For several weeks I dragged myself through life feeling like a phone stuck on 1 percent battery — barely functioning, desperately needing a recharge, and somehow still expected to perform. It turns out I had walking pneumonia, which, despite the name, is less “casually strolling through” and more “dragging yourself forward while questioning every life decision,” as my mother so kindly pointed out.

But did I rest? Did I listen to my body like a responsible adult? Of course not. Instead, I convinced myself I could juggle work, training, social obligations, and the general chaos of life while pretending my body wasn’t waving a giant red flag. Slowing down felt like failure. So, I pushed harder.

Spoiler alert: This was a terrible plan.

Eventually, my body made the decision for me — complete exhaustion, brain fog, and an inability to function forced me to stop. So, I did something terrifying: I let go.

At first, resting felt unnatural, like I was breaking some unwritten rule that says we must always be productive and striving. But slowly, I realized that recovery wasn’t weakness, it was wisdom. When I finally got the all-clear from my doctor to start moving again, I took it slow, focusing on what my body could do rather than what I thought it should do.

Then, in a moment of what can only be described as questionable decision-making, I signed up for a local 10K race. I embraced a walk-run strategy to soak in the experience rather than chase a finish time.

No surprise — I came in dead last.

Not “somewhere in the back” or “toward the end.” No — dead last. If there had been a parade float behind me, I would have been holding a sign that said The End. Nothing is more humbling than having the entire sweep team escort you into the finish corral.

But here’s what surprised me: It was one of the best races of my life.

I’ve been on the other side of this. I’ve raced at peak performance, hit personal bests, stood on podiums — and felt completely empty at the finish line. I’ve crossed the tape exhausted, burnt out, and wondering why I didn’t feel the pride I expected.

This time, finishing last didn’t feel like failure. It felt like freedom. I ran (and walked) on my own terms, without pressure, without expectation — just gratitude for the simple joy of moving forward. It was humbling, yes, but also exhilarating. There should be medals for coming in last.

Too often, we equate success with speed, strength, or finishing first. But true success is showing up, even when progress feels slow. It’s knowing when to rest and when to push forward.

To anyone feeling like they’re falling behind — whether in fitness, work, or life — hear this: Your pace is your pace. Moving forward, no matter how slow, is still moving forward. Prioritize your health.

Listen to your body. And remember, if you ever find yourself crossing the finish line last, do it with your head held high — because finishing, at any speed, is always worth celebrating. You are not alone in this journey.

Keep showing up.

— Amy Tucker is a University Instructor at Thompson Rivers University and proudly calls herself an “accidental athlete.” As a senior swimmer and long-distance open-water enthusiast, she has represented Team Canada on the Age-Group Triathlon Team for the past three years. Amy is passionate about encouraging others to embrace fitness and wellness at any stage of life, proving it’s never too late to chase new challenges.