The Lesson of Regrets

The Final Lesson from the Trail

There is one last lesson that I have learned from the trail. Perhaps the ultimate lesson, only recently fully grasped by the death of my mother. That is the lesson of regrets. You see, every trail demands decisions and choices. Each decision we make leads to the next choice we will encounter. To cheat the trail and take a shortcut; to take unfair advantage of a weaker participant; to stop and forfeit the prize in order to aid another runner or hiker; to follow the pack or blaze our own trail. Every decision leads to the ultimate outcome. I have learned that the prize handed out in front of the crowd is pale pleasure compared to the joy of coming in last because you’ve quietly made a better choice – a choice to offer kindness and comfort, or because you took a moment to stop and smell the aroma of wet pine or gape at the amazing grandeur of a valley laid out below you; to stoop and watch a ground squirrel, or decipher a bird call. Rewards that far out weigh the medal that will hang in some closet or lay in some forgotten drawer. In the New Testament, the Apostles talk of "running our race" in a way that will bring us eternal reward, that will not fade away nor become lost (See 1 Corinthians 9:25 and 1 Peter 5:4); and Jesus instructs us to “...not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal." Matthew 6:19-20

Several years ago I was running a trail race in Bonelli Park. The course started with a sharp incline that proceeded to rise up, and then up some more, and then up yet again. By the third incline I was done. My legs and lungs were not in shape for this run and I simply could not continue. Coming from behind me was a woman about my age who had definitely found her stride. As she approached me she could tell that I was spent, so she simply held out her hand, grabbed me by the arm and said, “we’ll do this together.” Because of her I made it to the final peak where the trail blessedly began to descend. Her act of kindness probably cost her a medal – and yes, I still came in dead last, but I finished my race due to her kindness. 

Sitting with my mother in her final minutes last week I came to two conclusions about life on the trail. First: in the end, it is the acts of kindness that matter. They alone are what we remember, what stays with us. Colossians 3:12 says,

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. 

Secondly, doing the right thing, no matter how hard it may be, will never, never be as hard as living with the regret of not doing it. 

May you travel well your pathways fellow trail runners and hikers.