Competing

I got my first taste of real competition in the spring of 1982 at an indoor track meet in the Wausau West High School fieldhouse. I ran the 400 meters, or maybe it was 440 yards.

It did not go well.

I spent the night before worrying, with my stomach trying to turn itself inside out. I was almost trembling with fear as I toed the starting line. The gun went off and within the blink of an eye I was 20 yards behind my competitors, and I spend the next minute and 15 seconds experiencing acute physical and psychic pain.

I crossed the finish line not just last, but a spirit-crushing, crying into-your-pillow-at-night, I-can't-believe-how-slow-I-am kind of last. It is a testament to my stubbornness and masochism that I didn't quit track that day. But it also might be a testament to my stupidity, as well, because I was last in every single subsequent track race I entered, for the next three seasons.

Except for one.

It was a cold and rainy spring day in 1984 in Colby, and we were in a meet with two other teams. I can't remember where they were from. But it was an atrocious day to be outside, and the officials, in order to save time, decided to run boys and girls together in the mile race. Usually, the girls would run first, then the boys.

My ineptness as a track runner was surpassed by only one other quality: Sexism. I got to the starting line thinking to myself, "I cannot be beaten by a girl."

As the gun went off, I sprinted to the front of the pack, making sure that no one female was in front of my. As we headed around the first curve, one of my female teammates, a leggy miler named Bridget, tried to get in front of me, but I surged ahead of her, and kept on going.

That race was one of fear and determination, and my legs, instead of feeling leaden and dead, felt lively and strong, and I just ran and ran. I crossed the line in 5:04 for the mile. A mediocre performance by all standards, but wildly, incredibly fast for me. My regular times were 5:40 to 5:30.

I never ran that fast again.

As I've gotten a lot older, and have been beaten by girls, women and old ladies, I have dropped my caveman perspective toward female athletes. But more importantly, I have matured into a whole new attitude toward competition. I still get nervous before races, but I'm not really out to beat anyone. To me, we're all on the same team, and we're all there to help each other get the most out of ourselves. The competition is simply a catalyst for achievement.

And that's how I've come to view the Great Blog Showdown I've entered with my nephews Mark and Luke. It's not the winning or losing, it's that we're pushing each other to be better, more thoughtful bloggers and writers. It's about excellence.

That said, I've got to point out that I'm kicking their asses. Mark is several posts behind me, gasping for air. Luke, well, Luke is just pathetic when it comes to the Great Blog Showdown. All I can do at this point is look behind me, and see them choking in my dust. And it feels good.