Almost a year later, I kept my promise
Early last year, I was training for my first-ever race at a gym in Michigan, where I live part-time.
I was trying to make it through one of the longer runs on my training plan on a treadmill, and I had just two miles left to go—but I was gasping for breath. Every step ached, and I desperately wished I was doing anything other than running. I was starting to wonder if I was even cut out for racing.
Just then, I happened to look up, and I saw this woman in front of me on an elliptical.
I’d seen her at the gym before—on the elliptical, on the treadmill, lifting weights—and every time, I’d thought about how I hope to be like her when I’m her age. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s older than my parents, who are in their 70s. Every time I saw her doing her thing, I thought to myself that I hope I continue to prioritize movement and that I’m as strong as she is when I’m her age. She’s so inspiring to me.
As I struggled to keep up my pace on the treadmill, I watched her, and I could tell she was pushing herself. I even started to cheer her on a little bit in my head.
In no time, I felt my motivation coming back. My legs felt a little stronger. My breath came a little easier. Seeing her dedication and strength was all it took to help me push through. Even though it was still so hard, I ended up finishing my run strong.
I did it—all because of her.
When I hopped off the treadmill, all I could think about was how much I wanted to tell this woman that she’d unknowingly inspired me. I wanted her to know that she was the reason I didn't give up.
But then . . . I completely chickened out.
I told myself that I was too sweaty, that she had headphones on and I didn’t want to bother or startle her—every excuse I could think of. But really, it was that I felt awkward. She doesn’t know me. What if I catch her off-guard? What if she thinks that what I tell her is weird? What if she doesn’t want to be bothered while she’s working out?
So, instead, I said nothing. By the time I got back in my car to drive home, I was totally bummed.
I was disappointed in myself for not finding the courage to say what was on my heart—and not just because it was something I really wanted to do. It’s because I’d challenged myself to be kind out loud to strangers, and here I was, not doing what I had set out to do. (If any of this sounds familiar to you, you might be remembering a blog post I published last March where I shared about this challenge.) I often found myself having kind thoughts about people I didn’t know—like when I loved their outfit or I appreciated their energy—but I wasn’t always good about sharing those thoughts out loud. I wanted to get better at doing that because ultimately, that’s the type of person and leader I want to be.
Knowing I didn’t meet my challenge that day at the gym, I told myself that if I ever saw this woman again, I would tell her everything I wished I’d said. I made a promise to myself that no matter how awkward or uncomfortable it felt, I would say those kind things to her out loud.
Finally, almost an entire year later, I got my chance.
A few weeks ago, I walked into that same gym in Michigan, and there she was.
This time, she was speedwalking on a treadmill while deep in conversation with the woman next to her, who I assumed was a friend.
I chose a treadmill right next to her, thinking it would create a natural opportunity for me to lean over and tell her everything I'd been waiting to tell her for a year.
But once again, I hesitated.
I went back and forth with myself in my head. She's working out with a friend, I thought. I really want to talk to her, but I don’t want to interrupt their conversation.
Of course, right in the middle of my internal debate, the two women got off their treadmills and walked away.
I was so frustrated with myself. I couldn’t believe I had let this happen and missed my chance again.
I kept going with my run and tried to give myself grace.
Next time I see her, I'll do it, I told myself firmly. For real.
And wouldn’t you know it . . . just 20 minutes later, I got my third chance.
I thought she had already left the gym, but she hadn’t. She must have been working out in a different area.
I was still running on the treadmill when I saw her walk by.
I didn’t give myself a second to think about it. I hit PAUSE on the machine, put one foot on either side of the still-moving tread, and said, “Excuse me!” as I waved to get her attention.
At first, she didn’t realize that it was her I wanted to talk to. She seemed a little taken aback, and rightfully so. But as soon as I had her attention, I started talking. I told her that nearly one year earlier, I’d been training for my first-ever race and desperately wanted to quit, but seeing her on the elliptical in front of me was the reason I didn’t. I told her that wasn’t the only time she’d inspired me: I’d seen her often in the gym, and I hoped to be as strong as her when I’m her age. I told her I was training for my seventh race (at the time).
As I spoke, she put her hand over her heart, and I could tell she was a little emotional. And we just shared this moment. We briefly talked about the joy of running: She said something like, “Isn't it the best feeling in the world when you finish a race?” I don’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me to know that she's run many races in her life. We both just smiled.
This time, when I left the gym and got in my car, I was proud. Happy. Grateful. It took me all of 30 seconds to tell her those things, and I felt so much more joyful afterward. And I know it had an impact on her, too. I could see that her smile was a little bit brighter and that she held her head up higher after our chat.
Even better, the feeling I had in my heart lasted well beyond my time at the gym. I noticed that for the rest of the day, I operated with more intention, kindness, and love.
A few hours after I got home from the gym, I boarded a plane. I fly so often that I’m not always mindful of acknowledging my seatmate, but that day, I took a moment to say hi and ask the woman sitting next to me how her day was going.
And when I arrived at my destination, instead of burying my head in my phone and checking emails, I had a conversation with the driver and asked him about his day.
All of that was inspired by a 30-second conversation at the gym . . . one that I almost didn’t have.
Before this interaction, I had never thought of saying something kind to a stranger as being a courageous conversation. But it is. It’s vulnerable: You don’t know the person, so you don’t know how they will react to what you say. You have to put yourself out there and take a risk. And even though the thing you want to say is kind, it can still be uncomfortable and awkward to say it.
Even I, a person who teaches and writes about the importance of courage and vulnerability all the time, still have moments when my courage fails me. But I’m here to say—to you and to me—that it’s okay if you don’t get it right the first time (or the second). What matters is that you keep working on showing up as the person you truly want to be.
Courage takes practice.
How about you? Have you ever hesitated to say something kind out loud like me? Have you ever missed your moment? Do you still think about it? Maybe you won’t get another chance to tell that person like I did, but you can share it with us. My team and I would love to hold a space for you to be kind out loud—just hit “reply” and tell us what you wish you could have said.
And from here forward, may we all find the courage to say the kind thing, even when it feels uncomfortable.
Big hugs,
