The Greatest Competition

John Fisher saw his rival in the bathroom before the contest and knew he would lose again. 

His stomach dropped at the the other's aura of invincibility, standing ramrod straight, and a lean, fit physique.

John did not know if he could beat him today; he still had the headache, and an vague imbalance from his poor sleep last night. John kept his head down, maybe he wouldn’t be noticed.

“Hey.” The Man spoke as John washed his hands. John stopped, then looked up to catch his eye, reflected through the mirror. The Man wore all black, his countenance dark. John nodded back, gritting his teeth, while a ripple of goosebumps shot up his spine. He should be polite, it’s only a competition.  

 “I just want you to know,” The Man began in a voice John knew well. "You're not good enough.”

John’s hands stopped, his jaw dropped open.

“You didn’t work hard enough, and today, you’re going to fail.” The Man stared, his face slack, black shards glittering in his eyes.

“You can’t say that to me!” John stammered back to the too familiar face. “What do you know? I did work hard, I do deserve…”

“We’ll see if you can prove it.” The Man stepped away.

The large tile restroom, suddenly empty echoed his last words. “…prove it.”  

“Are you ready?”

In the waiting area, a tall official spoke, with a hand out gesturing. He wore a polo and tan slacks with a lanyard across his neck. His soft eyes looked right through John. “You’re number three, They’re ready for you. Follow me.” He turned down the hall.

 John’s whole body vibrated, his hands clenched into fists, his knees shook as he walked into the arena.

“God damn him. I didn't work hard enough? What does he know!” John muttered to himself. But his thoughts went not to the long hours of training, the repetitions, and practice, but of the days he skipped, of the nights where he went out drinking, or played video games long into the dark hours of the morning.

“That doesn't matter, I trained hard.” John said. But his hands, slick with sweat, fumbled as he prepared his equipment, and it took three tries to lace up his shoes.

John stepped up to the line, with what felt like puppies rollicking in his belly.  Turning to look at the crowd, bright cheerful faces smiled at the men in the arena, eager for the contest to begin.

Usually this thrilled him, the pressure of the competition bringing an extra jolt of energy he could use to reach his highest potential.

Today though, the faces brought a jolt of fear. What if they were here to watch him fail? He will be exposed as a fraud, and they will just laugh at him.

He looked over at the other competitors, each dressed in a similar uniform, polished and trained, only differing in the colors they represented.  Thick, awkward tension swirled around them, the anticipation of the contest bringing out a palpable stench of sweat, and fear. All were well prepared, and with extensive experience. John knew he had a tough race ahead of him. 

With smiles on their faces, bitter words flowed out toward him from the other competitors, clouding the air with smoke.

“I’m taking you down today, punk!” A man in orange said.

“You know you’re just a loser” Said a man in yellow, laughing. “Ain't got it in you!” 

John bent down in his lane to get away, the words sharp knives cutting into him, his confidence bleeding out.

“They’re just trying to get in my head!” John whispered under his breath. He slapped his head once, then twice.  He breathed in, held his breath deep in his stomach for a few seconds, then blew out, releasing the anxiety and the negativity. These words were not true, he was a winner.

Except, maybe not today. Thoughts about this competition had kept him up all night, trying to focus on specific tactics to remember, while the consequences if he failed kept intruding.  Visions of the last competition filled his head, when he had put out a good effort, doing what he thought was enough, only to see another man beat him. The bitter taste of loss crept up the back of his mouth even now.

He wagged his arms, and shook out his legs to release the tightness brought on by his rival this morning. John spit out the gritty dregs of failure, then looked up to see him staring back with his hands on his hips; the Man in Black.

“Good luck.” The Man sneered. “You’re going to need it.”

Ignoring the insults and the laughing competitors, John placed his fingers against the starting line, put his body in position. He had not prepared enough! What did he have to do first? All the tactics and strategies he had planned last night were gone, he could feel the eyes of the crowd on him, and he wasn't ready

Bang! The gun went off, and John leapt up. But his foot slipped, and suddenly he was down on one knee.

"Damn!” Sweat pricked his skin, his face went red. The sharp pain in his knee woke him up. He needed to go! John launched himself forward.  In a swirl of color and motion he forced his body into rapid movements, arms pumping, teeth clenched as the others with a better start moved past him until they filled his vision with their wide shoulders and their high kicks. 

He jostled with the other racers, shoulders bumping.

“Get back loser.” A man in red pulled his arm, another in yellow thumped his hip, throwing off John’s step. “Why are you even here?” The hoarse voice shouted.

