Finishing First

My job as a personal trainer is to encourage people to achieve their fitness goals. To believe in them when they can't believe in themselves. To give them hope. To keep them moving in whatever capacity that they are able to do so.  But being a trainer is more than a job to me. I love the people I work with and I love my work. 

I spend part of nearly every day in the gym. I generally train people early in the morning and then workout myself and then teach. Later in the morning a few days a week I work at the front desk and then teach another class and train more people. But something out of the ordinary happened last week and I am sure glad it did.

Tuesday morning a man walked into the gym and asked if I was Lorinda. I said I was.

"Well Lorinda, I am Ram. I have three things about me I cannot change. One, I am from India. Two, I have an eye that wanders so it is hard to tell where I am looking and three, I have a strong accent so it is hard to tell what I am saying. But I heard that you are compassionate.  I would like you to go with me as I run and walk the Bellingham Bay Marathon."

He finishes with a big smile that shows off a row of very white teeth. I cannot help but smile back. I am a little taken back by this introduction but I try to act as if this sort of thing happens everyday. So, I lean back in my chair and take a moment before responding. Finally I thank him for considering me  and congratulate him for his ambitious quest but tell him that I must decline. I do not generally (ever) train people outside of the gym setting and I am recovering from a back injury. His smiles fades, but only for a moment. Not easily discouraged he jumps right back in and goes for my weak spot, my heart.

"Ah, but Lorinda, I am slow. I am doing the Jeff Galloway run/walk method and I will be lucky to do the half marathon in three and a half hours. Also, this is my 70th birthday and I really wanted to do a half marathon for my 70th birthday." Big smile. Ouch. How can I say no to that?

Sunday morning at 9:00 am I call Ram's cell phone number. I am at the Farmer's Market site where the  half marathon will begin at 9:30 am. Over 2000 people will be participating in the half marathon this year and the place is swarming with participants and their support people. I eventually reach him and maneuver my way through the crowd towards him and his wife.

Ram is beaming. He is so excited he is bouncing. His wife greets me as do his two chihuahuas wearing t-shirts with "Go, Ram, Go" penned across them. Ram hands me a fanny pack with some "supplies" should he need them along the way. I clip the fanny pack around my waist and we make our way to the starting line. I remind Ram that even after the gun sounds, we will have a way to walk before we cross the starting line. He smiles and jogs in place in anticipation. 

Eventually the crowd begins to thin and Ram and I fall into a pattern of jogging for 30 seconds and walking for a minute. Though he is excited to go, the first couple miles prove difficult for Ram. His breathing is uneven and he is forced to walk more often than he had intended. I remind him to regulate his breathing before he attempts to jog again. We roll out our shoulders and shake out our hands. I give him landmarks to run to and encourage him to make it a little farther each time. Ram takes it all in stride and never stops smiling. I know this is a long way for him. 

I am not a competitive person. I like to do my best and I like to do better than I did the year before. However, I don't care if someone else is faster or stronger than I am. I never win running races. I am generally somewhere in the middle of the pack. Not too fast and not too slow, just average. 

Today, however, I am very close to being the last person in the race. The very back of the pack. I feel myself beginning to get a bit uncomfortable with the thought. What will my friends say if they look up my race time? Can I even count this as a race? People this far back aren't really racing. Are they? And then something happens...

"Lorinda, I am not sure that I can make it. Not sure..." For the first time since the race began Ram sounds very tired and very unsure of himself. I look at him as he shuffles along beside me. His lazy eye rolls lazily to the right, his hands balled into fists pump up and down at his sides and his smile drops into a worried frown as he voices his doubts. I take a look around me. In front of me a bent woman scoots along in a sweat stained shirt as she puts one determined foot in front of the other. Behind me an overweight couple holds hands and walks as quickly as they can manage , their faces red with exertion. It occurs to me that indeed these people are racing. This is their race. It doesn't matter if they finish in one hour or four hours. This is their race and this is Ram's race and I am going to see to it that Ram makes it.

"Ram, I did not get out of bed at seven o'clock on a Sunday morning to quit. You can and you will make it to the end. Stay with me and you will make it. I promise." The corners of Ram's mouth slowly turn up into a cautious smile. "Just put your head down and walk. Don't look too far ahead. One foot after the other, Ram. That's all you have to worry about." 

The race for the half marathon has a four hour limit. Ram and I cross the finish line at exactly four hours. The look on Ram's face when the little girl at the finish line puts the medal around his neck is worth a thousand medals.

In that moment I realize that I did not finish last. Not even close. I gave my time and my skills as a trainer to Ram so that he could accomplish his fitness goal. That is my goal as a trainer and as a human being. As long as I continue to remember that I will always finish first.

Great job, Ram and happy 70th to you my friend. :0)