Cross country season is upon us. The season of stickers and early mornings. Without my prompting, both of my girls decided they’re going to be runners. Before the sun rises, I drop them off for practice and head off for a walk.
Shortly after, I bumped into a friend who had done the same thing. I turned around to walk with her and settled into what I thought was her pace – the pace of a master speed walker. Despite the fact that I am a semi-consistent, semi-aggressive jogger, I am a slow stroller when I walk.
We got around to the beginning of the loop and she said “Do you wanna go one more? I think we have time.”
Of course we have time because, at this pace, it’s only going to take three minutes and forty-two seconds to finish another lap.
I said, “Yes! But if I’m slowing you down then…”
She laughed and said, “Oh good! I was just trying to keep up with you!”
So there we were – both trying to keep a pace neither of us could sustain because we assumed it’s what the other was aiming for.
Neither of us wanted that pace.
Neither of us had asked for it.
Neither of us had Garmins shouting orders to speed up.
Rather, we assumed it was the other’s pace.
How often do we try to keep a pace of life that we invented based on what we assumed others wanted?
A pace that ensures “gassing out.”
A pace that guarantees a slow finish.
A pace that is simply unwise.
Months ago, as I prepared to set out on an evening jog, I had five kiddos with me who were raring to come along. They were informed of the beauty of an easy pace to set them up for the distance we were about to go.
As we went, another neighborhood kiddo jumped into the group and then took off sprinting; looking back and grinning as the gap between us increased.
That didn’t feel lovely to a group of kids who wanted nothing more in that moment than to run ahead. It was as if they were each having an internal debate – stick to the plan or prove I can keep up.
Each of the five I started with wanted to be in the lead. They wanted to hang with the front runner. Their inclination was to “go with ‘em” – in the words of Coach Pruitt.
I shook my head and quietly said, “Don’t go with ‘em. We’ve got 3 miles left.”
Over the next several minutes, each of them seemed to develop a quiet confidence in their decision to stay steady. Running with strategy instead of trying to prove themselves – despite appearing behind.
About half a mile later, the friend called it quits and these kiddos who got the easy pace lesson, ranging between nine and 12, put four miles under their belts.
Although it was a struggle to let someone run ahead, they experienced the beauty and challenge of distance.
We don’t have to keep up!
Our goals are different.
Our motivation is different.
Our passions are different.
And it’s magnificent that way.
Are you trying to keep up with someone who is trying to keep up with you?
Is someone next to you coaxing you to run ahead?
Is someone next to you struggling to keep up?
Is someone wisely slowing you down?
On the morning of the speed walking venture, nothing actually changed.
The trail didn’t change.
Our fitness levels didn’t change.
The weather didn’t change.
What initiated the shift was that reality was brought to light. “This pace feels too fast.”
Not because of her.
Not because of me.
Not because the little fox family was chasing us.
But because of irrational assumptions.
Susan David and Albert Ellis have both written about the idea that we often create suffering by treating our assumptions as facts. Our emotions and behaviors begin responding to assumptions we’ve accepted as truth.
Maybe it’s the assumption that your visitors expect a spotless house.
The assumption that your friends expect you to have your life in order while raising little humans.
The assumption that your guests expect you to be freshly showered and keeping up with babies and toddlers. What is this?
How often are we exhausting ourselves with unrealistic expectations that no one placed on us?
Maybe wisdom isn’t learning to move faster.
Maybe it’s learning whose pace you’re actually supposed to keep.
Because sometimes the only thing exhausting us is trying to keep up with someone who is quietly trying to keep up with us.