Everyone Was Running the Same Race: Why Comparison Doesn’t Work and What to Focus on Instead

It was raining the morning of the race. The kind of steady rain that makes you pause and wonder why anyone would willingly sign up to run in it in the first place.

This weekend I traveled to New Bern to watch two of my sisters and two of my nephews run the Neuse River Bridge Run. If you’ve never been, it’s a hidden gem, once the first capital of North Carolina and home of Pepsi. It carries a quiet kind of history, the kind you feel and notice. The race itself is one of those experiences that asks something of you. A 5K, 10K, and half marathon, all taking runners over bridges and through the heart of downtown, along the water, it’s scenic.

This race had been on the calendar for months. My older sister and her son had run it a couple of years ago, and I had come to watch then too. So in some ways, this weekend felt familiar. And in other ways, it felt like everyone was stepping into it differently.

As the week went on, the forecast didn’t look promising. Rain, steady and consistent, right through race time. So Friday night, we found ourselves in a local sporting goods store picking up ponchos. Three of the four runners drove the course that evening, wanting to get a feel for what was ahead. My nephews even went out for a light run.

The preparation looked different for each of them. Some had been planning for months. Some had trained more intentionally. And one, my youngest nephew, decided to sign up when we walked up to the registration table that Friday. They were all running the same race, though very different entry points.

We made it to the race the next morning and the rain was, in fact, coming down. But for about an hour around the 5K, it let up and stopped just enough to give everyone a small dry window to run.

A good friend, my two younger nieces (whose mom was running), and I positioned ourselves on the main bridge to watch. The 10K and half marathon runners had already started, so we got to cheer for a wide range of people as they made their way across. It’s one of my favorite things to watch. The different clothing strategies for the weather. The range of ages and body types. The energy. And maybe most of all, the curiosity it brings up, why are they here? What made them sign up for this?

Standing there, it hit me: Everyone was running the same race, but not for the same reason. Each of my family members had their own “why.” Some had committed months ago. Some had trained for it. One had decided the day before. And because their reasons were different, their goals were different too. And yet, from the outside, you wouldn’t necessarily know that.

We do this all the time in life. We look at people and compare what we can see, their pace, their progress, and their outcomes. We assume we understand what it took for them to get there. We measure ourselves against something we don’t fully understand. But we rarely stop to ask a more honest question: What’s their why?

We made our way from the bridge toward the finish line, wanting to catch each of them on the home stretch. There’s something about that final stretch, it brings out a different side of people.

My 9th grade nephew ended up placing 10th overall. He had a strong kick at the end, passing a runner just ahead of him. He was moving so fast that when I went back to look at the pictures later, I laughed, I had completely missed him in the frame. It felt fitting. Because even when we think we’re paying attention, we still don’t capture the full picture.

What stayed with me most wasn’t just how they finished, it was that they all did. I was so proud of my family, the four of them out there running. They all crossed that line with something similar on their faces: a sense of accomplishment, a quiet confidence that comes from choosing to show up. They had different preparation. They had different reasons. And each a different story. Though each had the same stretch of road at the end. And maybe that’s the point. Not everyone is running the same race for the same reason. Not everyone started at the same place. Not everyone is measuring success the same way. So when we compare ourselves to someone else, we’re often comparing outcomes without understanding context.

Maybe the better question isn’t, How am I doing compared to them? Maybe it’s, Do I know why I’m running the race I’m in? And am I willing to define success based on that? And maybe, if I’m being honest, I left a little inspired too. Not to run their race, but to consider my own. To lace up a bit more consistently, to see what I’m capable of, and maybe even sign up for a 5K in the near future or at least be ready to join them on that bridge next May.

About the Author:

Sarah Currie, Ph.D., LCMHC, is a licensed clinical mental health counselor in North Carolina. She works with individuals, couples, and families to build self-awareness, strengthen relationships, and create meaningful, lasting change.