I don’t remember my mile time.

What I do remember is our gym teacher pulling a kid aside after class, someone who was upset they didn’t finish first, and telling him, “There will always be someone faster than you.”

At the time, I wasn’t sure if that was encouragement or a slap in the face. But now, almost thirty years later, I think it might be one of the best lessons I’ve ever overheard.

There will always be someone faster than you. Better than you. Further along than you. For a small group of people, that truth will be fuel. It’ll push them to train harder, compete more fiercely, and maybe even chase greatness.

But for most of us, it’s something else entirely. It’s permission. Permission to stop measuring your worth by where you rank. Permission to stop comparing your pace to everyone around you.

It’s a reminder that the goal isn’t to be the best in the world. It’s to be the kind of person you’re proud to be. When I reflect on that moment now, I don’t feel shame about not being the fastest kid in school. I feel relief that I don’t have to carry that pressure anymore.

It doesn’t mean I’ve stopped pushing myself. It just means I’ve redefined what winning looks like. For me, it’s showing up. It’s growing. It’s staying in the race long after I once would’ve quit.

Because the truth is, I’ll never be the fastest. And I’m finally okay with that.