In the sixth grade our gym teacher had us run around the basketball court in circles a couple dozen times. Or whatever number it took to make it clear that we were doing a long-run in that day’s gym class.
I don’t remember much of an explanation about why we were doing this; what I remember clearly is the internal dialogue that unfolded within me as we made our way to the start line:
Bobby 1: I’m going to go as fast as possible when the whistle blows!
Bobby 2: Bobby, you can’t sustain that pace.
Bobby 1: Even if I slow down in the middle of the race, I’ll be so far ahead that I’ll win anyway!
Both Bobbys: Let’s do this.
Run we did. And fast.
“Look at Bobby!” I heard friends shout as they saw me bound ahead.
”Whoa…” Even better, I heard a couple cool kids acknowledging my sudden leap into stardom.
Around lap six or seven, the inevitable set in - and rather abruptly. My chest was heaving, and my body simply would not go near the same pace. I did a jog-walk for a lap. I tried a full jog on the next lap but found I needed longer periods of walking.
The whole time Adrian Koch steadily caught up.
At one point he had been as much as two laps behind me. Soon, though, it was only a lap. Then just the length of half the basketball court.
”Adrian is going to pass Bobby!” Classmates could feel the impending moment.
”Adrian got him.” Cool kids acted like they knew all along that one of their own would surpass me.
Indeed.
I tried to save face with a fresh burst of speed just as Adrian made his move. But the burst came only through my lungs - an exhale of complete exhaustion.
My legs locked in lethargy. Adrian sailed by.
In a matter of minutes, most the class passed me as well.
“As you can see, you should always pace yourself.” I still remember our gym teacher sitting us all down afterwards to share the race-and-life wisdom with a knowing smile.
To this day, I still feel an echo of the shame I felt at the end of that gym class. Wasn’t it pretty obvious how I should have run?!
Even by sixth grade most of us had downloaded some semblance of the old truisms…
Easy does it.
Slow and steady wins the race.
The tortoise beats the hare every time.
It’s a marathon not a sprint.
Trust the process.
And yet maybe those kind of things are thrown around all of the time for the same reason “Do not fear” is exhorted 365 different times in the Bible - we have a really hard time actually believing it.1
In fact, even these many years later that sixth grade race is the story of my first half of 2022.
Even though I began the year carrying…
The two-year-old rucksack of Covid-inspired lethargy,
The ankle weights of Omicron’s growing unknowns, and
The kettlebells of responsibility well-known to anyone in a leadership position…
…I tried to run.
With enthusiasm, plans, and an impossibly long to-do list.
Did onlookers cheer? Look at Bobby!
Worry? My gosh…that is absolutely insane.
Me? I really didn’t notice one way or another.
Running as fast-and-far as possible with each leg of life has come as naturally as that sixth grade sprint-unto-exhaustion. Unfortunately.
Even as late as six-months into this past year, I tried to save face a couple of times as I saw myself falling behind again. And - as always happens when the legs are done - fresh bursts of creativity and commitment simply fell flat.
(Ridiculous fashion pairing well with the ridiculous assumption that sprinting a marathon will work)
But if that sixth grade run is the small story that encapsulates part of how I reflect on 2022, it is also not the only one. Somewhere around the jog-walk/walk-jog phase of 2022 - the race changed.
Late July, to be exact.
I was exhaling some exhaustion via writing in a North Carolina coffee shop when I looked up for inspiration. For once, a bit movie-like, there it was.
On a shelf across the room they had a stack of “dad hats” - advertised like a tractor beam at one like me. Each of them read Good Things Take Time.
“How much for a dad hat?” I inquired.
“$20.”
A sign from heaven dropped right into a heart (mostly) willing to hear…Honestly, if they had any idea what I was willing to pay.
That day, I began dropping the ruck sack, unshackling the ankle weights, loosening my anxious grip on the longtime kettlebells - and I threw on a hat.
I was lighter, but determined to be slower-and-steadier, too.
Today, that hat sits in a particular spot of my office where I am certain to see it multiple times of day. Because not only did the hat define the second half of 2022’s pace and perspective, but I want its wisdom to take lead on the race going forward.
(The particular spot)
What about you?
Do you lean more toward the steady-does-it-Adrian or fits-of-mad-sprints-Bobby? And if you’re prone to sprinting - what reigns you in?
Helps you (re)set a good pace?
Trust the process?
Finally, and more broadly, how do you reflect on 2022? A race may not be your metaphor. Is there a small story that somehow captures the year? A small story that points toward how you want 2023 to unfold?
No matter where you go and how you get there, be sure and give yourself a break.
And time.
Because that really is one of the central ingredients in anything truly good.
(Speaking of pace…I'm taking two weeks off! The next Small Story about Big Things will arrive the second week of January. I look forward to reconnecting then! As always, thanks for being part of the community.)
It doesn’t help that we live in a society that celebrates, invests in, and adores the people, teams, and companies who have an early, fast, and meteoric rise in success (and quickly forgets how many of those same people, teams, and companies then fall quite far - often rather abruptly). And also, as explored in other small stories, we too rarely investigate what the best definition of success/winning really is.
I've read this a few times and am impressed with the wisdom it it. Thank you SO very much! And, glad to know you are taking your own advice! My 2023 be blessed!
I can relate to a big shortfall of 2022. It makes one question the point of setting goals when you fall so far short. What then are the consequences?
Remembering we are saved by God’s Grace, there is always opportunity for a comeback.
Thanks for short stories, Bobby! Hope you and your family have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!