I stood in the shadow of the Hotel Sam Houston, trying not to shiver.
Corral A of the Aramco Houston Half Marathon was packed. Half marathoners brimmed with anticipation.
And then, there was me.
I had never run a half marathon before. I had no idea what I should have been doing or thinking. I hadn’t even brought throwaway clothes to protect me against the 33-degree temperatures.
Fortunately, I didn’t have too long to dwell on these details. The clock reached the top of the hour, and suddenly I was off.
It took about a few blocks for me to recognize that I was actually doing it. I was running a half marathon.
And it took a few miles for me to realize that I was running it a lot faster than anticipated.
I thought about dialing back and saving my energy. But I felt good running in the crisp morning air and decided to keep at it.
I passed a pace group and dozens of other runners, and I didn’t even start to fade until the last mile. I rallied to cross the finish line just over 90 minutes after I started running. My time was a full 10 minutes ahead of my goal.
As I caught my breath and headed over to claim my finisher medal, I was still in disbelief. I had never run that distance in that time before. It must have been a fluke.
But it was no fluke.
I bested my time at another half marathon in Fort Worth six weeks later. And then I went to Oregon two months after that and set yet another personal best.
It turned out I had a knack for distance running. But I had no idea this power lay within me as I waited in the frigid corral that morning in Houston.
How little we know.
That memory from Corral A in Houston seems distant — a sepia-toned postcard from another era.
In truth, it occurred less than a year before I put these words to paper.
Yes, a year ago, I had no idea I’d become an accomplished distance runner. I was just hoping I’d cross the finish line without running out of gas.
These days, I’m hoping for the same thing.
A rash of injuries has put my running adventures on pause. And after a series of interventions to help those maladies heal, I’m hoping I can return to form someday.
Many in my circle are bullish about my chances. They’ve seen what I’ve accomplished and have no doubt I can do it again.
But I’m far less confident.
This sport can bring you to new heights, but it can also break your heart. I’ve experienced both outcomes in less than twelve months’ time. And what comes next is anyone’s guess.
I hope my will remains strong and my body gets stronger. I hope to make it through the grueling rehab cycle without major setbacks. I hope to fly again, my strides gliding over the pavement with a burst of speed.
But I expect none of that.
How little we know.
As I write this, the world is preparing for one of my least favorite rituals.
The calendar is set to turn over again. And we’re set to stay up until midnight, watch fireworks, and pour champagne. Again.
New Year’s Eve is always quite the party. But it’s also something of a last hurrah.
We might speak broad platitudes about the year to come. We might erroneously muse about how we’ll be different when the clock strikes 12. (Seriously, stop that nonsense!) We might put on a brave face, sharing tidings and cheer.
But deep down inside, we’re terrified.
There’s no clue what’s to come in the next chapter. There’s no proof to validate our gut instincts.
The road ahead is shrouded with fog, and there’s nothing to clear it away.
We hope for favorable outcomes. But we cannot count on them. Millenia of history prove as much.
How little we know.
This New Year’s seems more fraught than many.
Spiking interest rates, rising prices, and a spate of high-profile layoffs have many Americans concerned. Violence and divisiveness continue to hound our society. And a spate of health crises remains ever present.
It certainly feels like we’re up against it. The pessimistic responses to various opinion surveys certainly bears that out.
But there are others who remain cheery and optimistic. Even amidst the spate of dark clouds, they see brighter days ahead — and soon.
It’s a classic conundrum — glass half-empty vs. glass half-full. But both sides are wrong.
For the mindset we bring into the upcoming year won’t impact our fortunes. The future writes itself the same way, whether we approach it with a smile or a frown.
We might think we have a peek around the bend. But these thoughts are nothing more than false prophecies.
How little we know.
I was obviously ill-prepared for the Aramco Houston Half Marathon. But it wasn’t for a lack of information.
All week, I’d checked the weather forecast. I’d looked at the hour-by-hour conditions, and I’d brought a variety of athletic clothes with me to Houston.
Yet, in the moment of truth, such prognostication meant little. As I dressed for the race, I had little confidence that the forecast would hold. And even if it did, I had no idea what those temperatures, wind speeds, and humidity measures would feel like as I ran.
So, I scrapped any plans to predict what came next. I committed to embracing the gray.
And while that left me underdressed at the starting line, it didn’t cost me at the finish.
Perhaps I can repeat this feat as I stare down the future. Perhaps we all can.
It might not make the events that lie ahead of us any rosier. It might not make the outcome any clearer. And it surely won’t leave us any readier to hit the ground running when they occur.
But it will save us the disappointment of dashed predictions. It will spare those around us the toxic effects of pessimism. And it will shield all of us from the futile temptation to write tomorrow today.
We gain acuity through our experience, not our musings. And the best way to gain that experience is with an open mind, a full heart, and a courageous spirit.
How little we know today. How much we are yet to know.
Let’s make it happen.