Recently, I had the incredible opportunity to support a good friend of mine who was competing in a 250-mile ultramarathon through the Arizona desert. That’s right—two hundred and fifty miles. On foot. Over five days. It’s the kind of feat that defies logic and stretches the limits of what you think the human body and spirit are capable of.
My role was to serve as one of his pacers. Over the course of three segments, I ran about 50 miles alongside him. Compared to his journey, I felt like a blip on the radar. But that feeling—how I began to view my contribution as only 50 miles—became the seed for something deeper: a shift in perspective.
The race was part of a multi-event week. Alongside the 250-mile ultra, the organizers hosted three other races: one around 40 miles, another about 80 miles, and a third clocking in at roughly 125 miles. Each of these races, on its own, is an astonishing test of endurance. But during the event, something interesting happened.
You could tell who was running which distance by the color of their race bibs. So, as we navigated the course, we’d often encounter other runners on overlapping trails. Someone would pass by and we’d say, “Oh, they’re only doing the 125.” Or, “He’s just in the shorter race.” And at one point, I caught myself thinking, “I’m only pacing 50 miles.”
Now, let’s stop right there. Only.
That word stuck with me. It started to feel like a disservice—to them, and to myself. When did running 125 miles become something to minimize? How does 80 miles become “just 80”? Why was I brushing off my 50 miles, a distance that just a few years ago would’ve seemed impossible to me?
That’s where the recalibration came in.
It’s easy to adjust your view of success or difficulty based on what’s immediately around you. When you’re standing next to someone who’s doing something massive—like 250 miles massive—it can warp your perception of what counts as impressive. But standing alone, each of these races represents something extraordinary. The training, the grit, the mental endurance required…it’s nothing short of remarkable.
This experience made me think about how often we do this in everyday life. We measure others’ accomplishments against our own—sometimes unconsciously. Someone finishes their first 5K, and we think, “That’s cute. I’ve done marathons.” Someone lands a local partnership for their small business, and we mentally discount it because it’s not national scale.
But here’s the thing: to that person, that 5K might be the culmination of a years-long journey of transformation. That local partnership might be the first real breakthrough in a dream they’ve been chasing since college. Their success isn’t diminished just because someone else has gone farther, faster, or higher.
It’s not about adjusting the goalposts for others—it’s about recognizing that every journey is unique. We can celebrate someone running 250 miles while still cheering just as loudly for the person who completes 40. The greatness lies not in the number alone, but in the growth and effort it represents.
And I’m incredibly proud of my friend. What he did out there was superhuman. I got to witness him fight through the miles, overcome pain, and keep moving with nothing but stubborn belief and a few PB&J’s. It was an honor to support him—even if my part was “only” 50 miles.
I’m also in awe of every other competitor on that course—regardless of their bib color. Because they all showed up. They all ran in the same rain, the same muddy conditions, the same elevation, the same self-doubt. And they kept going.
Perspective can be tricky. It’s helpful to zoom out sometimes, but it’s also powerful to zoom in—to see someone’s achievement for what it is, not what it isn’t.
So whether you’re running your first mile or your hundredth, launching a side hustle or scaling a company, starting fresh or leveling up—your path matters. Your progress counts. Your milestones are worth celebrating.
Let’s all recalibrate from time to time. Let’s notice when we start saying “only,” and instead, try saying “wow.” Because every step forward, in whatever arena you’re in, is worth a moment of recognition.
See you next week,
Brent, your Rivr Guide
