Failure

I knew I would finish last before the race even began. 

It was my 40th birthday and I had decided to push myself out of my comfort zone…accepting my new running coach’s invitation to participate in a “homemade” style 5k to all his athletes.   Knowing he coached mainly sub elite runners, I asked, “will I be the slowest?  HIs answer was unsympathetic, “Probably, but you won’t be too far off the back” 

I told him I’d be there.

After 21 minutes and 40 seconds of my lungs and legs burning, I crossed the finish line (yes, last) to a small group of very fast runners who cheered me on.

I was grateful for a pr, embarrassed when an acquaintance pointed out I was the only one not wearing “fast shoes”, happy to be included but also felt like I didn’t belong. 

Why is it that reaching out of the comfortable patterns of our lives is both terrifying and exhilarating? Awkward and life giving? Is it the sliver of hope of something wonderful happening out there in a unknown space that entices us to leave behind the monotonous comfort of guaranteed success? 

Knowing I would be the slowest runner but daring to show up and race as hard as I could felt like the most successful failure I had ever experienced.