I didn’t win this latest race, but I crushed my personal best by over a minute! Sometimes, the victory isn’t in the placement—it’s in breaking your own limits and pushing forward.
Alright, let’s set the record straight here. I didn’t lace up my shoes, show up at the Morgan County Fall Foliage Festival 5K, and think, “Oh hey, let me just have a good time, maybe take it easy and celebrate my personal growth.” Hell no. I wanted to win. I always want to win. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you know that feeling too. We show up to races for a reason, and it’s not just to put another medal on the wall or post a cute post-race selfie. It’s to crush the competition and be the first one to cross that finish line. That’s the thrill—the thing that keeps you coming back, right?
But here’s the thing: it didn’t happen this time. I didn’t win. I came in 4th in my division, 23rd overall. Not exactly the victory speech I had planned in my head. You know how it goes; you visualize that last burst of speed, legs pumping, arms driving, and you’re the one breaking that tape, or at least blowing past your division rivals. Well, let’s just say the script flipped on me this weekend.
So yeah, I didn’t get that win. But—and I say this knowing how much it stings to admit—I did come away with something almost as satisfying. Almost. A personal best. I shaved more than a minute off my previous 5K time. Now, if you’re into running, you know that’s not nothing. A minute in the running world is huge. It’s not shaving off a second or two here and there; it’s a serious jump. And when you’re as competitive as I am, you grab onto any win you can get—even if it’s not the win you originally wanted.
Let’s talk about the race itself for a second because that’s where it all played out—the day started like any other race day—pre-race jitters, nerves, you know the deal. The lineup was thick with runners of all shapes and sizes, but you could tell there were a few serious contenders. You scope out the competition and give them that nod like, “Yeah, I see you, and I’m coming for you.” You don’t say it, but everyone knows that look. It’s the unspoken language of racers. I knew I had a fight ahead, but I was confident.
As the race kicked off, the first mile felt solid. I kept pace with the front pack, and my legs were holding up. Breathing felt controlled, and I had a good rhythm going. It wasn’t until mile two where things started to shift. That’s the grind, the part of the race where your body starts negotiating with your mind. “Do we really need to keep this pace? Can’t we just settle in, maybe save a little for the last stretch?” My body wanted to pull back, but my mind? It was locked in. I wasn’t about to let off the gas when I was chasing something—whether it was the guy in front of me or the clock.
By the time we hit mile three, I was running on sheer grit. That’s the thing about racing—there’s always that moment when your body says “no more,” but your heart says “just a little further.” That’s where the real battle is fought. The guy ahead of me wasn’t that far off. I thought maybe I had a chance to reel him in, but he was just out of reach. I pushed, but he had that edge, and at that point, I was just trying to hold on.
When I crossed the finish line, I was gassed. That’s how you know you left everything on the course—you’re done. Nothing left. No “what ifs” or “maybe I could’ve pushed harder.” I gave it all I had. And sure, when I looked at the results, I was hit with that sting of disappointment. I’m competitive. I wanted to place higher. I wanted the win. Fourth in my division? Okay, fine. But I wanted more.
Then I caught my breath, looked at my time, and there it was. The win I didn’t even see coming. I’d smashed my previous best by more than a minute. And let me tell you, that kind of time drop doesn’t happen by accident. It’s the result of every run I’ve logged, every time I’ve forced myself out the door when I’d rather sit on the couch. It’s all the work I’ve put in when no one was watching, no race bib on, no crowds cheering. The stuff that happens in the dark when it’s just you and the pavement.
Now, am I thrilled with coming in fourth? Honestly, no. I wanted that first-place spot, and I’ll admit it feels a little weird to come away from the race with such mixed feelings. But here’s where I’m landing: sometimes, it’s not about the placement. Yeah, I know that sounds cliché, but hear me out. I ran the fastest 5K I’ve ever run in my life. That’s progress. That’s improvement. That’s a win I can control.
Because here’s the harsh reality: in any race, you can’t control who shows up. You can’t control how fast the other runners are or what kind of day they’re having. The only thing you can control is how you run your own race. And this time, I ran my race better than I ever have before. That’s something to be proud of. It’s fuel for the next one.
Don’t get it twisted, though. I’m not suddenly all zen about racing or satisfied with just doing my best. No, the fire’s still burning. I still want to win. That hunger isn’t going anywhere. But this weekend was a reminder that there’s more than one way to measure success. Am I disappointed I didn’t place higher? Absolutely. But am I walking away from this race as a better, faster runner than I was before? You better believe it.
So what’s next? Another race, obviously. Because if I can cut a minute off my time, who says I can’t do it again? And who says I can’t get that top spot next time? The chase continues. And while I didn’t get the win I wanted this weekend, I got something just as valuable: proof that I’m on the right track and that I’m not done pushing. Not even close.
Next challenge, I’m coming for you. And this time, I’m not settling for fourth.
Stay disciplined. Stay resilient.
Jim Lunsford
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