The windows are rolled down, the music is blasting, and the air smells like earth after rain and the warmth of the sun—finally, a breath of fresh air after months of winter’s chill. As I turn the corner, I spot a familiar sight: the middle school track team gearing up for their first practice of the season.
It’s been a while since I’ve hit the track, but some things remain unchanged.
Leading the pack are the top runners, focused and serious. Dressed in bright, trendy gear, they’re silent except for the sound of their feet hitting the ground. Their minds are busy calculating their times with laser focus.
Next, you have the social butterflies, the athletes who dabble in various sports. They run together, joking and laughing, sharing shoves and playful banter. Spitting on the grass—surely a rite of passage—is just part of their fun.
And then there’s the final group. Here, the conversation is sparse. The shoes don’t have the same flair, and the breathless effort is palpable. Occasionally, someone cracks a joke, but it’s hard to giggle when you’re gasping for air. They chat about hydration breaks and the idea of stopping for ice cream two streets down. The atmosphere is supportive, with a clear camaraderie—no one gets left behind.
As I drive past them, a smile creeps onto my face in recognition. But just two blocks later, I spot one more runner—a kid who’s trailing significantly behind. He’s a big boy in worn-out sneakers, sweat glistening on his oversized t-shirt, pushing himself to keep moving forward. Even though he can’t see anyone up ahead, he’s still running, albeit at a snail’s pace.
As I watch him fade from view, I wonder how he’ll feel when he finally reaches the gym as the last one. Will there be snickers and jabs that discourage him from returning? Or will there be a friendly pat on the back, a casual “good job,” and a hand offering a water bottle?
I ponder if he’ll reflect on this moment years later with regret or share it with a smile while jogging alongside his own son one day, warming up for their first father-son race.
And maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t realize he’s not truly in last place. Ahead of him are countless kids back at home, opting for comfort over effort—each one who skipped practice today, choosing to stay glued to their screens instead of lacing up their shoes. Showing up is the first victory; he’s already ahead of the game.
If he were my child, I’d hug him and ruffle his hair, saying, “You won, buddy, because you were OUT THERE.” And I’d mean it.
But here’s the twist: I struggle with this concept myself. In my neighborhood, it feels like everyone is training for marathons. The adults running around here are fit and fashionable, their vehicles proudly displaying “26.2” stickers. Their idea of a “long run” far exceeds what I would consider driving distance. So, it can be intimidating to feel out of breath after a mere two or three-mile jog.
One evening, as I was running, an older gentleman cheered me on with a friendly, “Go get ’em, Sister!” Initially, I was flattered, but then I realized he wasn’t addressing a young athlete; he was encouraging a tired mom in a t-shirt that’s seen better days, hair flying in all directions, and a complexion that could rival a ripe tomato.
Without even noticing, I started to adjust my running schedule, waiting until it was fully dark to avoid judgment. I told myself it was for the cooler temperatures or to put the kids to bed first, but deep down, I just didn’t want to be compared to the “real” runners flaunting their athletic prowess.
But tomorrow, I’m taking a cue from that determined kid at the back of the track team. I’ll head out for a run in the sunshine, just like him. Our pace might be slow, our faces flushed, and our outfits not quite right—but at least we’ll be ahead of everyone on their couches scrolling through social media. We’ll be out there, and that’s a win in itself. So, “Go get ’em!” they said. And you know what? We will.
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In summary, being at the back of the line isn’t about losing; it’s about showing up and giving your best effort. We can all learn from those who dare to run their own race.