Competitive Spirit - Part I

When I was young, I never thought I had a competitive spirit (though in looking back, I did see a glimmer of it during a canasta game - it was a negative glimmer, unfortunately). Two events I participated in as an adult showed me, however, that I definitely have a competitive spirit.

Both incidents occurred while I was living in Boonville, Missouri. When I was in my mid thirties, I took up jogging. Over a period of time, I bought a number of runners magazines and read them faithfully (I think I actually wanted to run a marathon, though I never did). My son Franklin used to run with me; I really enjoyed that.

In addition to giving a lot of training advice, the magazines gave information on upcoming races; and when I found one scheduled for Kansas City, Missouri, (in November I think), we entered it and continued to train until just before race day. I knew I was not really ready for the race, but I decided that it was important to follow through with the event and hope for the best. This was a huge race (by my standards). Everyone lined us up according to the times we turned in; therefore, we were pretty far to the back though a lot of people were behind us.

When the gun went off to start the race, we just stood there; that was a very strange feeling since we went there to run. There was nothing else we could do except stand there enjoying the theme song from "Chariots of Fire," which was thrilling - everyone in front of us had to move out before we could take a step. It took several minutes - I don't recall how long it really was - but finally, we were running. I started off slowly - I had learned that from my magazine reading; if you start out too fast, you probably won't make it to the end. I had two goals for this race. One was to just finish the race (regardless of how long it took), and the other was to finish hard.

There were a number of times during the race that I wanted to give up; I had to really "talk" to myself in order to keep going. The day was cool, and I had dressed accordingly; but even on a cool day, it gets hot when you're running. Fortunately, I had layers to shed and did so as I ran. I mixed walking with running as the miles went by; the important thing was not to give up. There were people ahead of me and people behind me. I lost sight of Franklin early on (of course); he was around ten at the time, and he could certainly run faster and longer than I could.

I finally neared the finish line. I knew that the race ended on an "uphill" note, which didn't seem quite fair, and I reminded myself of my goals. Finishing seemed almost a done deal (unless I fell flat on my face); finishing hard was going to be a little tougher, but that was what I intended to do. A friend of mine had gone to the race with us, and she and her son were on the side lines cheering us on. I started running hard just before I turned the corner; I had calculated just the right time to put on my burst of speed so that it would look like I had been running that way all along. I wanted to finish the race looking good (despite my time, which I was actually proud of), and that is exactly what I did. I set my sights on the finish line and ran as if I had a chance to take first place (I think I also wanted to move ahead of the runners who were near me). I finished hard, and I finished well - I think I have a "kick." And then I thought I might collapse - I just wanted to lie down somewhere; pride, however, saved me as I took deep breaths and "walked it off." As soon as I no longer thought of was going to pass out, I found my son (who had been waiting for me for a while) and my friend.

I was proud of myself. Not a boasting kind of pride; just content with myself that I had finished what I had set out to do - I could hold my head up high and not be ashamed. It was a lot like when I finally graduated from college. At one point, I wasn't sure that I would finish or if I really wanted to. But once I decided that I was going to complete my education and get my degree, I didn't let anything stop me - not marriage, not having a baby, not even losing a baby and almost dying (all of that packed into two years while working and taking classes). Again, I could hold my head up and not be ashamed - not be a failure.

Since this "story" has turned out to be so long, I'll save the second competition for the next time I write.

Blessings to all.