The Power of Patience

The Power of Patience

I have laughingly said to fellow 5K participants, repeatedly, “Yeah, I’ve finished last many times. What matters is that you’re here.”

While it is true that I have finished last many times and that what does matter is the fact they’re there, at the race I participated in on Independence Day this year what mattered most as I closed out the race, brought up the rear, played the caboose (pick your term of choice), was the fact that someone else was there with me.

How Things Used To Be

There was a time when my son, who is now 17, participated in running and multi-sports events routinely. As the draw of online gaming took over, his running shoes got nudged to the back of his closet and I resigned myself to the fact that he was no longer interested.

Over the past year or so, Wayne has asked to walk 5Ks with me. Even though we were walking instead of running, I was ecstatic to have him on the pavement instead of the keyboard, so I registered us for 5Ks whenever I could. He rarely wanted to run, which I accepted, again being grateful that we were even on a race course. I have to admit I harbored a secret hope that these outings would evolve into a desire on his part to run again. Having been a pushy running parent in his earlier childhood, though, I knew I could not force him.

The Independence Day Running Moment

He and I got into such a groove of walking 5Ks that I started changing my routines. I didn’t worry so much about wearing some of the running-specific gear I usually wore. I didn’t take the beta-blocker I have to take before running a half hour before a race to keep my tachycardia in check. It was just a walk, right?

This past Saturday he announced, “Maybe I’ll run a little bit.” He announced this in time for me to gulp down my beta blocker. I was secretly thrilled!

At about the 1.5 mile mark of the race, he said, “Let’s run.” He took off and I couldn’t keep up. Pretty rapidly, my tachycardia issues started kicking in. He stopped running after a bit, but remained ahead of me as he finished the race, which was fine. I was just disappointed that my body was failing me at a time I wanted to share a special moment with my son.

After trying to keep walking and deal with the tachycardia in the usual ways, I decided I had to sit down for a few minutes. This was when I lost a few minutes and began working my way to my eventual designation as “last finisher.”

Once my heart rate went down, I started walking again. Everything was fine, health-wise.

I had the finish line in sight when things started going awry again. I am not sure why … I think finish line adrenaline is always there for me whether I am sprinting, running slowly, walking, or crawling … but all of a sudden my heart rate spiked precipitously.

I could see the finish line, staffed by a crew of my best running community buddies.

A volunteer standing there started conversing with me.

He was a gentle and kind young man.

I expected to hear what I usually do from the volunteer who gets stuck with the last finisher, things like:

  • A report by walkie-talkie to the race organizers saying something like “yep, the last one’s with me.”
  • An admonition to “give it all you’ve got — you’re almost there!”
  • A worried-sounding query like “ma’am, are you okay?”

The Finish Line Could Wait

It turns out the young man was named Rigel (I don’t know if I’ve spelled it right, but it was like “Nigel” with an “R”). I explained that I was having HR problems and did something I have never done before in decades of running: conceded to my health and sat down within sight of the finish line, taking care of myself instead of stressing about what everyone was thinking.

Rather than any of the things I feared Rigel would say, we discussed:

  • How to get involved with TeamRWB, which is an organization that helps veterans (I was wearing a Team RWB jersey).
  • The fact that he doesn’t race because he has so much anxiety (I laughed and said you never have that kind of anxiety about keeping up/the frenetic start when you’re a back of the packer).
  • The fact that he does like running, when it’s just for fun.

The biggest thing running through my mind was the parallel with how I deal with my elderly father-in-law, who has a condition which results in him being very shaky when he stands up too fast (and which always seems to manifest itself when we are in a hurry [I am one of his primary caregivers]). I’l be honest: even though I know he can’t help it, I feel frustrated, wonder why we can’t just get. where. we. need. to. be, and ask if he’s ready to walk yet, probably not in the kindest of tones.

At a time when I’ve read so much about the self-centeredness of the younger generations and seen plenty of it with my own eyes, this moment humbled me and reminded me there are times when we all need someone to help us discard worries about others’ expectations, take life on at our own pace, and share pieces of our souls.

The printed finish time on the results did not tell the whole story of this race.

I am happy for my friends who excelled in the race, but when I see the winners’ names, I’ll also acknowledge another winner on this race day: Rigel’s Patience.


Filed As:  patience, running

Meet Paula Kiger

Hometown Guest Author Headshot

Paula received her M.S. in Counseling and Human Systems from Florida State University. Previously, she coordinated the Internship Program at Fordham University and worked for Florida’s Healthy Kids program, which provided insurance to uninsured children. She has proofread professionally for Ballantine Books, has edited for numerous authors, and enjoys social media immensely. She is a NASA Social alum, Fitfluential Ambassador and a Charity Miles All Star.

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What People Are Saying

  • Rigel Aucutt is my son. He is a 16 year old at Lincoln High in Tallahassee. His name comes from a star in the constellation Orion. Thankyou for the post, and i hope your health issues are in check. Its inspirational hearing your story, and hearing that you are still doing these races is very motivating. Rigel is .. well… Rigel. I will say he has a special place for people in general but especially Vets. He does treat others as he wishes to be treated. I am humbled and proud at the same time by your story.

    Thank you!

    Shawn Aucutt & Brittney Aucutt

    • Thank you, Shawn. I really appreciate you chiming in. He definitely has a gift, and he made a difference Monday.

  • Patience isn’t one of my strong points – but it is something I’m definitely working on more – it makes you a far better friend and carer.

    • Nor mine, Leanne! I guess I should qualify that with “it’s situational.” Someday when I’m not in total caregiving mode, I think I will volunteer to help others with THEIR elders. It’s so much easier to be patient when you’re not tunnel-vision in the middle of a situation. And we caregivers need the patient people of the world to shore us up and be kinder to our elders than we can sometimes muster, in my opinion.

  • I loved this story, both for the running aspect as well as the lesson you shared. I’ve noticed how personal experiences that humble me, often lead to a deeper understanding of what other people are going through. Having that awareness has increased both my patience and compassion for myself and others—but always a work in progress.

    • “A work in progress” being the key. The whole situation was certainly running through my mind today as my father-in-law had another spell that began because he forgot (as always) to take a moment to let his blood pressure regulate after he stood up. Monday and Rigel’s patience were fresh in my mind. It helped me through one incidence of many. Even one matters!

  • That kind of patience in a young person is to be applauded and I am happy you have shared the story with the blogging community. I must admit, I am not always patient with my mother in law, who is in her late 80’s. Hurray for Rigel!

    • It really is to be applauded. And I am so happy that it allowed me to connect with his parents (who shared a previous comment). Making connections really matters to me and this incident was a special one.

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