankfully the world stepped up and showed me what was possible.  Never underestimate the day.

Hope this finds you expecting more,

David

Copyright © 2024 David Smith