Slow and steady doesn't win the race
"One of them is going to win the race, and none of them are slow."
Aesop’s story of the tortoise and the hare always spoke to me because I spent much of my life moving slowly.
I spoke so slowly that in seventh grade, a classmate asked if I knew how to talk. Once, some guys nicknamed me “One-Speed Gentry,” and they pretended to shift gears to speed-walk ahead of me. I ran slowly, too; I remember being proud of an 18-minute mile in my mid-20s.
For a guy who plodded along and couldn’t be rushed, the mantra “slow and steady wins the race” served me well.
But it was false. In my early thirties, I finally learned that it’s not slow and steady that wins the race.
After I became a father, I started taking care of my physical fitness. I changed my diet, started exercising, and lost weight. My new routine allowed me to run faster and farther, so I started entering a few races.
That brought me to the Virginia Ten Miler in 2016. My primary goal was to finish the race in under 90 minutes. That’s nine minutes per mile — half of the 18-minute pace I used to take pride in. My secondary goal was to have the race photographers capture at least one shot with a smile on my face.
The first mile of that race was the fastest mile I’d ever run. I blazed forward, passing other runners left and right. When I approached the inflatable mile marker, I smiled at the race clock. I ran that first mile in just over 7:30.
Of course, the first mile was entirely downhill.
The next two miles of that race followed a steep slope uphill with no relief in sight. I slogged onward and slowed down. I crossed the three-mile mark in pain with sweat coursing through my eyes. I knew that one of the photo stations was positioned at the top of the hill, and I managed a halfhearted expression somewhere between utter pain and a smile.
As I plodded forward at the top of the hill, my mind returned to the moral of the Tortoise and the Hare. I thought, “Well, slow and steady wins the race, right?”
A heartbeat later, I saw a pack of runners coming toward me on the other side of the street. These were the leaders in the Ten Miler. They had reached the half-way point and turned back, sprinting toward the finish line. Fewer than 30 minutes into the race, they were five miles ahead of me.
That’s when it hit me.
“One of them is going to win the race,” I told myself. “And none of them is slow.”
I realized then that it isn’t “slow and steady” that wins the race. In Aesop’s fable, the tortoise didn’t win because he was slow. If the hare hadn’t stopped to take a nap, then he would have crossed the finish line before the tortoise was halfway done. Then Aesop would have told us, “Fast and steady wins the race.”
In reality, neither “fast” nor “slow” alone will win a race. Instead, steady wins the race.
Steadiness is the defining quality that puts a racer across the finish line. Regardless of your pace, steady progress toward your goal will help you win the race.
Webster’s dictionary defines “steady” in several ways. The word can mean “firm in position,” “direct or sure in movement,” or “constant in feeling, principle, purpose, or attachment.” Each of these definitions describes an unrelenting, consistent dedication. That is what leads to victory.
This is true not only in a race, but in schooling, investing, relationships, and countless other endeavors. Students who engage in a regular routine of spaced study sessions have better long-term retention than crammers. A consistent savings strategy yields higher long-term stock returns than trying to play the market. And there’s a reason why we call it “going steady” when a couple commits to each other. Their steadiness allows them to build a stronger relationship.
On that day of the Virginia Ten Miler, the winner was Paul Sugut, who crossed the finish line in 47 minutes, 42 seconds. I finished far behind him in 373rd place. In other words, slow and steady didn’t cross the finish line first.
However, I did cross the finish line in 89 minutes, 29 seconds ― just a bit faster than my 90-minute goal. I had run farther and faster than I’d ever imagined only a few years before. I won the race against One-Speed Gentry.
Reaching my goal had little to do with being “slow and steady,” but it had everything to do with being steady. I didn’t stop when I wanted to. I kept moving forward toward my goal. I was surrounded by hundreds of other runners who did the same thing.
Whatever race you’re running, keep this in mind. If you can move quickly and make major leaps forward, do it. But not if that sacrifices your long-term endurance.
If you’re taking baby steps, that’s fine. But keep up the momentum.
Because regardless of your pace, steady wins the race.