I have an old photograph of myself from when I was about 10. In it I’m aboard my 15-year-old pony, who was both a saint and the naughtiest creature that ever lived.
We were at our first jumping competition and I had dreams of rampant success running through my fiery little mind. In reality, the pony bolted across the ring, acted like a bronc if anyone or anything came near him and tossed me in the dirt.
I can only imagine it was a terrifying mixture of cuteness and danger.
Finally, in our last class, our number was announced. Not as a winner, mind you, but as a solid fifth-place finisher. In the photo I’m smiling and laughing, eyes shut and arms wrapped around that little bastard. We were making progress.
Those days are long gone. I recall withholding pats and treats from that same pony after a botched show-jumping round later that year.
Ten-year-old me was a ruthless little redhead.
Instead of focusing on progress, competition soon became about pressure to perform and win. And my result-oriented nature doesn’t limit itself to sports. Board games, crossword puzzles, short-term goals, bets — they all drive me to strategize and pace like a caged tiger.
Olympic fever hits this girl hard, for a number of reasons. First, I love the intensity of Stevie Y. But mostly, I can pass off my overly competitive nature as patriotism.
And I’m not alone; Canadians sure love them some competition.
Even if you don’t like sports, Olympic fever will catch up to you. We all recognize the symptoms — someone who has previously shown an indifference to sports suddenly starts talking about Carey Price’s save percentage.
For more than two weeks, my days have been a blur of competition-related conversation: sports analysts breaking down bobsleigh mishaps, colleagues bitching about medal standings, reveling in team success and defining my own goals for the upcoming competitive season.
The Olympics ended with a high for Canada — we brought home 25 medals, 10 of them gold — but we also experienced our fair share of lows.
But win or lose, it was our sportsmanship that really stood out for me during these Winter Olympics.
It was the Canadian cross-country ski coach, Justin Wadsworth, who provided a struggling Russian skier with a replacement ski.
And it was Calgary speedskater Gilmore Junio who withdrew from competition to allow teammate Denny Morrison to step into his place for the 1,000m race.
Junio has stated he felt Morrison was the team’s best chance for a medal.
Emotions run high with competition. It can be heartbreaking, awesome, tragic, inspiring — all at the same time.
So much energy gets put into producing a high-level sports career; it’s easy to get caught up in emotions once rankings are released. I’ve been trying to keep Junio in mind when focusing on my current list of goals — competitive or otherwise.
Success needs to be redefined as something that can’t be scored. In the end, people don’t remember how you did, but how you did it.
I need to bring back that spicy little redhead who ecstatically threw her arms around her bastard pony.
On another note — who’s ready for March Madness?
