Racing

In trying to decide what races to enter this summer, it occurred to me that for the last several years, I have only competed in events my friends had also entered.

Actually, let me amend that: I have only entered races when my friends have twisted my arm, blackmailed me, or used voodoo curses to motivate me to sign up. It's been a LONG time since I just looked at an event description and said "Gee, that sounds like fun; I think I'll give them my credit card number!"

(By the way, that is NOT me in the photo above. You'll never catch me riding without a helmet like that dweeb. Guys like that give the sport a bad name. Geez.)

This revelation has caused me to do some soul searching. It's not really one of the Grand Questions of the Universe, such as "What is the meaning of life?", "Are we alone in the Universe?", and "Is resistance really futile?"...but it's a good question nonetheless:

"Why do I enter competitions?"

If I could answer that, it might help me decide how to allocate time and money toward a racing schedule. Or at least be at peace with the decision not to, as the case may be.

First, I must acknowledge that I do like to win. Even if I get the first place award merely for finishing the race when none of the fast guys showed up, it still feels good to say that I won. That's why I enter events like the 200 butterfly; there are plenty of dudes in my age group who can easily beat me, but chances are good that they'll just skip it and let me take home the ribbon.

Of course, it's even sweeter when the victory comes through my own effort rather than mere attrition. But since my genetic gifts are skewed more toward academic aptitudes than athletic ones, physical triumphs based on anything other than luck are quite rare in my life.

There are two notable exceptions. One is my victory in the 50m Tazmanian Hula in the first World Championships a few decades ago. Ron Neugent (a 1980 Olympian and American Record Holder) was a legitimate top-tier competitor, and I whupped him fair and square. (He has since beaten me by the slightest of margins, and currently holds the World Champion Title...but I expect it to be mine again the next time we meet.)

The other example of a victory that I truly earned occurred when I was still living in Kansas. When my hometown officially celebrated its 100th anniversary, they held the "Wichitennial River Festival", which featured a canoe jousting event. The Wichita competition featured a single paddler in the stern and a jouster standing on a platform toward the bow of the canoe. The jouster was given a giant Q-tip with which to pummel his opponent with the intent of knocking the other fellow into the river.

I can't remember exactly how I became involved, but it seems to me that my former Boy Scout Troop was one of the sponsors of the event, and their originally-chosen competitor was unable to attend the event that day. Somebody in the troop started making phone calls to anyone who had earned the Canoeing Merit Badge...and I was the one who apparently didn't have anything better to do that day.

My teammate was Mike Holt, a schoolmate and former camping buddy who was a competent paddler. I was the jouster, and with some trepidation managed to somehow achieve a standing position atop the canoe. It was a single elimination competition -- if you fell in, you were done.

The favorite was a well-known local muscleman, Steve Carey. He had been a counselor and canoe expert at Aquatics Camp, and was an excellent swimmer and all-round athlete. He was tall and broad and quick as a cat, and he looked supremely confident as he easily clubbed his first few opponents into submission. Since I was having trouble even standing upright on the wobbly canoe, I assumed that I wouldn't last long in the competition, and would be spared the humiliation of being pounded by the big guy.

But to my surprise, Mike and I won the first round. It was over almost instantly; as soon as the canoes got close enough, I took a wild swipe with my Q-tip and bopped the poor fellow square upside the head. He tumbled in without quite knowing what had happened. I saw Steve Carey smiling at me from his position downriver, and could tell that he knew I was the recipient of blind good luck.

My second bout was not as easy. I once again tried for a quick kill, but nearly fell overboard when I completely missed my target. I was able to regain balance, though, and continued sparring for what was probably 30 seconds or so. Mike was so engrossed in watching me dance with our opponent that he momentarily forgot he was supposed to be controlling the boat. The bow of our canoe actually rammed the other boat, and I stumbled forward with the impact. Mike immediately backpaddled to move us away, and the timing was perfect -- as I was stumbling, the other guy thought he had an opening and stabbed away with gusto. But as our boat backed up and I struggled to keep from taking a header into the water, the other jouster's momentum carried him too far forward...and he plunged overboard into the drink. We were two for two!

I began to get an idea. During the next break, I had a quick chat with my paddler, and came up with a new strategy. Rather than relying on strength and agility (which I possessed in meager quantities, at best), we would stake our success on deception and avoidance. I would pretend to attack, but wouldn't actually even try to hit the other guy -- instead, my concentration would be focused on NOT getting hit myself. Mike would take the strategy of moving us in and out in an effort to stay just out of reach of our opponent's lance. Instead of assuming the expected close-quarters grappling position, we would try to deke the other guy into falling in under his own momentum.

It worked. And before we knew it, we were in the finals.

I wish there was videotape of the final epic battle. Steve Carey was too coordinated to stumble off his boat from a simple miss. He was aggressive, though, and his paddler made sure to close the gap whenever our boat would back up. I still didn't really try to hit him, but had to make my feints believable, thus making my balance somewhat precarious. I was struck several times, but only glancing blows...so I somehow managed to keep my feet and hold onto my Q-tip. But I didn't have the skill and dexterity of my adversary. It was obvious that the longer the battle went, the less likely I was to remain dry.

As I tried to dodge and balance and refrain from panic, I took a moment to mentally review the rules of the competition. They were simple: The last one standing wins. I had already realized that I didn't need to strike a blow to achieve victory, but needed to take that thought one step further. So, the next time Steve lunged at me, I simply grabbed his lance and pulled. Splash! He was in the river, and Mike and I were suddenly the Wichitennial Jousting Champions!

Unfortunately, there was no cash prize, no kisses from beautiful and nubile jousting groupies, and no glowing recaps on the evening news reports. But to this day, I still have my pride in this once-in-a-lifetime accomplishment. I retired from the sport undefeated.

What does this have to do with the question I asked earlier? Well...I'm not entirely sure.

Perhaps I enter competitions mainly so I'll have stories to tell. Indeed, my favorite competitive memories are typically not from the races that went smoothly...but from the ones that were interesting. I remember the marathon where I broke my foot far more vividly than the one where I ran my PR. Victory is a fabulous thing to experience, but so is uniqueness. I seem to be more suited for oddity than anything else, so I think my conclusion is that I should seek events outside the mainstream. Rather than doing 10Ks or Olympic Triathlons, I should try something different. The Tough Mudder looks kinda fun...except for the mud and electric shocks. (Mud and electic shocks? OK, when I think about it, the Tough Mudder doesn't sound like fun at all.)

Perhaps I need to create my own unique event. Something that combines the sports of swimming, kung fu, and 1960s TV Trivia with marshmallow creme fudge brownie sundaes. I'll have to start looking for sponsors.

In the meantime, please let me know if you have any ideas for fun events I might enter. No arm-twisting or blackmail...I'm just looking for something fun that takes place somewhere pretty, and will result in a good story to tell. I'll keep you posted on the options, and I'll probably have more to say about the appeal of competition and its place within the grand scheme of life. Until then, stay adventurous, and have a great day!