If you pay attention, you can learn something from just about every experience. I had that truism confirmed at the track this morning. From various walkers, I learned several lessons.
First, there was this man who was unbelievably jaunty. Walking energetically along, he seemed so full of vim and vigor that I began to feel a little envious. After all, I was moving at a pretty fast clip as he pranced by me with a merry, “Good morning.” By the time I’d gone another lap, however, I spied him again, and it appeared that his “get up and go had got up and gone.” He truly appeared to be depleted as he walked slowly toward the cars. The lesson: When we overextend ourselves, there’s nothing left to give. This is true in many areas, not just the physical ones. When our emotional, intellectual, social, or physical reserves are depleted, we’re left empty.
At one point I heard footsteps behind me, the chug, chug, chug type. I could tell that the jogger was trying her best but that it was somewhat of an ordeal for her. Soon the red-clad jogger plodded past me, head phones in her ears. Around the bend, she slowed a bit and then resumed walking. The lesson: There are times when we need to move ahead with gusto and give it (whatever the endeavor might be) all we’ve got, and at other times, we just need to keep moving steadily along. Remember the story of the tortoise and the hare? Being a tortoise is fine sometimes.
Then there was this sweet (or so she seemed to me) elderly lady who appeared to be concentrating on each of her slow, laborious steps. Using her cane to help hold her steady and to propel her forward, her morning constitutional was an arduous task to her. I almost felt guilty when I quickly passed her, but she hardly seemed to notice. She was, after all, running her own race. Around the mile-long, tree canopied track I continued, and when I next came up the lady with the cane, she wasn’t moving…not a muscle. She was standing perfectly still, leaning on her cane with her eyes cast downward. The person in front of me asked her if she was okay and must’ve gotten an affirmative, for she continued walking. On my fourth loop, I spied her sitting on a bench, cane across her knees.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
With dignity, she replied strongly, “I’m fine.”
“Did you drive here?” I asked. “There’s a man over there who looks like he might be looking for you.”
“I drove,” she replied. “But I know who you’re talking about. He’s already been over here to check on me once.”
That was my last lap, and when I headed for the car, I saw her once again in motion, persistent and strong. The lesson: Actually, there are a couple of them, the first being that we’re all connected and that we need to look after one another and offer to help. The second lesson is that we need to stop, totally stop, sometimes and take a few minutes to sit down and look at the trees as we gather strength for the next lap.
Today after finishing four laps, I decided to do something that I occasionally do for old time’s sake. I walked a lap inside the small track. It unleashed memories of bygone days when a brother and I took our children there to play as we alternately jogged and walked the quarter mile track. We’ve got the pictures to prove it! My favorite is of Carrie, Elizabeth, and Matthew atop a picnic table, laughing and happy about being alive, about being kids.
The main reason I did the final lap, however, was because of something I’d read many years ago about the importance of going the proverbial extra mile. An Olympic medalist was being interviewed, and when the interviewer asked him for secrets to his success, he said that when everyone else went home after practice(s), he always stayed 15 extra minutes. That really doesn’t seem that significant, but 15 minutes a day is over 91 hours a year! Anytime I’m tempted to fritter away time, I think about the value of 15 minutes whether it’s in studying, talking to a friend, walking around the track, or playing with my grandchildren. I surely don’t want to spend my 91 hours watching television.