Lose Some, Win Some

Sometimes, I dream. Ok, all the time, I dream. I used to stare out the window on long road trips imagining myself on a dirt bike riding at an impossible speed, landing impossible jumps. Somehow, in my mind, I always won, always accomplished the impossible, always did everything I set out to do. Life itself isn't so kind, however, and has often defied what I believed was possible.

Two examples come to mind from my childhood starting with the medal that I missed on track and field day in the sixth grade in Lake Benton, MN. I had laced up my borrowed track shoes, touching the metal cleats on the bottom of them with my open hand. Impressed by how sharp they were, imagining my advantage of exploding off the line. I scanned the group I was up against. I knew these guys and they were bigger, thicker, more suited for a football line than a foot race. It was going to be an easy performance. The stance was inspired by a poster of Carl Lewis that hung in the coach's office. Bent over, fingertips spread and touching the ground, right foot forward, I heard the whistle blow and dug my cleats into the grass and earth. I was fast. Fast enough to impress Krista though? That was the goal. The medal meant I had bested the rest of the runners, but more than that it would be a point of conversation between me and the cutest girl in the sixth grade. She was on the red wooden bleachers, black and yellow Bobcat jacket over her green sweater. A virtual rainbow of unmatched (unmatching) beauty, she smiled and cheered.

What I didn't count on was the quiet farmer. He showed all the interest in this contest that a blind person would show at a 3D movie. Tshirt, jeans, and boots, he was an embarrassment to the fine tradition of track and field. I mean, you wouldn't wear a speedo to play hockey or put on a goalie's pads to climb the high dive and go for the double backflip with half twist. But when that whistle blew, he was off. For a few seconds he took this thing seriously enough to make me stare at the back of his John Deere tshirt as it diminished beyond my ability to read the words "Nobody Stops A Deere". No medal, no conversation piece, no victorious warrior hug.

It reminded me of the time I took Robert Otto's spot in the spelling bee by a fluke. Robert had practiced and repracticed these words, working them out with military precision. The spelling bee was held annually in Ivanhoe and that meant that the two representatives from our class got to take part of the day off to be driven like rockstars in the school bus all the way across the county. The decision on who was going to go was based upon a spelling bee of our own in Mrs. Wheeler's class. It was finally down to Krista, Robert, and me. Robert got a hard word and stuttered through it only to hear the bell and if I could answer the next word, Robert was out. My word was easy and I pumped my fist in the air at the reality that Krista and I would be going to the spelling bee. Robert was the better speller, and on any other day, would have had his linguistic way with me. But alas, today I was victorious fair and square. The ride was uneventful and my heart pounded as we entered the strange gym to a bleacher full of proud parents and a panel of people who all wore glasses and had more hair in their eyebrows than they did on their head. Except for one elderly woman, who also had some chin hair. My word was Miscellaneous. I hate that word. To this day, every time I hear it, there's an emotion that I can't describe, but it carries a dull aching....ugh. I know how to spell it now, but that day it only had one "L" in my mind. I was out in the first round. Suddenly I didn't want to leave Ivanhoe, because that would mean I had to go back to Lake Benton to a heart broken Robert Otto who would be all too pleased to point out that I should have never been there in the first place. To his credit, Robert was liberal with his sympathy and said, "I'm sorry you don't know how to spell anything." In a life of wins and losses, it's interesting which ones stand out and remain personally iconic. Oh, I've got more losses than a track contest and spelling bee in the sixth grade. I just don't want to write about them.