What Matters
When I was younger, racing marathons all over the country, I knew what mattered. The numbers on the clock when I reached the finish line. That was the point, the goal and that was what mattered for running. Sure, we did plenty of marathons where the time was of lesser importance - some of the smaller, crazy races like the Delaware Trail Dawgs Marathon. But back then, if I wasn't going for time, I still had an eye on the placement. Running under 3:10 was common, as was placing in the top three at marathons around the country. Speed and the “glory” that came with it was my primary focus and I thought that was the ultimate goal for running.
But in the greater scheme of things, was that really what mattered? When people asked about the marathons and the 50 states, what was your fastest time was always glossed over. People wanted to know what my favorite race was. They really could not care about the times I ran. They wanted to know about the courses, about the towns and how we managed to finish a marathon in all of the 50 states. And honestly, I remembered more about the courses and the experiences then times I ran. There are a few times that I remember quite clearly, but if you asked me about a state, the race itself would be what I talked about. Because who cares how fast you race? They aren’t going to run the same pace - they want to know if the race and the community behind the race are worth the travel.
Maybe it’s the swag that’s important. After all, people put a huge emphasis on the medals, the shirts, the awards. I’ll admit that the first marathon finishers medals were important to me - and I’ve kept every single one of my marathon medals. But then I ran more, and more. And somewhere along the miles the medals didn’t matter as much. Outside of my marathon and ultra finishers awards, there’s only a few that I have kept. Most of them are stashed in a shoebox under the bed, with only a few on display. I find it hard to keep the finishers medals from a 5k or other race. I know that to some people, that race was ultimate goal - and that medal is an important reminder of how hard they worked to reach the finish line. I will never deride the bling, but I personally am at a point where it doesn’t matter anymore. Even the age group and overall awards aren’t as important to me as they used to be. I have a few that I’ve kept - the races that were meaningful to me or the awards that are really well done. But most of the plaques, trophies and such? I’ve donated or tossed the majority. Again, to some people those awards are the ultimate achievement. To have an age group or overall trophy on display prominently is a dream, so each one is a treasured keepsake. I can’t deny that and would by hypocritical to say that I don’t appreciate the well done and meaningful awards that I have earned.
If it’s not the finish time or swag that matters, then what does? I saw glimpses of this when I was running fast - the volunteers dressed up in costumes, committed to a day of helping other people reach their goals. The little kids, gingerly holding out a full cup of water in the hopes that someone would take it. Those same kids screaming in excitement when a runner finally snatched that cup, splashing water all over them. It’s no wonder I try to give high fives to every kid I see and take the water from the littlest volunteers! The burst of energy provided by the excitement of the volunteers is unmatched. I also saw it on the out and back courses, where runners hours behind me were the most vocal cheering squads I’ve ever seen. At first, I was stoic, focused on the effort of running. But now, I know that my encouragement means as much to those runners as their cheers do to me. Be part of the community, be a member of the tribe through the interactions along the course. Without that, the race is just another training run - perhaps a little faster then usual, but still. It is the volunteers, the other runners that keep you coming back and make the races meaningful. That is the community that we seek, to belong and to become something greater then ourselves.
As I've gotten older, I look back on the history of running I've seen in just Colorado Springs. I'm probably the only person to win the 15 and under age group in the Fall Series and then come back to win the overall fifteen years later. Now I am racing in the masters class, watching the times slow down but enjoying the running more and more. Unlike so many others who were running when I was young, I am still here and still kicking. Why? Because the time doesn’t matter. I know that I will never recapture the speed of my youth - and that shouldn’t be the goal of where I am as a runner. I’ve matured, moving from the self-centered world of speed and racing for the win to a new perspective. Yes, it’s always nice when I can beat the youngsters, but I would rather be running for the long term. If all we ever chase is time or finishing place, then the running will soon become work. That’s not where I want to find myself - abandoning my first love because I can’t reach the times of my youth. I want to be crossing finish lines, cheering for those around me and giving back to the running community years from now. That requires the true understanding of what matters. Challenge. Adversity. Community.
But in the greater scheme of things, was that really what mattered? When people asked about the marathons and the 50 states, what was your fastest time was always glossed over. People wanted to know what my favorite race was. They really could not care about the times I ran. They wanted to know about the courses, about the towns and how we managed to finish a marathon in all of the 50 states. And honestly, I remembered more about the courses and the experiences then times I ran. There are a few times that I remember quite clearly, but if you asked me about a state, the race itself would be what I talked about. Because who cares how fast you race? They aren’t going to run the same pace - they want to know if the race and the community behind the race are worth the travel.
Maybe it’s the swag that’s important. After all, people put a huge emphasis on the medals, the shirts, the awards. I’ll admit that the first marathon finishers medals were important to me - and I’ve kept every single one of my marathon medals. But then I ran more, and more. And somewhere along the miles the medals didn’t matter as much. Outside of my marathon and ultra finishers awards, there’s only a few that I have kept. Most of them are stashed in a shoebox under the bed, with only a few on display. I find it hard to keep the finishers medals from a 5k or other race. I know that to some people, that race was ultimate goal - and that medal is an important reminder of how hard they worked to reach the finish line. I will never deride the bling, but I personally am at a point where it doesn’t matter anymore. Even the age group and overall awards aren’t as important to me as they used to be. I have a few that I’ve kept - the races that were meaningful to me or the awards that are really well done. But most of the plaques, trophies and such? I’ve donated or tossed the majority. Again, to some people those awards are the ultimate achievement. To have an age group or overall trophy on display prominently is a dream, so each one is a treasured keepsake. I can’t deny that and would by hypocritical to say that I don’t appreciate the well done and meaningful awards that I have earned.
If it’s not the finish time or swag that matters, then what does? I saw glimpses of this when I was running fast - the volunteers dressed up in costumes, committed to a day of helping other people reach their goals. The little kids, gingerly holding out a full cup of water in the hopes that someone would take it. Those same kids screaming in excitement when a runner finally snatched that cup, splashing water all over them. It’s no wonder I try to give high fives to every kid I see and take the water from the littlest volunteers! The burst of energy provided by the excitement of the volunteers is unmatched. I also saw it on the out and back courses, where runners hours behind me were the most vocal cheering squads I’ve ever seen. At first, I was stoic, focused on the effort of running. But now, I know that my encouragement means as much to those runners as their cheers do to me. Be part of the community, be a member of the tribe through the interactions along the course. Without that, the race is just another training run - perhaps a little faster then usual, but still. It is the volunteers, the other runners that keep you coming back and make the races meaningful. That is the community that we seek, to belong and to become something greater then ourselves.
As I've gotten older, I look back on the history of running I've seen in just Colorado Springs. I'm probably the only person to win the 15 and under age group in the Fall Series and then come back to win the overall fifteen years later. Now I am racing in the masters class, watching the times slow down but enjoying the running more and more. Unlike so many others who were running when I was young, I am still here and still kicking. Why? Because the time doesn’t matter. I know that I will never recapture the speed of my youth - and that shouldn’t be the goal of where I am as a runner. I’ve matured, moving from the self-centered world of speed and racing for the win to a new perspective. Yes, it’s always nice when I can beat the youngsters, but I would rather be running for the long term. If all we ever chase is time or finishing place, then the running will soon become work. That’s not where I want to find myself - abandoning my first love because I can’t reach the times of my youth. I want to be crossing finish lines, cheering for those around me and giving back to the running community years from now. That requires the true understanding of what matters. Challenge. Adversity. Community.
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