Several years back, I signed up for a 5K. I’d never been in one, but had been walking quite regularly — even starting to jog — and decided I’d give it a try. It was to benefit the family of a local coach who died in a horrible car accident, and I knew the effort and the charity were both worth my time.
What I didn’t know was that it was a cross country 5K, and although it was for both walkers and runners of all ages, I was the only walker. Needless to say, I came in dead last; not only dead last, but organizers occasionally drove out on an ATV to see where I was on the course. When I finally crossed the finish line, I was greeted by a line of cross country student mothers, who cheered me on, but I still felt — well — mortified.
It’s been a number of years since then; pounds gained and lost; knees lost and new ones gained.
Tomorrow, I’ll rise early and drive to work a water aid station for a 5K/10K run. I’ve worked aid stations, before; most recently for a marathon. While I don’t aspire to be a runner, I absolutely respect the effort both runners and walkers make, and they hardly fit one standard mold. Like the past two marathons I’ve worked, the weather is supposed to be nothing short of bratty and petulant; colder than normal, the promise of rainfall, sometimes heavy. And those walkers and runners will still be out there, making the efforts for their own personal reasons, whether their personal best is a shorter time or to simply cross the finish line, as I once did.
And after that? I’ll be walking my own 5K with a group of friends; it’s a virtual 5K, and I even already have a medal. It’s to benefit a distant charity and our group decided to walk together rather than on our own, although I walked my own 5K one morning recently. I don’t know, yet, whether we’ll choose a different day because of the weather; after all, the point of a virtual 5K is the honor system of completing the task on your own, not for a best time or to beat another.
Back then, I walked to music so I would walk faster; these days, I am alone with my thoughts as I walk, and I’m pretty slow. Given the same cross country 5K, again, I’d likely not set any land speed records. But the point isn’t to win the race or set a blazing speed; for me, it’s to take one step after another, and to finish. Just like the journey I’m on to get in control of my health; speed isn’t the issue. Winning, or rather, accomplishing my goal, is absolutely the point.
Not so long ago, walking to the end of the block and back was unthinkable. Now, to not finish my daily step goal of 10,000 steps is unthinkable. Yes, my abilities have grown and changed, but it’s my perspective that has changed the most; just like working toward the goal of completing a race, success comes in a series of progressions; sometimes setbacks, but inevitably, new personal bests of a sort.
Knowing I’ll eventually cross the finish line, regardless of how long it may take me, is far more important than the speed my feet can carry me.