More than winning

There are moments in life when what you once thought was important takes a backseat to things that hold much more value.

Like people.

For the second year in a row, I was privileged enough to be part of a team made up of some of the fastest people I know in the metroplex for the 200-miles of insanity in the Texas Independence Relay. We came into the race this year hoping to defend our title but also knowing that we had some very tough competition that was certainly going to provide a challenge. While winning isn't everything, it's still a goal. After all, it's a race, and we are there to compete.

But there was a moment in the race when none of that even mattered anymore.

Early Sunday morning, we lost one of our runners during one of the trickiest legs on the course. Our van was the "support van" at the time, meaning we drove to various points in that particular runner's leg and made sure he knew where he was going and gave him water if he needed it. We arrived to the spot we had said we'd be to point him in the right direction and waited. And waited. And waited. We began to worry, because, based on the times we knew he could run, it was taking entirely too long for him to get to where we were.

Dolls 'n Towel Boyz

We started yelling for him and waiting in anticipation with each light we saw coming our way. (It was still very dark out, and all of the runners were wearing their headlamps and reflective gear.) But, just like when you're watching out the window waiting for either a special guest to arrive or your parents to come home with a new puppy, it felt like the moment we'd see him would never actually happen.

We called the other van, and none of our teammates had seen him yet, so we sent our van out to look for him, while three of us remained behind on the cold, dark trail hoping to see him come through soon. The minutes began ticking away, and the thought of winning kind of escaped our minds. We didn't care anymore. Our teammate was missing, and our only concern was making sure we found him and that he was safe.

Finally, after about 30 minutes of what seemed like some of the longest minutes ever, a teammate called to let us know that they found him and that he was back on course. Needless to say, we were thrilled to hear this. We had spent the last half hour calling out his name into the dark woods area—likely waking up neighbors—and being completely helpless to do anything to make him suddenly appear. And I can't even imagine the thoughts that went through his head. I know I would hate to be lost in a huge city that I didn't know, in the dark, and not sure how to find my way back to the right path.

Thank God for miracles.

We ended up losing our lead and finishing the race in second overall. I know it's not what we wanted, but I'd say that, in a race like this, the life experience you get, character you build, and friendships you form are more important than a trophy or medal that people may or may not ever see.

But they will see irreplaceable gems.

They will see Liz, the effervescent speedster who keeps everyone smiling with her precious joy and never hesitates to show what it means to be a true friend; they will see Evan, who doesn't know how to be mean to people and continually encourages those around him; they will see Craig, who shows so much genuine care for others and steps up to run an extra leg for a teammate who is hurt without even the thought of complaining; they will see Eddy, who gave everything he had all weekend long and continually expressed his gratitude for being able to be part of such an experience; they will see Fonz, who constantly keeps things lighthearted and is always there to offer a pat on the back; they will see Jose, who made sure everyone kept the cheering alive and powerful; they will see Kiran, who stepped up as a van driver and had such a patient attitude when others began to get cranky; they will see Conor, who showed so much grit and determination even when he felt like he couldn't; they will see Dane, who made sure he kept everyone entertained with his wit and puns right before he ran ridiculously fast; they will see Disco, who has a natural way of making people smile and is one of the most genuine people you will ever meet; and they will see Josh, our fearless captain who spent his 40th birthday running his tail off for a bunch of crazy people he chooses to call his friends on this 200-mile journey and who dedicated so much time and effort to making sure it was a great weekend for everyone.

To me, these people are so much more precious than any gold or silver.

You are going to win things in life, and you are going to lose others. You have to learn to lose, though, and those losses often help make you the person you are today. Each person on our team left it all out on the course, because we knew we were fighting for something greater than ourselves. We lost a race this weekend, but we also gained more than we could have asked for ourselves.

And that is worth more than anything that could be placed in a trophy case.