Competing

I'm not a competitive person.  I don't care if I come in first or last or somewhere in between.  I have no intentions of climbing the corporate ladder or social ladder.  Or a regular ladder, for that matter.  I drive like an old woman.  "I'll get there when I get there" is my motto.  It just seems to me that people waste a LOT of energy trying to be the best at something that usually doesn't even matter.  It only matters to them.  I'm not knocking it, it's just not me.

My family, on the other hand, is very competitive.  My Grandma once cheated at Scattergories.  She was playing with my brother and I and we rolled and "F".  The category was "Games you played as a child".  Her answer--Flippin'.  Like hell.  She cheated while playing a game with her grandchildren.

My mom and I were in Washington a few years ago, at Hurricane Ridge.  It's a beautiful mountain range on the Olympic Peninsula.  There is a hiking trail that leads to the summit with a view all the way into British Columbia.  LOVED it.  Mom and I are hiking to the top, which is not a steep climb, but I'm not a tiny person and definitely not in the greatest shape.  We get halfway up and I realized I hadn't heard Mom for a few seconds.  I turned around to find her completely doubled over at the waist, sucking air like she was dying.  As soon as she realized I'd seen her, she starts digging through the rocks as if that was what she was doing all along.  Like hell.  I was kicking her butt and she couldn't stand it.  Mom is super competitive, to where she couldn't even let me have my tiny victory.  No.  She tried to lie her way out of it by pretending to look at the pretty gravel.  Like hell.

Once, my brother was making fun of me and Mom, because we walked every evening.  He thought that was ridiculous.  We should be running, for crying out loud.  We walked a solid five miles every night, but he made fun of us because we walked like big, stupid girls.  So we told him to put up or shut up.  The next night he goes with us.  The whole walk he spends nagging us to go faster, faster, faster.  A few times he jogs ahead and then makes a show of waiting for us to catch up.  Once he runs backwards because he is just that awesome.  Look at you go, little buddy!  The next morning, I woke up and came down stairs.  As soon as I hit the landing I smelled it.  The stench of A&D ointment was cloying.  I could hardly breathe.  Here comes my brother around the corner, walking so bowlegged he couldn't move his legs.  He just kept turning sideways.  He maneuvered over to the couch and just lay there spread eagle, letting his danglies air out.  So, yes, he could walk five miles faster than me, however, his crotch was on fire for a week and a half so I'd say that one was a draw.