We often immerse ourselves in the rhetoric of achievement: focusing intently on our goals, being clear about our objectives, keeping our eyes on the prize. Many of us even pay to attend workshops on these topics, eager to refine our strategies. I recently had an experience that, upon reflection, left me with more questions than answers. It’s a tale of change, commitment, and the unexpected lessons hidden in the pursuit of a goal.

Earlier this year, I signed up for a 5K race in Dallas, Texas. This decision was a spontaneous one, perhaps an unspoken New Year's resolution. I had never participated in a race before, nor had I trained for one. The challenge intrigued me, representing a step outside my comfort zone.

As the race day approached, I tried to walk more, run more, and mentally prepare for the unfamiliar. Despite the anticipation, I decided to keep this venture personal—no friends, no family, just me facing the new challenge.

The morning of the race arrived with the sharp clarity of a winter dawn. My alarm dutifully sounded, pulling me from sleep at precisely the planned hour. With three hours to spare, I took a long shower, savoring the calm before the storm.

The world outside was still, the roads were nearly empty, and I enjoyed the serenity as I drove. But halfway through my journey, I noticed my phone's battery dangerously low, and I had no charger. Google Maps estimated 57 minutes to reach the starting line, leaving me with a narrow window to find parking and make my way to the race. As traffic thickened, the estimated time remained stubbornly unchanged. Eventually, my phone died, plunging me into a bygone era of navigation without digital aids.

With no map, no directions, and a growing sense of unease, I questioned my options. Should I stop at a gas station for directions? Charge my phone somewhere? I felt as if I were navigating an uncharted path.

What would you have done in my place? Take a moment to ponder.

Stuck at a red light, I made a snap decision to turn around. Traffic was a snarl of cars heading downtown, and even making a U-turn took an eternity. I realized I’d miss the race's starting shot and the registration package with my bib number—something I had surprisingly looked forward to.

On my way back, my mind swirled with thoughts and questions. This endeavor was meant to introduce “change,” to spark a new experience. Yet I was now driving away, the goal slipping further from reach. 

Why wasn’t I better prepared? Why didn’t I have a charger in the car? Was I the only one missing such a basic tool these days? My thoughts spiraled into questioning my commitment to myself. After all, I had wanted to do this alone.

The drive back was traffic-free, but it felt like a journey through molasses. Nearing home, I decided to salvage something from the day. I headed to a nearby trail park, a place I knew well. Setting a target pace of 5 minutes per kilometer, I embarked on my solo 5K run, imagining the start gun firing in my head.

The first three kilometers were steady at 6 minutes per kilometer. The last two slowed to 7.5 minutes per kilometer, culminating in a 33-minute nonstop run—8 minutes over my target, the equivalent of another 1.5 kilometers. As I reached my car, my heartbeat at 140 beats per minute, I felt a sense of accomplishment tinged with a lingering doubt. 

Questions rained down: Was the run itself the test? Or was it my response to the obstacles—the adaptation and perseverance? I hit my goals, but something felt amiss. I realized the missing element was my commitment to the experience itself.

This 5K wasn't just about running; it was about participating in a public event, stepping into a new realm. My lack of preparation reflected a deeper uncertainty about my commitment. If I had truly been committed, I would have prepared thoroughly, anticipating potential hurdles.

Commitment, I concluded, is more than just a decision; it’s a value. It demands preparation, clarity, and a willingness to share your intentions. It requires a deep understanding of the impact and effort involved. Commitment must begin with oneself, but it’s strengthened by accountability to others.

So, the next time you prepare for something, ask yourself: What am I truly committing to? I look forward to your thoughts.

Eric Adames | Lead Principal - Founder