When we enter that first athletic event, many of us hear an inner voice, “I’m afraid I’ll come in last.” Most of us don’t. The fear fades for awhile. Years—or even decades—later, the age-group awards tarnish, and personal bests vanish into the past. As we face the reality of aging, the question of finishing last arises again. It has recently done so for me.
Last weekend I volunteered to help with a half marathon. The final feet pulled in almost two hours behind the first ones. As the clock passed 2:45 and headed for 3:00(my current best), the finishers spaced out…five, ten minutes apart. At 3:20, we welcomed the last person with all the enthusiasm available to a pod of five tired volunteers.
Most of the finish line food had been stowed. Awards had been presented, and the other entrants were enjoying beer and pizza next door. I really wanted to hand that last person something special. I wanted to present a large bouquet of flowers and some chocolate. That last person in had, in significant ways, achieved more than anyone else in the race.
The last person had the courage to start. Whether it was his first race or her 21st, they lined up at dawn knowing that they would be on the course alone after the first mile. They could envision the tired and impatient finish line crew, the empty parking lot. Yet they lined up anyway.
The last person had the persistence to continue as she saw the slower runners pull out of sight. The course monitors asked him, with a tone of concern, “Are you OK?” She found three lonely cups of water at the aid station. The batteries on the MP3 faded, and he could hear the ego’s insufferable chatter: What were you thinking? You must be crazy! You don’t belong here. You’re going to be LAST!”
The last person had the commitment to finish. He was offered a ride (more than one). It would be a favor to everyone else. This is so embarrassing. But I have a goal. I can do it. And I will.
Someday soon, I will finish last for the first time. It will be a milestone. I’m scared, but in some ways I am anxious to get it behind me. It is the price I pay for loving to run (perhaps even to walk), and for wanting to set ambitious goals, keep my body healthy, and maintain a love of life.
I also want to sponsor a new award—for the Final Finisher. I want it to include a special medal or certificate, and a gift. I want to send the message that courage, persistence, and commitment are a cause for celebration, at whatever speed. What do you think of that idea?
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
www.wellbuddies.com
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2 comments:
I played soccer in high school. I was the leading scorer my senior year but soccer has changed in America. My kids started when they were 1st graders. When my son was 13, I realized for the first time, that I can no longer challenge him. My two daughters are close.
This doesn't seem to bother them as much as me. They see it as measuring their improvement. I now coach the jr high boys team. I still play when we scrimmage. I actually play better now than I did in high school.
I have come to the conclusion that my role is different now. It is really not about how I play (although it will always be a challenge to some degree) but more about how good can I help others become. My victories come more with the success of the players.
I really liked your blog this week. How do we redefine our goals as life offers new opportunities? How do we as a society redefine success for marathons, soccer, and life? We need more awards for those people that continue to play the game against ever increasing challenges.
Thanks for your blog, it was thought provoking. --wes--
I like the idea of a Final Finisher award. When I ran my first marathon in 1965, I lined up at the very rear of the pack, not really expecting to finish. As it happened, I did manage to finish in about 4 hours and even passed a few guys on the way. (You had to be male and over 18 to register in the race that year.) In those days, it took about 6 hours for the final finishers.
My marathon running days are probably past, with arthritis in the knees and following a stroke a couple of years ago, but I'm still swimming for about an hour each day (only about 400 yards).
Thanks for the blog, Pam.
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