The typical response from people when I tell them I'm diabetic

Host: The track was silent now, long after the floodlights had dimmed and the last shouts of the crowd had faded into memory. A faint mist hung over the lanes, curling like smoke above the painted numbers. Beyond the stadium, the city hummed faintly — a world of neon and noise that couldn’t touch the calm of this small, sacred circle of asphalt and effort.

Jack stood by the bleachers, still in his running gear, his breath visible in the cold night air. Jeeny walked toward him, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets, her eyes soft but sharp — the kind of look that sees both your weakness and your strength and refuses to pity either.

Jeeny: softly, as she approached “Charlie Kimball once said, ‘The typical response from people when I tell them I’m diabetic is, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” You know, I’m not. I’m a better athlete because of diabetes rather than despite it. I’m more aware of my training, my fitness and more aware of nutrition. I’m more proactive about my health.’”

Jack: smiling faintly “He turned a diagnosis into discipline.”

Jeeny: nodding “Exactly. Everyone else saw limitation; he saw instruction.”

Host: The floodlights flickered faintly, just enough to throw pale gold light across the track. It caught the sheen of sweat still drying on Jack’s forehead, the tremor of effort not yet forgotten. Somewhere, a gate clanged shut, echoing through the empty stadium.

Jack: quietly “I admire that. Most people let pain define them. He used it to refine himself.”

Jeeny: “That’s the difference between endurance and resignation. Endurance looks pain in the eye and asks what it can teach.”

Jack: leaning against the railing “You think all hardship carries a lesson?”

Jeeny: after a moment “Maybe not a lesson. But it carries perspective. You see yourself clearly when you’re stripped of ease.”

Host: A soft wind swept through the stands, carrying the faint scent of earth, rubber, and rain. The kind of smell that reminds you of effort — tangible, raw, human.

Jack: thoughtful “You know, what strikes me about his words isn’t just acceptance — it’s ownership. He didn’t say ‘I live with diabetes.’ He said, ‘I’m better because of it.’ That’s transformation.”

Jeeny: “Yes. It’s the rare kind — the kind that doesn’t deny the wound, but gives it purpose. Like light filtering through stained glass — colored by what it’s passed through, but more beautiful because of it.”

Jack: smiling softly “You always find poetry in the pain.”

Jeeny: smiling back “Because pain is honest. It doesn’t pretend. It asks you to meet life without illusions.”

Host: The mist thickened, softening the edges of the world. The lanes beneath their feet looked endless, vanishing into silver fog — like paths not yet chosen, or challenges not yet met.

Jack: “When I was younger, I thought strength was about control — holding everything together, never letting anything break you. But people like Kimball show that strength isn’t resistance. It’s awareness. The courage to listen to your own limits and still move forward.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Strength isn’t about avoiding weakness. It’s about integrating it. Making it part of your craft, your rhythm, your focus.”

Jack: looking out over the track “You know, there’s something humbling about that. We live in a world obsessed with perfection, but Kimball’s kind of excellence comes from imperfection — from paying attention.”

Jeeny: softly “That’s what he meant by being a better athlete ‘because of it.’ He’s more attuned, more intentional. That’s what suffering does — it tunes your frequency to life itself.”

Host: The sound of dripping water echoed from somewhere in the distance — steady, rhythmic, like a metronome counting out patience.

Jack: quietly “He reminds me of that quote by Hemingway — ‘The world breaks everyone, and afterward, many are strong at the broken places.’”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Yes. Except Kimball doesn’t just become strong; he becomes wise. The difference between recovery and growth is consciousness.”

Jack: after a pause “So you think awareness is the real gift of adversity?”

Jeeny: “Absolutely. Pain slows you down long enough to see yourself. It’s not the suffering that shapes you — it’s the noticing.”

Host: The fog curled lower, cloaking the track in a soft hush. The floodlights buzzed once more before dimming to amber. Jack looked down at his shoes, mud and sweat still clinging to them, and then back up to Jeeny.

Jack: softly “Funny thing — I used to see injury or illness as the enemy. But now I think it’s just life’s way of forcing you to train differently.”

Jeeny: nodding “Exactly. Some people get faster by pushing harder. Others get better by learning when to pause. Awareness, not aggression, wins the long game.”

Jack: “Kimball found control in what most people would call limitation.”

Jeeny: “And that’s the paradox, isn’t it? The constraint became his freedom. Because once you stop resenting what you can’t change, you can finally start using it.”

Host: A faint crack of thunder rolled in the distance, far beyond the city. The world seemed to hold its breath for a moment, listening.

Jack: quietly, almost to himself “He turned an apology into an anthem.”

Jeeny: softly smiling “Yes. And that’s what courage sounds like — not loud, not defiant, but quietly certain: ‘I’m better because of it.’”

Host: The rain began again, gentle but insistent, darkening the asphalt one drop at a time. Neither of them moved. The moment felt almost sacred — two souls standing under a sky that was both storm and sanctuary.

Jeeny: “You know, what I love about that quote is how it shifts the narrative from survival to stewardship. Kimball didn’t just endure his condition; he learned to manage it, honor it, and let it guide him toward balance.”

Jack: softly “He became his own coach.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And maybe that’s what we all need to learn — to stop waiting for life to get easier, and instead get wiser about how we meet it.”

Host: The rain softened, the world washed clean again, the air fresh and alive with renewal. The track gleamed under the soft lamplight, each lane now a mirror — not of struggle, but of perseverance.

Jeeny: quietly, almost like prayer “Maybe that’s the true measure of greatness — not how fast you run, but how consciously.”

Jack: smiling faintly “And how grateful.”

Host: The night grew still, holding their silence like something precious. In that silence, Charlie Kimball’s words lingered — steady, grounded, shining with quiet victory:

That limitations are not walls,
but windows —
openings through which awareness enters.

That the body may falter,
but discipline redeems it.

And that true strength is not measured by perfection,
but by presence —
the grace of knowing yourself completely,
and still moving forward.

Jeeny looked up at the dark sky and whispered, her voice soft but sure:

“Maybe we all have something that slows us down —
but maybe that’s what keeps us alive enough to notice the race.”

Host: The rain eased,
the mist lifted,
and beneath the dim lights, the track gleamed — endless, honest, and whole.