This actually brought some things I've been thinking about for the past couple weeks (and a post that's been bouncing around my brain) to the surface. He concluded his presentation by saying the legacy we leave is the life we lead. Simple, yet strong.
Note to self: The legacy I leave will be the life I lead--so keep leading it!
Two weekends ago, I took an impromptu trip down to San Francisco. Over the summer, I mentored for Team in Training (a non-profit endurance training program that raises funds to cure Leukemia, Lymphoma and other blood-related cancers--on so many levels this is a fantastic organization).
Going into the weekend, I had an idea of what I would do (run, run, run). While I was not officially entered into the race, I was going to run with the people I had mentored and befriended, to give them support and encouragement. Having completed three marathons, I cannot put into words the elation you feel when you see someone you know, even if just for a minute, on the side of the road. No matter what anyone says, marathons are grueling; they are a true physical and mental test, but the feeling of accomplishment when you reach that finish line is (compared to anything in my life thus far) unparalleled.
I ran out with a few of my coach friends to a point on the course and we began "ferrying" people up a nice sized hill. We eventually made our way over to catch runners hitting mile 25 to take them that last little distance in (it's amazing just how LONG that last 1.2 miles of the race can seem).
Our first teammate to reach the 25 mile spot was hurting, but she was on a mission to qualify for Boston. When we found her she had just under 12 minutes to make it. Her feet were killing her and she just wanted to be done--if we would have let her slow down or stop, she would have, but she would have regretted missing her goal for years to come.
So my friend and I just started running and telling her stories to distract her. And when she got to the point where she didn't want to hear us talk anymore (which reminds me of a time in college when my friend told me the sound of my voice wanted to make her throw-up, granted we had just done her 21-run and she was nearly asleep with her cheek on the rim of a garbage can... I think the sound of anything would have tossed her cookies), we just ran. I knew the pace we needed to keep to get her qualified, so I just kept running at that speed. She started to pull back and I just turned my head and said, "Come on with me, we're going to do this right now!" She asked if there was still a chance to qualify and I told her as long as she stayed with us, she'd be there in time. When the finish line was finally visible, I turned to her and saw the pain and the exhaustion written all over her face. I just said to her, "Look, that's the finish line, right there, you're going to do this!" The pain melted away, the exhaustion faded, her eyes softened and she realized, she had done it. She started to run a little faster. She crossed that finish line with 2 minutes to spare.
When all was said and done, I spent 3 hours running people between miles 25 and 26, and would say I helped at least 20 of my teammates reach their goal. Afterward, I was thanked by many--but really, I was the one that was thankful. Running hand in hand with some of them, seeing their relief when they reached that last big milestone, letting me be there by their side for those impactful moments, I am forever grateful for that experience. It was exactly how I pictured my weekend to be--only I didn't know I'd feel so fulfilled after it. People were so surprised that I was out there running and helping like that, but that's just who I am.
On my college athletics team, we had the dreaded "100s," a miserable team sprint test that kicked-off our preseason. As a team, we had to run the length of the football field multiple times, under a certain time limit, with minimal rest. It was definitely a physical test, but the team aspect came into play because if any person did not make any of the sprints in time, we all would have to go back the next day and do it all over again.
I trained my butt off for that test, and each year, I could have just all-out sprinted each leg in my sleep. But for me, that wasn't the point. It was a matter of getting the whole team across on the first try. So each leg I would set my pace so that I finished a few seconds ahead of the cutoff and would rally the rest of the team to stick with me to the finish. And every year, we would do it.
That's just who I am. And I like to think that's the core of the legacy I will leave.
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