I’m not a competitive person. (Note: this entry is a departure from my usual onslaught of sarcasm.) The term “competition” denotes two or more people seeking the same goal under conditions that force a win/lose outcome. The structure itself ensures failure for everyone. This is inherently wrong so I don’t consider myself competitively driven. This may counter intuitive for those of you who know how hard I compete.
Competition is further problematic because it is entirely relative. It doesn’t matter how good you are or how well you do; if you’re up against the right person, you will win or against the wrong person, you will lose. So, the “win,” in and of itself, is meaningless. The caveat to good competition is evenly matched competitors. When you are lucky enough to find yourself in this situation, competition is at it’s best. Above all, in a competitive situation, the most important factor is for the competitors to play their best. Winning is much less important than performing well.
So why do I ride and race so much?
Quite simply, I ride for personal challenge and life meaningfulness. I still maintain that the only reason I race a bike is so I can train. The real challenge for me is to improve my performance and the true enjoyment comes from spending time riding in this quest. I feel most alive when I’m out on my bike putting in a good effort. The riding experience often takes on a transcendental nature. For those of you who read my writing about cycling, you probably recognize the not-so-subtle associations between cycling and sex. The metaphors are intended to represent the reality that the riding experience often takes on a euphoric state.
While it is certainly a challenge to ride and train hard. Racing usually serves as an ultimate test of performance, something that is unmatchable by training. During a race the hard work of training gains an arena to be manifested. The power of the human mind, body and spirit creates a dynamic challenge that knows no match. I truly appreciate the quality of competition my fellow competitors provide. Competition, in the end, is based on cooperation. People agree to play by a given set or rules and try their best to attain the goals of the game. Without it, there is no sport. Were it not for this unique challenge that humans provide, I wouldn’t bike race. I don’t care for the danger, preening, yelling, time commitment, and other peripherals that go on in a bicycle race. The technical, tactical, and physical demands are what I’m there for and these benefits overshadow the problems. Furthermore, each bike race lives on as a memorable life experience that supersedes ordinary activities.
Sport philosopher Scott Kretchmar has defined the importance of “deep play.” In this experience, a person goes beyond the enjoyment of a sport as a superficial recreational activity (a.k.a the weekend warrior). While enjoying a variety of activities may be fun, a multi-dimensional life experience can be found in total immersion in a sport. And it follows that cycling is a “deep game.” The sport has merit because of its intrinsic complexity and challenge. Cycling happens to just be the latest sport that I have experienced deeply, preceded earlier in life by golf, basketball, and a other sports. What next? I don’t know. There’s surfing in Australia. . .
So, getting back to my original premise, it is not the competition that drives me but rather the personal challenge and meaningfulness that I derive from play on a bike.
In the movie Huo Yuan Jia (Fearless), two competitors sit down for tea before their fight:
Tanaka: Mr. Huo, according to what you say, you don’t really know the nature of tea.
Huo: It’s not that I don’t know. I don’t really want to know. Because I don’t care about evaluating teas. Tea is tea.
Tanaka: But each tea has its own character and properties.
Huo: What is the purpose of grading? These many teas are grown in nature, all of them. Is there a discernible difference?
Tanaka: Yes, once you learn this, you can tell the difference between teas.
Huo: What you say may be right, but the way I see it is, the tea doesn’t judge itself. It’s people that judge its grading. Different people choose different things. As for me, as far as I’m concerned, I just don’t want to make any choice.
Tanaka: - Is that so?
Huo: - Drinking tea is a mood, really. If you are in a good mood, the grade of tea doesn’t matter.
Tanaka: I never looked at it like that. I understand that there are many wushu fighting styles. Are you saying that no style is greater than another?
Huo: That’s what I’m saying.
Tanaka: If that is true, I want to ask you, if wushu does not differ in any way, why do we fight each other?
Huo: I believe for all the styles of wushu, there is no single one that is superior. All of those who practice different styles of wushu, they would naturally have a different level of skill. Through competition, we can discover ourselves.
Tanaka: What you just said makes me have more respect for you.
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