I have never particularly liked competition. I have some sort of anxiety disorder that kicks in. When I was walking to school as a kid, I got this weird anxiety when I’d hear the school bus come up behind me – like I was suddenly in a race with the bus and if it went past me…. well, I don’t know. I mean it *always* went past me. it’s not like I was out running the bus. I didn’t die when it passed by. It didn’t “get” me. I mention this just to point out that I was a weird kid.
This peculiarity manifested itself in Junior High when I was on the track team for one year. I ran the 440 (as it was known back then in the dark ages). No one told me that the 440 was NOT a sprint. Or, if they did I was too busy talking to Tina to notice. So, first track meet comes – the gun goes off and I start sprinting. Now it’s not the bus chasing me, it’s 7 other 13-yr-old girls. So I’m sprinting, of course. And of course, the other girls are not. I won by quite a bit. I celebrated by throwing up from the exersion.
Next race (and every race after) I did the same thing. And on and on throughout the season. At the finals, when it somehow meant something, I stopped sprinting. I came in 3rd or 4th. I did not run track in 8th grade.
I was also a drummer in the school band. I was a good drummer. Playing in band, you are in perpetual competition, because there is always a “first chair” position. I spent a lot of time in first chair, and every week someone would challenge me. Challenging meant you went behind a screen and played some designated part out of everyone’s sight, and then the band voted on who played better. I generally won. Every week, I would dread the day that we did challenges. I usually felt physically ill. Finally at some point in my senior year of high school I just decided I’d had enough. So next time I had a challenge and I won, I immediately stepped out from behind the screen and declared the other person the winner. He was shocked, but said nothing. I did not challenge other drummers. Not sure if I ever went back to first chair again.
I don’t like competition is what I’m saying. It frightens me, even as an adult.
And yet this is a clear sign that I am very competitive. Always comparing myself to some standard or another. Or worse yet, to a person. I hate pissing contests and yet I get angry when someone “steps on my toes.” Such is my situation now. Someone has been putting their Army boots on and stomping around near my feet.
This little piggy went to market
This little piggy stayed home
This little piggy got her toes stepped on and is really f**king pissed off about it but won’t do anything about it because she’s too much of a wimp.