Choosing happiness
On the joy of racing, and how we can all race toward joy.
Last week, I won first place at the San Jose Rock ‘n’ Roll Series 10K. For the first few hours after crossing the finish line, I enjoyed the glory and shared my accomplishment with friends and family. Then, as the imposter syndrome set in, I continually checked back to the race results to see if they had changed (they hadn’t). During one of these check-ins, I chose to strip myself of all the joy of this victory. It’s a choice I regret, and we’ll get to that, but first let’s run it back.
Earlier this year on a June afternoon, I sat on the steps outside my apartment while on the phone with my running coach. We were debriefing the marathon I’d run a few days prior.
I was disappointed by my results after a promising training cycle. I had hoped to run the marathon fifteen minutes faster than I did, and it wasn’t just a hope—my smartwatch predicted that this goal was achievable for me. My coach commended me for my strong effort despite goals unmet.
“I know how it feels when a race doesn’t turn out the way you expected,” she said, “but this doesn’t undo all your hard work or the strength you’ve built up. On a different course on a different day, I know you’re capable of hitting your goal.”
On a different course on a different day.
It had only been five days since the marathon, but I’d already set my eyes on my next one.
My coach was supportive, but with one amendment. “You know, in this next training cycle I think it’d be good for you to race a few 5Ks and 10Ks. It’ll be a great way for you to feel your speed and fall in love with the racing experience again.”
I thought back to the only 5K I’d ever raced, finishing last in my heat, and only forcing myself to finish because I’d had a surprise spectator. I wasn’t sure what part of this would promote a love of racing, but I agreed because I literally do anything my coach tells me to.
My first race this autumn was a 5K in Tiburon. My quads pierced at the start, and by the start of Mile 2 I was strongly considering whether to revert to a slow jog. I persisted, finding strength in the breezy 11-year-old girl in front of me, and we crossed the finish line together. I was proud of my time and effort, and surprised to find that of 358 female runners, I placed sixth overall and second in the 30-39 age group.
“You podiumed!” my boyfriend reminded me over and over that day. Yes, but it was a small race. But who is even really racing in a charity race. But the strongest runners probably did the 10K. I wasn’t being humble, I just didn’t give much weight to the accomplishment.
My second autumn race was a women’s 5K in San Francisco two weeks later. San Francisco is filled with fast women, and I had no expectations entering the race. But from the start, my body felt strong. I kept my eye on the runner in first place, and by Mile 2, I was convinced that I could place in the top three. And I did. Of 209 female runners, I placed second overall and second in my age group.
Though I raced this one smarter and the course was harder, I gave this win even less attention than the first. Still, I’d had a lot of fun on the course, and I’d achieved my primary intention—to enjoy the racing experience.
“I’m really having fun with these! They’re helping me work through race nerves and they’re so short and sweet,” I told my coach in our session after this race. “You’re not just enjoying them, you’re winning them!” my coach responded.
“Oh yeah, true!” Boy did I need to get better at celebrating my wins.
My final autumn race was the San Jose Rock ‘n’ Roll 10K. Having run the half marathon at the same event last year, I knew this was a large race filled with strong runners. As the race drew closer, I learned that the race day forecast was 100°F. Never having raced a 10K, I entered the race with a reasonable goal pace, and a commitment to take it easy if the heat became oppressive.
Though I felt strong through the start, there wasn’t much left in my tank by Mile 5. My chapped lips burned and I had a minor side stitch. My pace was slowing. Putting one foot in front of the other, I took the final turn for the 10K and pushed through to the finish line. I collected my medal and post-race banana and took some photos, then texted my dad who was picking me up from the race
As I was walking to the car, I decided to look up the race results. I’d started with Corral 14, and was interested in my chip time. When I finally downloaded the results, I stopped in my tracks.
I texted my parents, “Guys I got first leave,” with a screenshot of the results. The typo accentuates my disbelief and general state of shock.
