The Back of the Pack

I’m a runner.^¹

That’s hard for me to say.

It’s true that I have run eight races ten miles or longer, and have been running steadily for thirteen years.

But when I say “I’m a runner” there is the subtle and subversive subtext of, “I’m not a real runner.” I’m slower and less committed than most. I never win any races, or set any records, and I’m getting slower. I’m not a real runner.

I’m a writer, as well.

That’s even harder for me to say.

It’s true that I’ve written 100,000 words for Greatheart’s Table alone, that my writing has appeared in several other venues, and that I have a book published by a traditional publishing house.

But when I say “I’m a writer” there is the subtle and subversive subtext of, “I’m not a real writer.” I have no agent, no one is pressing me to write for them, no one taps me for their podcast interview. I’m not a real writer.

Also, I’m a pastor.

You see where this is going.

Even after nearly 40 years of this gig, there is still the unspoken qualifier, “If I were a real pastor, I would be doing this work far better and far differently and with far more tangible results.” So many faithful pastors possess a subconscious assumption that “If I were a real pastor . . .”, a sentence completed with all kinds of qualifiers.

These thoughts came to mind last November as I was running the Battlefield Half Marathon in Chickamauga, Georgia. In this beautiful race runners enjoy the crisp north Georgia fall while running almost entirely on the National Park Service grounds^⁠ that preserve the site of the Civil War battle. I finished the race 488^th out of 766,^⁠² slow enough that those in the front could have collected their medal, eaten their banana, headed home, showered, and returned before I would make my final stumbling approach toward the finish line. I run, and always will run, in the back of the pack.

And that is okay. To run in the back is still to run. To run in the back is still to be a runner. A real runner. We in the back may run more slowly and more deliberately and receive less glory, but we are real runners who need to remember that it’s okay not to be in front. We are where we need to be.

I find my people in the back of the pack.³^⁠ Those at the front have skills I’ll never possess. I will never match their accomplishments or gain their renown. And they will never look to me for running advice. That’s okay. I’m comfortable with those who are plodding along at the end, those like me. Were I to compare myself to those at the front, I’d despair, or worse, I’d take shortcuts to be seen with them. Those are not healthy or wise options, and so we in the back pace ourselves and find great company in those around us.

We may lack speed at the back, but that gives us time for other things. Like love. A young woman is singing to her young son as she pushes him in a wheelchair. She is slow, sure. Even I pass her. But she sacrifices speed in order to give her son an experience he would not otherwise have. Unpressured to win, this mom is free to love, just as others I meet are freed to sing an impromptu rendition of “Happy Birthday” to a stranger whose “fans” along the way hold signs revealing this fact. Those at the front couldn’t afford to lose time for such things.

Some might see laziness at the back, but I see grit and determination. Since those at the back fight against a lack of natural ability, they push themselves and possibly work harder than many of those more naturally gifted and at the front could ever comprehend. We at the back may be slow, but we are not lazy. One man tells me that his goal time is whatever it takes to finish. Such a one is not comparing himself to others, much less those at the front. What matters most to him, and to the rest of us in the back, is finishing well, not finishing first.

The beauty of being in the back is seeing perspectives adjusted and corrected in that way. Finishing well, not first, can direct our attention to those around us, not those ahead of us. For about three miles I am running near enough to three young women to hear the content of their conversation. They are each telling each other what they appreciate in them. It’s beautiful to hear the nurturing of friendship. It’s clear that one is a more experienced runner who could be further ahead. But running ahead is of less importance to her than running with, and encouraging, her friends. She even takes the time to encourage me.

These in the back are my people. They’re faithful, committed, and devoted. They’ll never be first. They’re not trying to be. They’re just happy to be in the race and in the company of others running the race well. They will finish well. Contrary to the voice in their heads, they are real runners.

I know pastors like that. Real pastors.

1. If you prefer to listen to this content, you can do so here or here.

2. The winner finished with a time of 1:11:15. My time was 2:29:08, more than twice as long as the winner. I was 10th out of 17 in my gender/age group. When the results are what this race calls “age-graded” I came in at #216, whatever that means.

3. Full transparency here: a good friend finished 4th out of 2000, including some Olympic hopefuls, at the 2023 Orlando Half Marathon. We at the back at the pack may share more in common with those in the front than we might imagine.