Ever have one of those people in your life who's been competing with you except he fails to mention it until he announces he's won? "Heyyy, I guess I win the whose-got-the-biggest-grill competition." "Heyyy, I didn't know there was a competition." Jerk.
We'll, I am that guy.
But only in regards to my wife. I don't care how badly I lose in a four-way game of Scrabble as long as I finish ahead of my wife. This is really healthy for a marriage. Seriously, it's one of the principles that Gary Chapman teaches in his book "The Five Love Languages." Look it up. It's in the appendix in a section entitled "Pummeling your Spouse."
Sunday, Julie and I ran in a 7K run. Julie is a runner. I am not. In fact, I hate running. The only reason I do as well as I do in these events is because I run them as fast as I can so that I can get the darn thing over with as soon as possible.
We had about a dozen friends and co-workers who joined us -including our friend and neighbor Amber who is five months pregnant. Amber registered on line and then on the day of the race wore an unseasonably heavy coat when she went to the table to pick up her materials because she was afraid the race officials wouldn't allow her to run if they saw that she was pregnant.
Julie kept insisting it was a "run" and not a competition. I kept telling her it was a "race" which by definition is a competition as in "Hey, wanna race?"
When we were done, I looked as if somebody has just turned a garden hose on me. Julie had but a radiant glow about her. I thought I was going to die. Julie was ready to shower, change, and go ballroom dancing.
Julie graciously let me finish ahead of her -I get really pouty when she beats me. I may have finished 362 out of a field of 700 runners, but at least I beat my wife.
Oh, and I finished ahead of the woman who looks like she's ready to give birth at any moment.
Barely.
-Jack
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