I was in a happy trance as I continued my walk to my dad. I’d gotten first place in a large race of 877 women. On a hot day when I was trying to temper my pace and expectations!
When I got home, I put my race bib on the fridge, the same way I’d celebrated a nice piece of art or good grade as a child. My pride and glee was exactly that—childlike.
I shared the news with my coach and friends, expressing both my joy and disbelief, to which each responded by matching my joy and rejecting my disbelief.
“I’m not surprised. This is a testament to your determination and passion.”
“I’m proud of you but not at all surprised. You’ve worked so hard for this!”
(How lucky am I to have friends like these.)
For the next several hours, I continued to check back at the race results, worried that there may have been a mistake, but enjoying a new wave of joy each time I saw that that I was still the first place winner.
During one of these check-backs, I decided to search for the results of the half marathon.
I saw that the first place woman had finished with an average pace that was over one and a half minutes faster than mine. She’d run double the distance in the same weather. At my pace I wouldn’t even have placed in the top ten women for the half marathon.
I felt the rosy excitement of the day disappear from my cheeks. With the click of a button, I had successfully stolen my own joy. Why had I done this? Why was I so bent on negating my results?
Well, because human happiness isn’t absolute. Our happiness is based on what could have been. Even when we are objectively better off, our happiness is based on how we compare to an alternate reality. In a 1995 study of Olympic medalists, researchers found that both when crossing the finish line and when on the podium, bronze medalists were happier than silver medalists. This is because silver medalists saw themselves as just having missed gold, while bronze medalists were delighted to have made podium altogether.
This isn’t just true about winning medals. Think about every time you go on Instagram to see how someone like you did life just a little bit better than you. It’s almost impossible not to compare, wish, or self-reject.
In my case, I was the silver medalist comparing myself to a different course on a different day. Well what if I had run the half marathon like I did last year? Neither my pace today nor my pace last year would have come close to the first place woman. And then later, I know I can run faster paces than this. My pace wasn’t even that fast. I should have been able to get closer to my 5K pace from two weeks ago. To which my coach, the voice of sanity, responded, “I’m positive you would have on a cooler day.”
On a different course on a different day.
While the science of happiness tell us that our joy is subject to comparison (which is unfair because comparison is the thief of joy!!!), it also tells us that we can boost our happiness by savoring positive moments. In a 2007 diary study, participants self-reported daily positive moments, savoring behavior, and their mood over a 30-day period. Through multilevel modeling analysis, researchers found that the act of savoring actually increases happiness.
Over the next few days, I climbed out of the rut of self-belittlement, first by reminding myself of my therapist’s mantra for me:
Throughout our adult lives, we pursue various paths because we believe they will ultimately fuel our happiness. Saving up to buy a home; starting a family; working up a career ladder; founding a company; serving our community; running a race; taking on a new hobby; side hustling, the list is endless.
While none of these paths are unique, our own happiness is. No matter whether there’s someone out there who’s doing it too, who has “been there, done that,” who’s doing it better, the course you run is yours alone, and the happiness you derive is only yours to savor, and yours to claim. We need to be celebrating our wins the way our friends or my Coach Eve would celebrate them for us. We might look around for inspiration, but not for comparison.
After my damning moment of comparison on race day, I’ve encouraged myself to savor my results. My medal is displayed on my desk, and I’ve repeatedly replayed the race in my mind’s eye. While the high of this race will soon dissipate and get washed away into the sea of races past and future, I will always feel a wave of joy when I look back on this race. That’s because I choose to be happy about this race, and that happiness will never run its course.
Have you been thinking about this too? Do you have a similar (or different) perspective? Start a conversation with Ro and the Unabridged Ro community or share this letter with a friend.
I think I've mentioned this before, but running is awful. You willingly do something that is so difficult, so arduous, and you enjoy it! We absolutely can choose joy and happiness and CELEBRATION particularly when we've chosen to show up for ourselves like you have done. Three cheers for you!
Congratulations Rohini! It’s about the journey to the podium! Keep moving forward!