Finishing Last
I'm a competitive person. By that I mean I like to compete. I don't care much about winning, though it can be pretty cool. I also don't care much about losing, though sometimes it can suck. I like to play - play hard, play well. I like to try my best. I like to compete well. In truth, I would rather play well and lose than play bad and win (you won't see me giving the win back, though). This may sound like blasphemy to the traditionally competitive person. To many, "competing" means fighting to be the best. Winning means that they are better. Falling short means that they are lesser. Lesser is no good. They must be the best and they will do anything, including beg, borrow, steal, and cheat, to get there. I'm the opposite. To me, competition is not about winning and losing. It's about playing as well as I can and enjoying the game, win or lose. Every game has a winner and a loser. I really don't care which one I end up being as long as I've competed well.
I learned long ago that competing well says more about character than it does physical ability. This was put in very clear relief for me by my mother during my senior season of high school tennis. I was blessed with a car, a 1981 Mustang (the totally un-cool Mustang years) that stalled if you hit the gas too hard. It was an ugly brown and had a barf colored interior, but it was mine. Well, mine to drive. It really belonged to my parents. I was able to drive myself to school and back and to tennis lessons and to friends houses on weekend nights. It was pretty cool and more than my sister ever had. Anyway, back then I had a habit of cussing, crying, and carrying on when matches didn't go my way. I thought if I belly-ached enough people would think I didn't usually double-fault in key situations or miss easy backhands, that somehow my most recent error was an aberration. I particularly grew to love the "F-Word', which I felt supremely useful in nearly all situations. Unfortunately, my parents did not agree. After being warned many, many times, they finally followed through with their threat. My mom used to jingled my beloved car keys at my matches when I started to get out of control. I knew the consequences - if I kept on, I'd lose the use of my car. One day, I dropped about a dozen too many "F-Bombs", so many that my father left the courts embarrassed by my behavior. When I got home, my mother asked me for my car keys and informed me that for the next month I'd be without my car. Well, fuck.
I can't say I was perfect after that. I still enjoyed a good expletive every now and again (OK, maybe more than that), but I stopped crying and belly-aching as much. I grew to see that my on-court behavior spoke about me and my character, not how well I could hit a tennis ball. Everyone watching me could see I was a decent player who tried hard and never gave up. That's the image I wanted my opponents and spectators to walk away with. I didn't want them to go away thinking I was a little asshole who cried all the time when she fucked up. I wanted them to see that I could win and lose graciously. By my sophomore year in college, I was a team captain and knew I had to lead by example. My days of blowing up were behind me. I was calm, cool, and collected on the court. OK, so there were the two code violations I received for swearing (the only two given in the conference in years) - one for saying "bullshit" about an opponents crappy call and one for saying "God damn it" in a similar situation, but for the most part I controlled myself. Oh, I still cussed like a sailor on the court (still do), but I learned to do it a lot quieter.
I carried these lessons with me as I grew into true adulthood and began forming my current philosophy on competition and character. In graduate school, I ran competitively. Running is a humbling sport. In truth, you only run against yourself. You can think you're running against the girl next to you, but it's your lungs that feel like they're bleeding and your legs that feel like concrete, not hers. Challenge her, race her, and you're going to pay the price if you stray too far from yourself. Case in point, St. Patrick's Day Run 1993 - Manhattan, Kansas. I already had a solid PR going. I was cruising in second place and steadily approaching the leader. When I got within reach of her, I started trying to win. I kicked too early, WAY too early. I ended up falling to third place before all was said and done. If I'd kept on at my pace I might have caught her by the finish line. But no, I had to step outside of myself and my ability and race her. From that day forward, I ran only against myself. And I never lost again.
I still compete to this day. I'll compete at anything that seems fun, whether I know I can win or not. I'll play pool, bounce ping-pong balls into plastic cups, do pull-ups, walk a mile, shoot free-throws, throw darts (which I really, really suck at). Seriously anything simply because I love trying to win. I love pushing myself and others to be better. And that's what competition can do, if you let it. It can make us better - better tennis players, dart thrower, runners, and above all better people. As long as we don't get carried away by the winning and losing. Being the best doesn't matter if you're an asshole on the way to getting there. I'd rather finish last and know that I did it the right way.
