I had a teacher who liked to remind us that, "winning isn't everything kiddos."
He's the only person who I let give me a nickname. And he frequently threw his hat on the ground and mooned us for 10 seconds while going to retrieve the worn in blue thing.
This man hated for us to lose, it was 3rd grade pseduo-ice hockey, with plastic sticks, and someone messed up, and the hat came down.
But when it was 7th grade run the mile time, the dreaded four laps around the gym, which you could walk to but only with his eyes glued to you for the rest of the month.
At the end of each class before the dread one mile (which I still run with his image glued to my head) he would say, "And remember, who are you trying to beat?" some kid with more athletic genes than I would scream out "YOURSELF."
I never understood the fun in racing against yourself and would smirk at the rubbery gym floor, glad it was dull and saved me from my own reflection.
Lately my commute from school to work to home has left me climbing up a hill at the end of the day, screwing all the cars that pass me with words beginning with the letters d, f, and s. I see my shadow steadily moving ahead of me with every step and swear to some higher power that I don't give a shit about beating myself. But at the end of the day what's more rewarding than winning a race with all the previous you's--yes even the one with the afro-esque bowl cut--lagging behind?
don't stay up too late,
cb
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