This post was inspired by a recent experience I had at a local athletic event. It covers territory well-traveled by psychologists and anthropologists way smarter than me. However, the experience affected me enough to want to document it here with some musings on the topic. Mostly preaching to the choir, I imagine, but fun to think about, nonetheless.
Two weekends ago I participated in a local fund-raising event, the Skinny Skis Run and Ride. This is a 5 km run followed by a 15 km bike ride done either solo or as a team. After hitting a cement planter box and injuring some ribs during a criterium a couple of weeks prior, I was 't going to race. I'd looked around for a fast runner initially but after getting hurt I stopped looking. Seemed like all the fast runners were already spoken for by other cyclists, anyway. As a local cycling team, we decided that some level of participation in home events should be maintained for appropriate sponsor exposure. I felt a little bad not doing my part.
For better or worse, just a couple of days prior to the event, I was paired with a young high school runner from Pinedale who was game to give it a go. Well, crap, sore ribs or not, I was in. Many of the top riders in Jackson would be there and I was looking forward to testing myself against these barometers. Although deep breathing was still painful, my ribs had calmed down enough to where I didn't think they'd hold me back at all once I was in full competitive flight. Game on.
The morning of the race dawned wet and cold. It was going to be pissing the whole time with temperatures somewhere in the low 40's. The TT course for the race is fairly technical with lots of bumps and hills but only a couple of tight corners so I wasn't too worried about the conditions. I came prepared with everything to give my best performance - skin suit, bars, rear disc wheel and aero helmet. I'd the usual pre-race butterflies as I set up the trainer to warm up out of the rain. For me, this was just another competitive opportunity, perhaps with the additional pressure that comes with performing on your home turf. Being a small, athletic ski town, the results of events like these end up in the paper for all to see so reputations are at stake. At least, that's the way some of us see it.
For others, that kind of mindset is not only foreign but downright ridiculous. I became aware of this difference at registration. Enter the check-in person. She handed me the packet with numbers and giveaways in it and I asked about number placement. She informed me that the stiff paper number goes on the front of the bike. Say what?? I smiled politely and commented how troubled some of the cyclists are going to be putting this "air dam" on the front of their TT set-ups. Additionally, it's just not that easy to put a square number off the front of the handlebars. I pointed out some of this, again as politely as possible, but she just started to grow tired of my carrying on. She commented that winning this event wasn't going to get anyone into the Olympics and how it was just for fun, yada, yada, yada. Yeah, yeah, I know. Just do it for fun, for the cause.
A few of my equally serious cycling friends had similar encounters at the table with this same woman. The whole experience made me ponder the nature of competition and competitiveness, in general. Were my friends and I really just too serious? Were we somehow missing the "fun" of it all by getting all amped up for the effort? Hell, I even rested a day or two in order to give my best 24 minute effort. Should I've had a couple of beers for breakfast and showed up in Bermuda shorts and a fat-tired cruiser? Obviously, the group of us saw nothing unusual with our mindset. But what about "regular" folks? Why is there a segment of the population that could care less how they perform in a sporting event and are actually annoyed by those of us that do? I, like so many other athletes, have spent my life testing myself against the clock and others in various sports. It's hard to imagine life without some sort of competition. And really, what's life without some sort of adversity, contrived or not? Certainly, from an evolutionary standpoint, we had to compete with nature and each other in order to survive. The strong and victorious persevered while the weak perished. Simple Darwinism, right?
So, what's going today? We certainly don't have to compete to survive. Sure, the bad asses of the world still get the chicks and the cool, lucrative jobs but any half-wit can get a job doing something, scrape by and actually feed himself enough to survive. And for a lot of those who can't even manage that, various welfare programs and even savvy homelessness can provide enough sustenance to keep one's DNA moving along. Doesn't really do much for the quality of the gene pool, of course. But today, life is so easy, so bereft of challenge if you so chose to avoid it that you can muddle along in life's slow lane, amount to little, and go to your grave following a forgettable existence.
Alternatively, there're those of us that seek out adversity in our lives or rise to it when IT seeks and finds us first. It may be as artificial as a bike race or as brutally authentic as combat. Some seek the challenge of excelling in the business or academic world while others head to the mountains to find unpredictability and danger. Whether one's health and well-being are at stake or simply financial solvency, the perception of risk triggers something in our brains that adds to our fulfillment. The risk varies but what's important is that there IS risk. And this is what separates us from them.
I've sought out this risk, strived for excellence in academics, in the mountains and on the playing field. I've had some success in these areas but I'm also certainly not rich. I decided long ago that the attainment of wealth requires certain sacrifices in other aspects of one's life that I've never been willing to make. But the risk and struggle is present elsewhere and this is key. You don't have put it on the line in every aspect of your life. Most of us couldn't handle the psychological burden that would come with it. A select few cannot exist any other way. They're the true freaks and, often, leaders in something.
I wonder if that woman at the registration table has any risk in her life. Hard to know. We all know people like her. We probably don't spend much time with them but they're curious. I used to come across these folks every once in awhile when I was a climbing guide. The risk adverse clients really had a hard time with letting go of their fears involving hanging on the rope, being belayed or simply being on the edge. Some just couldn't get beyond these issues and never progressed through our program. I always felt a little sad for these folks as they'd never experience the satisfaction and growth we get from stepping to the proverbial edge, taking a chance and either succeeding or failing. Either way, we win something. Can't imagine doing it any other way. - Brian