The Last Two Across the Finish Line

 

Many years ago, I attended the Ranger Indoctrination Program (RIP), which is now known as the Ranger Assessment and Selection Program (RASP).

One of the events was a five-mile run that had to be completed within a strict time limit. It was designed to create stress and accelerate attrition. 

About halfway through, I caught up to another candidate who was struggling and out of breath. He was in good physical condition, muscular and built more like a bodybuilder than a runner. He wasn’t a quitter, but this event just wasn’t his strength. I had a choice to keep my pace and finish comfortably, or slow down and help him. I slowed down and stayed with him. We spent the rest of the run pushing each other to finish. By the time we approached the finish line, everyone else had already crossed. Several candidates had already been dropped for not making it in time. The Black Hats (what our instructors were called) saw us coming from a distance. We were the last two across the finish line. And they informed us that we'd both passed. We’d moved on to the next round.

At the time, I didn’t think much about the decision, as during Infantry Basic Training, Advanced Individual Training, and RIP, one lesson was endlessly repeated: 

Never leave your buddy behind.

As you could probably guess at this point, this story isn’t really about running or about my experience as a Rippie. It’s about a lesson that has stayed with me for more than thirty years.

And I’ve seen the same principle apply in business: Some of the best teams I’ve been part of were built by people willing to invest time and energy in helping others succeed, even when there was no immediate benefit to themselves. Likewise, many of the best leaders I’ve worked with understood that their job wasn’t to win alone. It was to help the team cross the finish line together.

Words Carry Weight

 

Years ago, when I was serving in the 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment (The Old Guard), a few of us had gone out to Murphy’s in Old Town Alexandria after payday. When we returned later that night, another soldier stopped me outside our barracks.

“Hey Gabaree!”

He asked why I was there. I assumed he meant why I was out that late and told him I was probably a little too inebriated and needed to go sleep it off.

He stopped me again.

“No. Why are you HERE?”

He meant, “Why I was in the Old Guard?”

At the time, the question felt oddly philosophical for the middle of the night after a few drinks, but I shrugged and answered honestly. I told him it was an honor to help provide funeral honors for families who had lost someone in service to our country. That it mattered to make every detail as perfect as possible so families knew their loved one was respected and honored properly.

Months later, that same soldier stopped me in a hallway and thanked me.

I was confused until he explained that the night we spoke, he had been planning to go AWOL. He was leaving for good and trying to decide whether any of what we were doing mattered. Something about that conversation changed his mind.

I’ve thought about that moment many times over the years.

Words carry weight. Most of the time, we do not realize when someone is searching for meaning, encouragement, or simply a reason to keep going. We are usually caught up in our own world and do not always realize how much impact a few words can have.

I’m thankful that conversation went the way it did. If I had answered differently, things might have turned out very differently for him.

It became a reminder to me to be mindful of what we say. Sometimes a few words can change the direction of someone’s life.

Tim