The evils of competition

Remember before the marathon, when I was in that rather unfamiliar calm state, how I mentioned that I more feared the 10 km Police Challenge than I did the marathon? I’m sure it must have caused some eyebrows to raise, I mean seriously, how is it possible I fear 10 km more than 42.2 km? Ohhh there’s good reason, and it all starts with that competitive demon in me.

See, I convinced my big brother to join me on this run, and if you think I’m competitive, times that by like 1,000 for him, and even more so when he has the fear of his little sister beating him at anything. As soon as he registered, the first words out of his mouth were “I’m so gonna kick your butt.” Now, I probably should have let that comment go, that would have been the smart thing to do, but nooooo, I couldn’t let him have that, no way. He’s a soccer player. I’m a runner. How hard could it possibly be to have him eating my dust … and I’m pretty sure it was those exact words I used in my response to him.

We even compete for the best Chandler Bing photo smile!

But here’s the thing, when I took on this challenge, I neglected to take into account that the date of this run is just two weeks removed from my marathon. Oh crud. Before the marathon I was freaking out, not because of the marathon, but because of memories of how hobbled I was for weeks after my first marathon. How the heck was I going to kick my brother’s butt, or even keep up with him for that matter, when I was sure to be crippled? And then I had thoughts of the gloating and ribbing that would result for decades – DECADES! – to come if I didn’t beat him. The horror! The horror!

But after completing the marathon, I thought maybe I’d been given a reprieve. Matt told me he’d been sick and suggested we just run for fun, but being the competitive brother he is, he couldn’t possibly keep it a 100 per cent fun run, nooo. He upped the ante with a 100 metre race at the end. And in my head, with the evil wheels turning, I was thinking, Sweet, I’ll totally agree to this, and then start racing way before the 100 metres without telling him, and I’ll totally kick his … but before I could finish the thought, he blew up my evilness with a quick “And I get to say when we start racing!” Dammit!

Rethinking our “race” at lunch after the marathon.

Given that it was his birthday yesterday, and that he probably needs this win more than me (he is getting old after all (forget that he’s only two years and three days older than me!) I should probably just let him win, right 😉

29? Ahahahaahaa!!!

Happy Birthday Big Brother! Love you to pieces, but you’re going down … damn you competitive demon!

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