Being seen

I’m not a runner. Or at least, I don’t see myself as one. Never have. Running is hard.

But on the weekend I ran the 6km City to Bay. It was the furthest I’ve ever run, non stop running, I finished in a time I was genuinely proud of, and while I still feel tender in places I’ve not felt tender, I’m thinking about doing the 12km next year.

But the running isn’t really what has stuck with me.

It’s the people. The community.

Since the event I’ve spoken to a few other runners. Some at the event, some interstate, and some at the gym where I teach.

People who ran further than me. People who ran much faster than me. People who have done marathons and events far beyond anything I’ve ever attempted.

And they said “well done”.

Not in a patronising “good for you” kind of way: just genuine encouragement.

Someone who ran the 12km - much faster than I ran my 6km - congratulated me. A member at the gym actually looked up my result and gave me a high five when I saw them next. Another first-timer, who was faster than me, was nothing but supportive and congratulatory. And all with sincerity.

And, if I’m being fair, I found it a little confronting.

I’m not used to hearing praise. That’s a strange thing to realise about yourself.

This got me wondering why receiving simple, genuine encouragement felt so foreign.

A member at the gym told me that running communities can be some of the most supportive communities to be part of. I'll be honest, I’ve always seen them from the outside and my cynical mind thought they were not for me. But from my very limited experience so far, I can see what they mean.

It never felt like “I did better than you, but good for you”. It felt sincere. Their achievement didn’t diminish my own… running 12km didn’t mean they couldn’t celebrate someone running 6km for the first time… being faster didn’t mean someone slower hadn’t achieved something worth celebrating. There was room for everyone to have done well.

And I really liked that.

It has also made me think about some of the other communities in my life.

How often do we actually celebrate the people around us? Not because their achievement benefits us… not because we want something in return… and not while immediately following it with a story about the bigger or better thing we did.

Just: well done. And one that you genuinely mean.

Following this experience, my eyes have opened to how draining the alternative can be. Communities dominated by competition, self-promotion, one-upmanship or people who simply don’t take much interest in those around them.

It’s easy to call yourself part of a community while mostly using it for yourself. To promote what you’re doing. To make sure your voice is heard. To tell everyone about your achievements.

But how often do you stop and notice theirs?

I don’t want more of that in my life.

I want more of what I experienced this weekend. No, wait, I need it.

Part of that means thinking more carefully about the people and communities I surround myself with. But it also means making sure I’m giving other people what I found so unexpectedly meaningful myself.

Notice when someone has tried.

Celebrate when they succeed.

Tell them they did well.

Give them the high five.

Make people feel seen, and their efforts valued.

Maybe they were faster, slower, bigger, better, lighter, heavier, larger, smaller, whatever… it doesn’t matter. It’s not about fake congratulations, but it is about being a supportive and encouraging human being. Everyone needs to start “a thing” somewhere, and having that voice of sincere encouragement is something that has been so absent in my life.

And that is incredibly sad.

I did something new, something confronting for me, and did it well. I pushed myself outside of my comfort zone, I did the prep work, I saw improvements during that practice, I got better, and I showed up on the day. I earned my medal. As did those who finished before me… and so did those who finished after me.

Maybe I’ll run the 12km next year. But I think the more important thing I took away from my first City to Bay actually had very little to do with running.