Racing
'Would you like to join our volleyball team?' the person leading the practice at the place called 'the gym,' where you push some weight machines around, asked me today. 'Volleyball? I asked her in disbelief. 'Yes, did you try that before?' 'Yes,' I said, 'when I was ten.' 'And?' 'And nothing,' I said to her. 'My practice back then didn't go anywhere, because all the kids I played with had no strategy, so that was no fun.' I didn't say anything about car racing, if she had asked about that, but that's mainly because that practice also never went anywhere, due to circumstance. Girls don't just go go-karting...' Still. I might have said yes to that one. But I know why she asked me. I have something most don't. It's called endurance. This I know from comparing experiences.
Once my sister and I had the treadmills on the clock. We said, 'five minutes,' at high speed and strength. I finished my time. Sister dearest didn't. I asked her about it. 'Well,' she said. 'I don't really like this.' This left me in a state of bewilderment. What has the decision to finish five minutes on a machine got to do with liking it or not? They are two different things, the decision to start something and then finish it, and pleasure. While it never occurred to me that treading on the machine for five minutes had anything to do with quitting after three minutes due to displeasure, for her it was all about that.
I didn't volunteer to join the volleyball team, but this made me think of the time when I came close to making the national team in archery, also when I was about ten. I had something that the 1100 kids that got for tested for it didn't. I had control over my breath in perfect relation to aiming. My hara power was strong. That's what the professional trainers said. I wrote about this incident in my book, What is Not, where I laid down the fundamentals for reading a visual text. You wouldn't think that reading cards has much to do with sport, but it does…
On the way back from the gym, I had an occasion to compete, the Wild, Wild, West style. It was pitch dark when I was approaching what they call a chicane in the road. As the road was also bending I had zero visibility, but I could see that I had an opposing car coming due to its lights. I calculated quickly how fast I was going to get there. I decided I would be first, and hence give myself priority. Sure enough that was the case. When I almost got to it, I saw that the opposing car was a big bus. I had my foot on the speeder, and Ayrton Senna, whom I have a habit of consulting in driving matters, in my ear. 'Go' he said. I did. The bus also wanted to go first. But I was faster. I didn't stop for it. I cruised right through the darkness in a balletic move. I could only sense the bus driver's response, 'such nerve.' But things are simple as far as I'm concerned. Either you get there first, or you don't. If I get there first, I don't stop for the world. I would not cheat myself of the feeling of letting my wheels kiss the asphalt in a dancing swerve.
Some have a propensity for winning at strategy. Maybe I'll say yes next time someone who isn't thinking about just how old I am for some things asks me about competitions. I might even rise to the challenge in unexpected ways.