I told someone recently that I didn't mind finishing last. What?!? LAST?!? You see, I'm competing for her heart I guess you could say. Getting to her first doesn't matter and neither does second. Third? Nope. Fourth? Nope. Last. I want to be the last. I like to say THAT says a lot about my character, too. I can graciously lose time and time again and wait patiently for her to figure things out. I'm not jealous or obsessive. I don't cry or belly-ache. I don't curse or drop F-Bombs. I hold my head high and know that one day my time will come. I'll be the last one across the finish line and that'll be plenty good enough for me.
I learned long ago that competing well says more about character than it does physical ability. This was put in very clear relief for me by my mother during my senior season of high school tennis. I was blessed with a car, a 1981 Mustang (the totally un-cool Mustang years) that stalled if you hit the gas too hard. It was an ugly brown and had a barf colored interior, but it was mine. Well, mine to drive. It really belonged to my parents. I was able to drive myself to school and back and to tennis lessons and to friends houses on weekend nights. It was pretty cool and more than my sister ever had. Anyway, back then I had a habit of cussing, crying, and carrying on when matches didn't go my way. I thought if I belly-ached enough people would think I didn't usually double-fault in key situations or miss easy backhands, that somehow my most recent error was an aberration. I particularly grew to love the "F-Word', which I felt supremely useful in nearly all situations. Unfortunately, my parents did not agree. After being warned many, many times, they finally followed through with their threat. My mom used to jingled my beloved car keys at my matches when I started to get out of control. I knew the consequences - if I kept on, I'd lose the use of my car. One day, I dropped about a dozen too many "F-Bombs", so many that my father left the courts embarrassed by my behavior. When I got home, my mother asked me for my car keys and informed me that for the next month I'd be without my car. Well, fuck.
I can't say I was perfect after that. I still enjoyed a good expletive every now and again (OK, maybe more than that), but I stopped crying and belly-aching as much. I grew to see that my on-court behavior spoke about me and my character, not how well I could hit a tennis ball. Everyone watching me could see I was a decent player who tried hard and never gave up. That's the image I wanted my opponents and spectators to walk away with. I didn't want them to go away thinking I was a little asshole who cried all the time when she fucked up. I wanted them to see that I could win and lose graciously. By my sophomore year in college, I was a team captain and knew I had to lead by example. My days of blowing up were behind me. I was calm, cool, and collected on the court. OK, so there were the two code violations I received for swearing (the only two given in the conference in years) - one for saying "bullshit" about an opponents crappy call and one for saying "God damn it" in a similar situation, but for the most part I controlled myself. Oh, I still cussed like a sailor on the court (still do), but I learned to do it a lot quieter.
I carried these lessons with me as I grew into true adulthood and began forming my current philosophy on competition and character. In graduate school, I ran competitively. Running is a humbling sport. In truth, you only run against yourself. You can think you're running against the girl next to you, but it's your lungs that feel like they're bleeding and your legs that feel like concrete, not hers. Challenge her, race her, and you're going to pay the price if you stray too far from yourself. Case in point, St. Patrick's Day Run 1993 - Manhattan, Kansas. I already had a solid PR going. I was cruising in second place and steadily approaching the leader. When I got within reach of her, I started trying to win. I kicked too early, WAY too early. I ended up falling to third place before all was said and done. If I'd kept on at my pace I might have caught her by the finish line. But no, I had to step outside of myself and my ability and race her. From that day forward, I ran only against myself. And I never lost again.
I still compete to this day. I'll compete at anything that seems fun, whether I know I can win or not. I'll play pool, bounce ping-pong balls into plastic cups, do pull-ups, walk a mile, shoot free-throws, throw darts (which I really, really suck at). Seriously anything simply because I love trying to win. I love pushing myself and others to be better. And that's what competition can do, if you let it. It can make us better - better tennis players, dart thrower, runners, and above all better people. As long as we don't get carried away by the winning and losing. Being the best doesn't matter if you're an asshole on the way to getting there. I'd rather finish last and know that I did it the right way.
I told someone recently that I didn't mind finishing last. What?!? LAST?!? You see, I'm competing for her heart I guess you could say. Getting to her first doesn't matter and neither does second. Third? Nope. Fourth? Nope. Last. I want to be the last. I like to say THAT says a lot about my character, too. I can graciously lose time and time again and wait patiently for her to figure things out. I'm not jealous or obsessive. I don't cry or belly-ache. I don't curse or drop F-Bombs. I hold my head high and know that one day my time will come. I'll be the last one across the finish line and that'll be plenty good enough for me.
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