Faith’s Mile
I was moving very slowly this morning. The last few weeks seem to be catching up with me. Feeling overwhelmed, encouraged, helpless, discouraged, all at the same time…. On the other hand, yesterday could have just been a long day: I was at the office at 6:30 am to present on U.S. visa policy and legal awareness, had a productive, yet lengthy, day of meetings, tuned in to some conference sessions, and then met a friend for happy hour (not, to be clear, the cause of my sluggish Friday morning). I got home and tortured myself by hate-watching And Just Like That. Why did they bring Aidan back? WHY? Why is Miranda a complete mess? Are they going to kill Harry? HARRY?
So, while I was slowly reading the news on my couch questioning why some countries are not on the list of state sponsors of terrorism (👀), not ready to face even a shower much less the day, scrolling TikTok mindlessly, I came across the story of Faith Kipyegon, and my day instantly became better.
Faith Kipyegon, the most decorated female middle-distance runner in history, stepped onto the Stade Sébastien Charléty track in Paris Thursday with a singular ambition: to become the first woman to break the four-minute mile. As a runner myself, the thought of a four-minute mile (heck, even an 8-minute mile) is an incredible goal.
She did not achieve it. At least, not this time. Her final time, 4:06.42, fell short of the four-minute mark, but that statistic alone misses the larger story. In trying, and in doing so publicly and vulnerably, Faith Kipyegon offered the world something far more meaningful than a broken record. She offered us a profound reminder that trying matters. I saw so many TikToks of people watching, rapt, while she raced to reach that goal. They watched with hope and deep belief in her strength and purpose, even while knowing the final outcome. Faith reminded us that in the pursuit of excellence, even without immediate reward, there is no failure, only a triumph of courage.
In a world saturated with headlines about the collapse of systems, civility, and hope, Faith’s effort stood out as something rare and revitalizing. A woman, who rose through brilliance and resilience, navigating structural barriers in a rural Kenyan context and outside traditional Western pathways, took aim at one of the most storied barriers in sport. She did not conquer it, but she dared to do so, and she elevated more than herself.
She reminded us that the act of attempting the impossible still matters. Especially for women. Especially for young people who have been taught to lower their expectations. Especially for students around the world who run barefoot to school with ambition burning quietly beneath their feet.
Faith Kipyegon’s journey defies the prevailing Western myth that greatness is born primarily in structured classrooms or elite institutions. She hails from the Rift Valley in Kenya, a region known for producing world-class runners but also characterized by economic scarcity and limited formal educational access. Growing up in a large family, Faith discovered running by necessity, through the daily rhythms of rural life, shaped by both constraint and strength.
While her story is inspirational, it also challenges the gatekeeping mechanisms we have constructed around success. In my own work in international education, I have met hundreds of students from places like Nairobi, Shimla, and Sunflower, Mississippi, young people who do not have the “right” zip code, passport, or résumé, but who possess courage, brilliance, and imagination – despite criteria shaped by colonial legacies, global inequities, and privilege. They are often overlooked by systems that prioritize credentials over character.
The mile is a race, a unit of linear measure, a split, but it is also a poetic unit of effort and aspiration. For men, the four-minute barrier was broken by Roger Bannister in 1954 and has since become routine among elite male runners. For women, the sub-four-minute mile remains elusive. Physiologically, sociologically, and symbolically, it is a space that has not yet been breached. Faith Kipyegon, already a three-time Olympic gold medalist and four-time world champion, did not need to chase this record to validate her legacy. Yet she chose to, and that choice is what matters.
For students, particularly girls and young women, this message is vital. The pressure to perform perfectly, to succeed predictably, and to only take risks when the outcome is assured, is suffocating. Faith’s mile teaches us that there is value in the striving itself, even when we fall short. I’d argue, especially when we fall short.
In international education, we ask students to dream, but we rarely interrogate what kind of dreams we allow, encourage, or resource. Too often, our systems reward conformity, not courage. Students are funneled into “safe” degree programs, “practical” careers, and “standard” timelines. But when I speak with students from across the globe, whether in India, Jordan, Ethiopia, or Mississippi, they are not seeking safety. They are seeking meaning. They are looking for a way to make their lives count, and not just economically, but ethically and socially.
When Faith ran her mile, she made room for every girl who has been told she is not strong enough, smart enough, fast enough, or simply “enough.” She ran for those who live outside the spotlight, who do not fit the traditional mold, who have never had their potential quantified by standardized tests or GPA curves. In that sense, Faith is an educator. While she may not identify as such, her life teaches a curriculum of courage. Her loss was, paradoxically, a lesson in victory.
There is also something irresistible about her name: Faith. In the Christian tradition, faith is “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” In secular language, i.e. Merriam Webster, faith is the “act of complete trust or confidence in someone or something.”
Faith Kipyegon lives up to that name. She reminds us to have faith in possibility. Faith in the human spirit. Faith in non-linear paths, in late bloomers, in the “unqualified,” in the deeply qualified who are still waiting for the world to see them clearly. Her story gives me renewed motivation in my own work, to build systems that recognize potential in all its forms, to advocate for students whose brilliance does not show up on paper, to design programs that welcome the dreamers and the strivers.
Faith may or may not break the four-minute barrier in her lifetime. What she has already broken, our assumptions and our cynicism, is arguably more important. In that one race, watched by millions with awe and admiration (live or on TikTok), she gave us a template for bravery, for how to fall short with dignity, for how to use our platform to perform and inspire, and for how to live lives rooted in purpose over perfection.
As I work with students who are navigating their own races, whether applying for a visa, adapting to a new culture, or choosing between their family’s expectations and their personal calling, I will remember Faith’s mile. I will remember that the best thing we can give our students is not certainty, but confidence. We shouldn’t give them the answer but the invitation to try. Greatness is not confined to formal structures. Nor is it linear. It is cultivated in pursuit, in resilience, and in moments of self-belief that bloom without permission.
In a time when faith, in ourselves, in institutions, in the future, can feel difficult to maintain, Faith Kipyegon reminds us what it looks like to keep going. Even when we’re not sure if we’ll make it. Especially when we aren’t sure…
With every race, she proves that the most important barrier we break is internal, and the most lasting records are those we leave in each other’s hearts.