Half My Height, Twice the Speed: Why Slow and Steady Wins in Schools (and on Hills)

Day two on the Italian Camino had already proven challenging. The morning sun was gentle, the path winding, and my legs reminded me that yes, yesterday’s 19kms were very real. I was plodding steadily up yet another hill when, suddenly, a blur of energy shot past me. I blinked. And blinked again.

Half my height, a whirlwind of focus and determination, the Japanese woman who I would later learn was named Meg, barreled past me with a speed that defied both physics and my own sense of dignity. One steep hill, two hills, three hills, and she was gone, swallowed by the horizon. For a moment, I questioned my own pace: had I misjudged my stride? Was my strategy flawed?

Two hours later, as if by magic, she reappeared. Again, she zipped past me, looking as fresh as a daisy. Confused, I asked how it was possible. The answer was both simple and striking: in the previous township, she had paused for coffee and a pastry, and now, renewed and refueled, she was barreling past me once more. Her bursts of speed, punctuated by rest, had her perpetually ahead, or so it seemed.

Three kilometres later, I approached a small town intersected by a train line. There she was again, sitting at a railway bar with a cold beer in hand, casually enjoying life as though the concept of haste were utterly foreign. We stopped to chat, sharing laughs about the strange synchronicity of our paths. I continued walking, appreciating the rhythm of my own pace. Yet strangely, the Camino conspired again: she passed me once more, only for me to arrive at our accommodation before her 75 minutes later, checking in as she walked through the door.

The lesson was as old as time: the tortoise wins the race. Meg’s speed bursts, though impressive, could not overcome the steady, consistent pace of my own journey. She might have flown up hills, but it was the unrelenting rhythm of small, consistent steps that ultimately brought me to the finish line first.

For leaders in education, the metaphor is painfully clear. Change, progress, and improvement rarely happen in dramatic, sprint-like bursts. Staff may have moments of brilliant energy, brilliant ideas, or passionate action, but if the momentum is unsustainable, it rarely translates into long-term success. Leadership is not about rushing from one initiative to the next or expecting immediate buy-in from every teacher, every department, every parent. It is about consistency: setting clear goals, communicating expectations, nurturing development, and making steady, intentional steps toward transformation.

In schools, this translates to practical practices. Professional development, curriculum implementation, or cultural change can’t be rushed. Teachers, like Camino walkers, have different rhythms, different paces. Some will sprint ahead, full of ideas and energy; others may move slowly, methodically, ensuring every step is solid. The challenge for leaders is to honor both, recognize bursts of brilliance but ensure the overall journey maintains a sustainable pace. Change management, too, benefits from patience. Quick wins may impress in the short term, but long-term adoption requires steady reinforcement, support, and reflection.

Meg’s repeated appearances, her bursts of speed, her leisurely beer stop, it was a vivid reminder that life and leadership are rarely linear. It’s not the fastest who ultimately succeed; it’s the one who balances energy with endurance, urgency with patience, brilliance with consistency.

So, as I reflect on that second day of the Camino, I am reminded that leadership, like walking 28 kilometres uphill in the Italian sun, is a marathon. And in that marathon, slow and steady truly does win the race.