Race to the Gate

What constitutes a win?

I’ve grown really fond of my 5k route in recent months. It’s just a triangle of roads with a stretch through Corsham Park if it’s not too muddy. It’s perfect for when I’m short on time: a quick hit of big views and a couple of hills to play with. I tend to run it on a Friday morning, when the demands of life have mounted up behind me and either sleep, admin, housework or my own work need to take priority. But if I can just do thirty minutes, I might still make it to work on time. 

I squeezed a loop in just before I went on holiday in July and this particular jaunt has really stayed with me. It was a corker of a morning: the sun was big and bright and people were buoyant and said hello. I went through the park and ran alongside a line of gently trotting sheep, almost a kilometre long, all the way from one gate to another. I bounced along quite happily, content to be getting a stint of movement done before sitting on a long haul flight. 

I was just winding things up, steaming through the last bit of a trail towards a gate. Another runner was coming towards the gate from the opposite direction. Sometimes it’s clear who is going to get there first and there’s maybe just a little pause and a wave, but him and I were both speeding towards it, seemingly racing each other, neither party backing down. Would I get to it first? Would I win? I wanted it. I was on rougher ground but I was trying, while also trying not to look like I was trying. Y’know?

Oh, he beat me, fair and square. I swooped out to the side to give him space to pass through, as if this was always my plan. But do you know what he did? He stood aside and waited for me to go through first. 

Absolutely, I hear you, what a total flex. Rub salt in the wound. To get there first and then wait for me as if to prove a point. This is a possible version of events. But I don’t think - and I like to think - that the opposite is true. I think he was being kind. 

I said thank you, and remarked on what a beautiful morning it was, and he said, “Yes, lovely”. Am I naïve enough to believe that both of us were just having lovely mornings, and he wanted to express this through an act of kindness? 

Either way, it left me with a lasting moral message: get there first so that you might hold the gate. Race to be the person to help someone else. On such a charming morning, on a morning that rare, who cares who “wins”? The real win is in sharing a moment like that.