88: A Different Definition of Winning

Recently, I completed another Ironman.

It was a difficult course and a long day. During the race, I was reminded of something very simple.

There were many things I could not control.

I could not control the weather.

I could not make the hills less steep.

I could not control what other athletes were doing.

I could not guarantee that nothing unexpected would happen.

Even my own body, after many hours of racing, was not completely under my control.

But there were still things I could control.

I could prepare as well as possible before race day.

I could manage my pace.

I could eat and drink.

I could pay attention to what my body was telling me.

And when the marathon became difficult, I could focus on the next small step.

At some point, I realized that this was enough.

You can be completely committed without being completely in control.

I think I used to connect commitment with control more than I realized.

If something mattered enough, I wanted to make it happen. Work harder. Prepare better. Find another solution. Push through the difficulty.

That approach helped me accomplish many things.

But life does not always behave like that.

We can influence outcomes, but we rarely own them completely.

Ironman makes this very clear.

I did not win the race.

Many people were faster than me.

But strangely, that did not matter very much when I crossed the finish line.

I did not need to know where I ranked to know what the day meant to me.

I had prepared.

I had responded to what the course gave me.

I had continued when it became difficult.

I had reached the finish line.

There was very little regret.

Perhaps that is another definition of winning:

Full effort. Limited control. No need for comparison.

And I wonder whether this applies far beyond a race.

We cannot control how other people evaluate us.

We cannot guarantee that our work will succeed.

We cannot control every complication, rejection, disappointment, or unexpected turn.

We cannot determine how quickly someone else is moving through life.

But perhaps none of that prevents us from being fully committed.

We can prepare.

We can pay attention.

We can respond honestly to what happens.

We can learn.

We can take the next small step.

Then, eventually, perhaps the important question is not:

Did everything turn out the way I wanted?

It may be:

How did I travel through what I was given?

At the end of a race—or perhaps at the end of a season of life—I hope I can say:

I fully used what was given to me.

I responded at my best to what happened.

I did everything what I could.

I kept going.

I have no regret.

There is something deeply freeing about that.

Winning does not have to mean beating someone else.

It does not have to mean controlling the course or producing the outcome I imagined.

Perhaps sometimes winning simply means reaching the finish line knowing:

I faithfully did what was mine to do—and released what never belonged to me.