Competition doesn't float my boat.

Competition.
Competitiveness.
Not me. I’m not competitive and don’t have the competitiveness gene.

I first found out about my lack of interest in competition when I was in the fifth grade. I was tall, thin and could run like a deer. Our school coach figured this out watching me run circles around everyone when we played kickball, or baseball, or one of the other school sports that kids play. The coach divided us all up into groups to run against other groups. Before we were placed in groups, he clocked each of us on sprints, and he used a stop watch to monitor our time from get-ready-go to finish. He told me I was the fastest kid in school, which meant I could run faster than about four hundred kids. I thought it would be interesting to tell my family during dinner, but beyond that, I didn’t really think it was important. When our groups began racing other groups, the coach made the mistake of pairing me with my best friends. I wasn’t going to run out ahead of them, and I slowed enough we could all keep pace and finish together. The coach was furious. He made us run again. I did the same thing. He pulled me aside and asked what the heck I was doing. I told him. He then said, “You don’t have a competitive spirit.” I always remember that, because I didn’t want to be in competition with anyone, especially my friends.

I’ve carried this lack of a competitive gene around through my life, and have often been amused at how many people I’ve met who immediately launch into a “run for the roses” (metaphorically) about anything. Some people are so competitive, they will race through a grocery store to see who they can get ahead of at the check-out. My ex-husband was especially competitive. We had a monopoly game, which he bought, and which he brought out one night when we had some friends over for dinner. The four of us were having a good game, and the winning seemed to have more to do with the dice than anything else. I won. My ex was mad at me, and refused to play monopoly with me, ever again. It was just a game. Who won or lost did not matter to me. The simple joy and spirit of playing the game is what I enjoyed.

While a teenager, I was in a horrific accident, and all my days of running as fast as a deer ended. I spent a year reeducating myself in the art and skill of simply walking. Too many fractures, too many to ever heal properly. I miss running, but not because I could outrun everyone. I miss running because I loved to feel myself moving that fast through space. Before the accident, I was the best basketball player in my high school, according to my coach, Patricia Denton. I’d lacked the competitive edge, and the coach was always upset with me. I didn't particularly care for the game, and was glad for an excuse to never play basketball again, never be put into a position of having to be competitive.

Throughout my life I’ve done many things. A few things I do very, very well. Not because I set myself up in competition with anyone else, but because those things I really enjoy I tend to do very well. Am always sure there will be some who can do anything I do better. I don’t worry about it, and am happy for others who can do better than me.

Competitiveness is in our genes. I truly believe that.

(On an aside here, the competitive gene has nothing to do with the fight-or-flight response. People have made that mistake, and been the worse for the wear for doing so. Fight-or-flight is a brain chemistry reaction. A person who is calm and peaceful can also be your worst opponent if you pick a fight with them.)

I hope if you have the competitive gene that you do not expect your family, your friends, and especially your children, to share it. Everyone is not in competition. Some of us just like to keep pace. Perhaps that’s what we are. We are the pacers, and perhaps we are even the peacekeepers. Unless you pick a fight with us. And then we are the warriors.