THE WINNER

I’m a fairly competitive person—more so in the younger years. Bicycling was one of my competitive physical sports. I came across folks that were faster, and some that were slower. In the end it didn’t matter, because competing for trophies and ribbons meant nothing in my book. That’s true for walking and running as well.

I love to walk the trails at Rotary Park in the morning. The southern sector has large shade trees which make it nice on hot sunny days. Folks are always zooming by me, both young and old. I’m not a runner so that’s to be expected. My walking pace is not what it used to be either. Today, I’d much rather take in the sights than anything else.

I’ll count concrete squares in the sidewalk, read the names on memorial plaques sitting under trees, or watch birds swoop down and attempt to grab ants or grasshoppers. These feathered friends are not always successful.

This morning, I was doing my daily ritual, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman attempting to pass me. I’d walked by her earlier as she sat on a bench. The stranger said, “Hello.” — while I returned the pleasantry by saying, “Good morning.”  This person was probably ten years younger than me.

Something inside the competitive sector of my brain quickly spoke up, saying, “You can’t let this happen!”

I immediately picked up the pace, and through watching her shadow that was cast forward because of a southern sun, could see she did the same. When the lady drew closer, I picked it up another notch. This happened several times until we were nearly running.

I knew I couldn’t keep the trot up indefinitely, and believed she was thinking the same. There was an adjoining sidewalk 300 feet up the trail that led straight to my vehicle. Unbeknownst to the competitor behind me, I quickly decided this was the finish line.

She was gaining fast and I was running out of gas, but my right foot reached that point first, with me raising both arms in triumph before I veered off the raceway. I watched out of the corner of my eye once again, seeing the gal shaking her head as she trotted on by, most likely in disbelief of losing.

Declaring myself the official winner, I drove to Arby’s—rewarding this tremendous feat with a small vanilla milkshake topped in whip cream.

Victory never tasted so sweet!