As the game ended, my team got into a single-file line. We approached our opponents, who were also in a single-file line.
Good game, we exclaimed to each opposing player as we gave them a fist bump. Good game, each opposing player replied.
The handshake line has always seemed like another order of business to many athletes. It was just another part of the game experience to get through.
But to me, the handshake line seemed like an opportunity. It was a chance to honor the achievements of others — even if those achievements might have come at my expense.
We go at each other tooth and nail on the field. But at the end of the day, we can show each other mutual respect.
I’m writing this in the wake of another Olympic games. And while the memories of these Olympics will likely stay with us for some time, there’s one moment that will remain front and center for me.
This moment came after the final round of the high-jump competition. An official approached two of the competitors — a Qatari and an Italian — and let them know they were tied for the top spot on the podium. The two men would need to jump once more to decide who would get the gold medal.
Upon hearing this, the Qatari turned to the official and asked Can we have two golds? When the official replied it was possible, the erstwhile competitors embraced, setting off an emotional celebration.
It turned out the two men knew each other well. They’d trained together before and were close off the track. One had even attended the other’s wedding.
Still, that doesn’t make the decision to share the gold medal any less remarkable.
In the heat of the moment, two men from opposite parts of the world seeking acclaim decided to share that glory. And we all won for witnessing it.
The story of the high jumpers stands out to me, in great part because it’s so different from my understanding of competition.
I grew up watching Michael Jordan, an uber-talented basketball player who told himself his opponents were slighting him at every turn — even when they weren’t. Jordan played these tricks on himself so that he could maintain a Dominate and destroy mindset.
That’s what competition was supposed to be, I was told. It was about getting the upper hand. And that meant vanquishing any obstacle in our path.
Such an approach had its benefits. Edgy competition raised the quality of the games Jordan played in, providing premium entertainment value.
But there were some costs as well. Jordan’s Chicago Bulls found themselves in nasty rivalries with the Detroit Pistons and New York Knicks over the years. And two of Jordan’s most iconic moments included him celebrating over defeated opponents.
This was not the best look, and it did not provide the best example for the next generation.
No, what that generation — my generation — needed was precisely what those Olympic high jumpers displayed.
I have a strong competitive spirit.
I loathe the participation trophy trend that’s pervaded our society. I believe accolades should be earned, not mass distributed. And I do my best to prove my worth each day.
And yet sometimes, my best is not enough. Sometimes, there’s someone out there who’s faster, stronger, or better.
Am I supposed to resent their success? Should I treat their achievements as a personal slight?
I shouldn’t. And I don’t.
I know to tip my cap when I know I’m outclassed. I understand the importance of giving others their due.
Of course, it’s easier to do this when the stakes are low. Losing a recreational sports event is not the end of the world. Getting beat out for a job that would cover my rent? That’s a tougher pill to swallow.
Nevertheless, I make a point of not villainizing my competition for wanting what I want. I don’t blame them for executing their game plan more masterfully than I.
If there’s something I could have done better, I focus on how I can improve going forward. But if I gave my best and it wasn’t enough, I show my respect and move on.
This approach has worked well for me over the years. But I wonder if those at the top of the pyramid would find similar success with it.
After all, competitors like Michael Jordan are in another stratosphere. They’ve reached the pinnacle by harnessing the edge that others couldn’t. They’ve refused to accept that their best wasn’t good enough.
I can’t find that gear. I know that as well as I know anything.
And yet, I’ve long questioned whether such an admission is a knock on my ambition.
Now, finally, I believe I have the answer.
Most mornings start the same way for me.
I get up, put on workout clothes, and lace up my Nikes. Then, I go for a run.
Running gives me great peace. In the still of the early morning, I can be alone with my thoughts. I’m carefree as my feet hit the pavement in rhythmic harmony.
Still, this solitude can get monotonous at times. So, I joined a running club to change things up.
My first workout with the club was a bit of a culture shock. I simply wasn’t used to running in a pack.
Every other time I’d encountered a group of runners on the sidewalk, I’d tried to breeze past them. This wasn’t so much for bragging rights as to satisfy my self-competitive spirit.
If an entire group was running at that speed, surely, I had it in me to surpass it. At least that’s what I told myself.
But now, I was supposed to stick with the group. I was meant to follow the pack, not lead it.
I struggled with this notion for a couple of miles. But then a revelation hit me like a thunderbolt.
Running with the group wasn’t weakening my running prowess. It was making me stronger.
Sure, everyone was going a bit slower than I liked. But their steadiness helped me build stamina, and their camaraderie helped me build confidence.
This activity wasn’t going to close the gap between me and the top finishers at 5K races. But it was making me a more well-rounded runner — one who could look on a fifth-place finish with acceptance rather than self-loathing.
This is the spirit that the Olympic high jumpers were tapping into. In a world that often divides us into winners and losers, they proved that giving our all can represent an even sweeter sense of victory.
So, let’s put away the yardsticks. Let’s turn off the scoreboards. Let’s ease off the comparisons.
We don’t need to stay one step ahead of everyone else to maintain our competitive edge. Our best is enough.