After a shortened step, John caught his balance, but it put him even further behind.  In the pack of runners, John ran last, his chance of success dimming in front of him. 

With a sudden motion, the Man in Black leapt out from the pack to take a large lead, and a weight fell in John’s stomach.

He’s going to lose. Unless he makes a move now, he’ll never run him down.

Should he stay back and conserve his strength with the other runners? A shoulder hit him again. They’re all so even, packed in tight as a bunch of grapes. 

If he leaves too early, he will burn out, and not have enough energy left for a strong finish. Staying back was the safe choice, following the crowd. 

John hesitated, stuck in limbo while the pack, multiple arms pumping, all muscular, all strong surged around him.  Legs, capturing and releasing energy like coiled springs, flew across the track.  Each of them had spent years training, all have the gleam in their eye to win. What will differentiate the winner?

John took a few more long paces, what should he do? Not deciding would become a decision too, he knew.

What was it that spurred him on, was it pride or shame; fear or courage? Maybe the name doesn’t matter, only the result. Something clicked inside him, and he knew what he had to do, he made his choice.

John stepped out of the pack, and then with a burst of speed launched forward. He will put it all on the line to win. He can’t lose again, he can't stand the taste.

He caught up to the Man in black, who turned to look to John, his eyes dark as coal, his face twisted in grin.  

“Don’t fall, loser.” 

 And with a swift sideways kick, the Man in black clipped John’s heel.

More off balance from shock at the audacity of the act then the kick itself, John lost focus and stumbled. John’s eyes went to the hard track, the rough texture of the ground suddenly close and dangerous. John was going down. Again.

For the Man in black had done this before. Not too long ago, in a similar competition, he tripped John up, convincing him that he didn't deserve to win. John had fallen, and then quit. He still felt pain from the loss.

Is that who he was, a failure? John's mind spun as he fell. It would be so easy to give up, to land on the track, blame someone else for his fall, blame fate. Maybe that was what he deserved.  

Only the flashing from the bottom of the Man in black's shoes were visible as he ran away and took John’s win with him.  

No!

 John had learned from his failure. He knew he couldn't quit, he had to do to stay in the race and get past this setback. Throwing his other leg forward, he stutter-stepped fast, put his arm out for balance, and then he was back up!

But he has been gapped, the Man in the black’s strong shoulders bop up and down more than a a meter ahead.

A bell rings, loud, signaling the final lap!

John will fall again someday, and many more times throughout his life.  But not today, he decided. Today he choose to compete, and to win. John reached down inside, into a place full of dark fears, and pain.

But, what scared him more than any pain, was the terrible possibility he might be more powerful than he had ever imagined.

John’s legs burned, and he no longer felt his feet, praying they could work on their own. His arms, iron pistons, pump for any bit of extra energy. No longer air, but fire raged in his lungs, burning at each breath.

John’s vision narrowed until only the clear thing he could see was the finish line. The Man in black at his side, the other competitors and the crowd no longer existed. He had to win!. 

He could count the remaining steps. He pushed himself, flying forward using never before tapped stores of energy to fuel his last desperate strides.

John leaned, throwing his head forward in a desperate attempt to finish first. Launching over the line, he had to throw his arms wide, air brakes into wild swings to slow himself down so he could breathe, pulling life giving air in to quench his burning lungs.

The other runners come up, in blue and yellow and red, also tired but not burned out.

“Congratulations!” they shouted to John, “You won the race!” 

Finally the Man in black stepped up, his face dour, white sharp teeth sparkle in his grimace. He nodded. “Good race, you won today. You got lucky.” He handed over a thin blue ribbon.

“Yes, thank you, a good race-” John huffed.

“But do you think you’ll be as lucky next time?” The Man asked

John looked at the Man in black, and then at the other racers. All with the same face, all with the same tired eyes. His own.

 “It's not luck, it's determination.” John spoke back. "I choose to win."

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Be ready.” The Man in black said, and for the first time John recognized the voice as his own’ father’s, dead now five years. The voice that had told him a B+ wasn’t acceptable, that he ran slow, and had no skills. That no matter what he did, he’d never be good enough. It haunted him still.

 John blinked and all the runners faded into the walls of the office lobby, his racing singlet materialized in a business suit, the ribbon in his hand the signed order form, the crowd his now new clients. 

He breathed in, and then out releasing his anxiety. He was a winner. The Man in black, his own reflection in the glass walled conference room, disappeared as John left to celebrate the successful sale.    

John beat back his rival today, fought against himself and won.

But tomorrow he races again.