What a 4 Year Old Boy Taught Me About Motivation on New Year’s Day

Motivation shows up in the most unexpected places.

Last Thursday, I decided to ring in the New Year by running in a 10K race.

This was my first ever 10K. In fact, as of last week, I’d only run in three 5K races in my life.

I certainly wouldn’t describe myself as a runner, but rather as someone who occasionally runs as part of keeping fit.

What possessed me to brave the elements of 23 degree (Farenheit) New Year’s morning (5 degrees with the wind chill) remains a mystery.

Showing up to the start/registration table at 9 AM, I discovered there’s a secret tribe of runners who live among us. You might not recognize them in their civilian clothes, but for these events, they come out of the woodwork: lean human aerobic machines clad in lycra and polypropylene. They all seem to know each other, and they all look very fast, even when they’re standing still.

They show up in their gear: hats from half-marathons, shirts from marathons, jackets from ultramarathons. It’s a community of running elites, and I felt like the awkward novice that I was.

186 of us gathered and the wind-whipped start, and when the gun went off, so did most of the pack — at a pace that would’ve left me in a wheezy heap at the side of the road one mile in.

I knew I had 6.2 miles ahead of me, so I paced myself. (A handy re-frame to justify my slowness.)

After a few minutes, I started to warm up. It turned out to be a lovely sunny cold morning.

The course descended the first two miles, then flattened out by a river for the next two. It was between miles 4 and 5 that things headed uphill and got hard.

I was really dragging up the hill, close to mile 5, when I started to doubt myself. It felt like I was barely going faster than a walking pace, wondering if I’d actually finish the race.

Then, everything changed.

Just a little further along, on the right side of the road, there was a small yellow house, with a farmer’s field behind it. An American Flag was flying out front.

By the mailbox on the road, there stood a small boy. He couldn’t have been more than 4 years old. He was bundled up with a red wool hat and red mittens, wearing a navy snowsuit and black rubber boots.

He just stood there, patiently. Watching.

As I got to within 15 yards of him, he put out his red-mittened right hand. He was waiting for me to run by and high-five him.

As our hands met, he said “You’re doing a great job. Happy New Year!”

With his words still in my ears, I could feel the energy in my body rise. Suddenly, I got a second wind.

Here was this little boy, out in the cold, supporting me. How could I not give more of myself?

My pace picked up the rest of the hill to mile 5, where the road flattened out.

1.2 miles to go. I picked it up some more. I even passed two other runners before the finish.

I’m proud to report that I finished in the percentage that helped the top 85% wind up in the top 85%.

As fun and challenging as the actual run was, the big lesson for me that day, however, was the boy with the red hat.

His actions of supporting me (and others) helped me to overcome my own doubts.

No one forced him out on the course—yet he chose to brave the cold, to be of service.

Reflecting on that morning, I’ve stopped to think “Where could I stand and offer high fives to the people on my path? What keeps me from offering that more often?”

Where have people shown up out of nowhere to give you support? What impact did it have on you?

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