Today, I ran in the Jackson Township Fire Department’s 9/11 Memorial Run in Brown County, Indiana. Now, if you know me, you know I’ve been running for years—it’s been more than just exercise; it’s been part of my recovery journey from addiction. Running has always had a therapeutic quality for me, a place where my mind can clear and I can focus on something positive. But despite all the miles I’ve logged, this run was special because it was my first organized event.
I’ve never been one for organized races. I always thought running was something you did alone, out there in your own head, just you against yourself. Recently, I have decided to step outside that comfort zone and am currently training for a half marathon on November 9th, 2024, so I decided this would be a good event to test the waters. The event offered two options: a 5k and a 9.11k in honor of the day’s significance. Naturally, I went for the longer course, feeling it would be a fitting challenge.
As the race began, something felt different. I wasn’t just running through my usual routes. The significance of remembering the lives we lost on 9/11 and the fact that this was an official event added a new layer to the experience. From the start, I settled into a rhythm and found myself leading the 9.11k group. It felt good—I wasn’t just running; I was competing, though not necessarily with the other runners, but with myself, testing my limits in a way I hadn’t before.
About halfway through, though, something unexpected happened. I noticed a runner coming up behind me, pacing himself just a few steps back. He stayed there for about three-quarters of a mile, neither of us speaking, just the steady rhythm of our strides breaking the quiet. Eventually, he passed me, pulling ahead with a surge of energy I couldn’t quite match. He crossed the finish line before me.
Here’s the kicker: he had signed up for the 5k.
Yeah, you read that right. The guy who beat me had taken a wrong turn and ended up running the longer course by mistake. Technically, I was the first one to complete the 9.11k, but because of that mix-up, he crossed the line first and took the official top spot.
Now, I could let that bother me, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting just a little at first. But when I signed up for this, winning wasn’t my goal. I wasn’t out there to claim a title or a medal. I was there to finish the race—to experience it and learn something new about myself and running in a competitive setting. And that’s exactly what I did.
This run was about more than placing. It was a step forward in my journey, a challenge to push myself outside my usual boundaries. There’s a big difference between running alone, where you set your own pace and control every variable, and running in an organized race, where anything can happen. There are no certainties when you’re out there competing, and that unpredictability is part of the lesson.
I’m walking away from this event with a sense of accomplishment—not because of where I finished, but because I showed up. I ran. I learned. And that’s all I could’ve asked for. Winning would’ve been nice, sure. But sometimes, the real victory is just getting out there, giving it your all, and finishing what you started.
That’s a lesson I’ve learned over and over in running, in recovery, and in life.
Stay disciplined. Stay resilient.
Jim Lunsford
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