Winning. What Does It Really Mean?

This post was going to be a "I ran XX miles this week and did XX yards in the pool", but something changed my mind.

I've got an e-friend that I met through an MMA forum probably 5-6 years ago.  At the time we were both into mixed martial arts and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, but since then have gotten away from that and moved in very different directions in sport.  He went from being a gym rat to getting serious about bodybuilding and recently competed in his first show.

Making that leap is HUGE.  (Pun intended) It's changing from lifting for fitness and eating "clean" to every aspect of his training being scrutinized in preparation for the day he took the stage wearing next to nothing to have his physique evaluated by judges.  And as a testament to his dedication and his training, he took third place in his first show as a heavyweight.  Impressive by any standards, and something anyone should be proud of.  Yet this week on Facebook, he made a post about how he wasn't satisfied with third, and wants to win one of these shows.

Immediately, my first reaction was "geez, you took third in your first show, enjoy it".  But it got me thinking.  Just what exactly is 'winning'?  And how is it quantified in sport?  Sure, in team sports, it's easy to point out who won and who lost.... Just look at the scoreboard.  But in an individual sport, against a very large field, doesn't winning mean different things to different competitors?

Sure, my friend didn't "win" the show, but he made a very impressive showing in his first bodybuilding contest, and has no doubt laid the groundwork for even further gains and future success in his chosen sport.  I wouldn't be shocked at all to see him taking first in an amateur show in the near future.

But how does this apply to running?  That's what I've been thinking about the past couple days.

Unless someone is a world class elite runner, (s)he knows that their chance of "winning" a race on race day is probably next to zero.  Mo Farah ran a race I was in recently, and there's no way I can keep up with Mo in a race unless it involves beer and/or crawfish.  But without the possibility of winning, why compete?  Sure, someone could conceivably run every little race they can find and one day luck upon a combination of a small field of not-so-fast runners on a day they're feeling good and get a 'win', but what does that really mean?  They're the fastest guy that showed up at the first annual Enon 5K?

Personally, I don't like doing the little races mainly because I'm too lazy to get up early enough to do them unless they're VERY local to me and for a cause I support (which usually means my kid's school).

But a 2500 person field in a half-marathon, or a 20,000 person marathon?  IN!!

In my opinion, I think the answer is in the pre-game prayer huddle you'll see on a sideline at a football game.  Nobody (should) ask God to "help us win the game".  But they will ask God to help them perform to the best of their abilities and avoid injury.

The way I approach my running is I need a goal before I can do anything else.  I'm not one of those guys that you read about who runs just because he "loves to run".  It's not that fun to me.  I need a goal to motivate me, and that goal is typically distance or time related.  Running a 10K just to run it.. meh.  Shooting for a sub 50 minute 10K?  Sign me up.  Sub 45 minutes?  Still a goal, just down the priority list right now.  So for me, and I'd guess a lot of other runners, "winning" means meeting a goal of either finishing a challenging distance, or hitting a time goal, or simply not drowning on the swim leg of a triathlon (yes, that's me.  Laugh now.)

Somewhere between the National Anthem and the starting gun, I'm usually muttering a very short prayer that is basically asking God to help me run to the best of my ability and avoid injury.  Beyond that, I have to rely on my training and preparation to get me to the finish line.  And if I go sub 1:40 in a half-mary, or finish a marathon, or come out of the water in a triathlon and make the sprint to T1, I've won, at least as far as I'm concerned.  And for all those other racers who are hitting goals and pushing themselves to new distances and setting new benchmarks for themselves on race day, well, they're winning as well.

Because at the end of the day, when we're enjoying our post-race beer and cheeseburgers, we think about the events of the day and realize we're only competing against ourselves.  There are no judges, no competition, no opponents... Just the road and the clock.  And that clock never, ever will give you a break.  It's more formidable than any opponent will ever be.  It never has a bad day.  It never sprains a knee.  It never gases.  It's the only benchmark that we are able to measure up against, and on the days we beat it... we win.