Strides Before My Eyes

“My life raced before my eyes.”

It’s a phrase we hear in movies, read in books, or say half-seriously after a brush with danger—an imagined moment at the edge of death when the sum of our days races through our minds in an instant. But the truth is more subtle, and far more profound: Our lives have already been racing before our eyes. From the very beginning.

The moment we are born, the starting gun fires. We take our first breath like that first stride off the line, not knowing the course ahead, not yet understanding the distance. From that point on, we’ve been running—the long race of our lives. Each step, each mile, lays down the route behind us.

At first, the course feels endless. Childhood is the open stretch where time doesn’t matter, where every day feels like a marathon of play, where the finish line isn’t even in sight. A summer can feel eternal when you’re young—an unmeasured road that seems to go on forever.

But as the years pass, we start to notice the markers along the way. Five miles becomes fifteen. Fifteen becomes thirty. Thirty becomes sixty. Each marker feels closer together than the last. The horizon that once seemed infinite begins to shrink. You realize time is a course you cannot extend, only run.

And the miles accumulate. At first, they fill with joy—new friends, new adventures, first victories. Then they gather weight—injuries, setbacks, regrets, things you meant to do but didn’t. Each mile marker behind you carries both the triumphs and the missed chances. Some you’ll replay endlessly in your head, others you’ll forget entirely.

That’s when nostalgia begins to run alongside you. It whispers that earlier miles were easier, lighter, better. But nostalgia is tricky—it remembers only the golden moments and hides the hills, the cramps, the exhaustion. It tempts you to look back instead of running forward.

The truth is, no mile is perfect. Every part of the course carries its own challenges and small beauties. And the danger lies in forgetting that the step you’re taking right now will one day be one of those memories—either cherished or lost.

Because here’s the hard truth: you will not remember most of your miles. Whole stretches of the race will vanish from your memory. But they mattered. They were part of your pace, part of your effort, part of the whole run that is your life.

Growing older is not unlike hitting the later miles of a marathon. Your energy dips. Some parts of the course are behind you for good. You lose some speed, some lightness. But you also gain perspective. You’ve learned when to push, when to rest, when to simply breathe and take in the view.

If you’re always waiting for the “perfect mile,” you’ll miss the one you’re in. Life isn’t just about chasing a finish line—it’s about finding meaning in the stride itself. The rhythm of your breath. The sound of your feet on the ground. The people running beside you.

Because one day, you’ll hit the final mile marker. There will be a last sunrise, a last race morning, a last step. And in that moment, if you had the chance to go back, you would give anything to feel the ordinary miles again—the easy jogs, the steady runs, even the grueling hills.

But you can’t. There are no repeats, no reruns, no do-overs. The course is one and done.

The only real tragedy isn’t that the race ends. The tragedy is not being present while you’re running it.

So run it now. Run it however you can. Smile at your fellow runners.

Take in the scenery. Feel the burn of the uphill and the joy of the downhill.

Breathe it all in.

Because the race is happening right now.

And your life…

is in stride.

~Dean Karnazes