Run Your Own Race

Or swim, or pedal.

For the past week I have been watching the Paralympics and have found myself in complete awe of the athletes. Like the Olympics, these competitors are at the top of their game, fighting for a medal amongst the strongest in their sport.

Each event has a classification that aligns athletes with those similarly abled, and one classification that I’ve loved learning more about is the visually impaired.

I loved this comment from Paralympic swimmer Anastasia Pagonis in regard to blindness:

“Not everyone gets to experience this,” she said, “and it’s pretty freaking cool!”

In S11 events (S for swimming, 11 for the classification that signifies the highest amount of visual impairment) all swimmers wear blackout goggles to ensure the visual impairment is equal, and on both sides of the pool, team members stand with “tappers” that are used to alert the swimmer when to flip turn at the wall.

Swimmers without visual impairment can often be seen turning their head during a race, breathing towards their closest opponent to see where they are. These cues can tell them when to speed up, slow down, hold steady, etc., it is a constant stream of information.

But for visually impaired swimmers, the race is their own. While they might hear a competitor in close proximity or feel the splash of their strokes or kicks, they are otherwise competing against themselves. They swim at their highest level, relying on their training to keep them straight and their tappers to let them know when they’re close to the wall. They finish the race and then pull their heads up to hear what the results are, and I think that’s kind of incredible.

I am someone who is motivated by the presence of other people. Group exercise classes can often inspire me to push myself harder than at home workouts where no one else is watching. Because I want to be impressive, or at the very least keep up. I want people to nod in approval, to say, “good job.”

But this tool for inspiration has also been a huge source of discouragement, it’s made me prideful and caused me to either quit or not start at all. Because why put myself in a position where I look foolish? Where I finish last? Where I can’t keep up? Why enter a race where I’m going to watch everyone pass me by?

But then, why watch? Why care? Why look around at all when the purpose of any challenge, any race, any competition or casual workout class—anything at all, really—is to do your best? Why focus on where I am in the standings when I can focus on pushing myself a little harder than last time; when I can know wholeheartedly that I did my best? Why compare where God has me in my life to where he’s put people in theirs? Why allow comparison to stir doubt when trust can create faith, steadiness, and confidence?

S11 swimmers, and similarly classified athletes in other sports, have the unique experience of only knowing their race, not the other people near it. And while that is something that I might never experience, it is something I can learn from. To put my head down and work, to test my limitations, to push myself out of my comfort zone, to run my own race—the race God has set before ME, rather than trying to join the race he’s tasked with others.

We may not all win gold medals, but we all have the opportunity to do our best, and the best God instilled in us is itself golden.