A few years ago, I completed a marathon. Initially, my goal had been to run every day for 365 consecutive days. I became so comfortable with running that I developed a desire to compete in events. Among various races, I signed up for and successfully completed a marathon, achieving my goal of finishing within four hours. This might seem slow to some, but for me, it was nothing short of miraculous. I’ve learned that when you put in the hard work, help often arrives from unexpected places.
The woman in yellow spandex appeared out of nowhere. I was nearing the final few miles and had severely underestimated the “little hill” at the end of the course. I knew I was in trouble when I saw people on the side of the road holding signs saying, “Behold the Wall,” “Welcome to Hell,” and “You can do it, but you can also die.” My pace slowed significantly despite my determination.
In large marathons, there are people called pacers—athletic Greek gods and goddesses who march triumphantly through the course holding signs indicating the finish time they aim to achieve. I’d kept pace with the 3:30 group for most of the race, but they passed me around mile 22. Discouragement set in as the 3:45 pacer overtook me at mile 24. Near the summit of the hill, the 4:00 pacer and her entourage passed me as well. My legs felt like rubber, and everything hurt. At this point, I was determined just to
finish.
Enter Yellow Spandex Girl.
Ahead of me, I could see the 4:00 pacer, and I heard the roar of the crowd as runners crossed the finish line. We were running through downtown streets toward a civic building, where the finish line festivities, including a beer garden, awaited. Drinking beer post-marathon is a curious tradition, but I abstained, preferring to keep the contents of my stomach where they belonged. Just as I was sinking into despair, realizing my goal was slipping away, a bright yellow figure thundered past me. When I say thundered, it’s because she was significantly overweight. I couldn’t comprehend how this woman, easily weighing 300 pounds, appeared so energetic and joyous as she surged toward the finish.
My only explanation was that she must have been an angel. It seemed impossible that she could complete this marathon ahead of me, especially after my rigorous year-long training during which I’d lost 50 pounds, reaching the best shape of my life. Watching her surpass me, on the verge of achieving my personal goal, ignited something deep within me—perhaps ego, perhaps pride, or perhaps an undiscovered reservoir of adrenaline. With sudden fierce determination, I began running faster than at any previous point in the race. I would not let Yellow Spandex Girl beat me.
In retrospect, it was, after all, a race. Yet, I now feel proud of her for finishing and doing so with such remarkable spirit. She showed no shame, boldly wearing her loud, head-to-toe spandex outfit. She may have resembled a large lemon with legs, but this was her moment. Later, reflecting on the experience, I wished I’d stopped to ask about her journey. Had it been as transformational as mine? I assume it was.
I ultimately crossed the finish line precisely at four hours, narrowly ahead of the pacer, leaving my lemon-colored friend behind. I immediately collapsed, utterly spent. Later, I saw her celebrating with friends, cheerfully drinking beer, appearing as though she’d just returned from a leisurely shopping trip rather than a grueling 26.2-mile race.
Here’s my point: no matter how hopeless it seems, no matter how disappointed or discouraged you feel, no matter the odds or who seems to be ahead of you—you always have something left. You can always pick yourself up and finish strong. Stop lying to yourself. Your race is NOT over. You haven’t crossed the finish line yet. Dig deep, find the reservoir of unbridled passion and resolve within your soul, and finish strong.
