Life’s a Participation Trophy
Crack! The report of a starter pistol bounced off the stadium walls. I gazed nervously across the hazy field at the runners who had just left the starting blocks. We were at Northwestern’s old Dyche Stadium in Evanston, and I was running the anchor leg of a 4x100 relay at the citywide elementary school track meet.
It was way too hot for early May, and my Washington School tee was already drenched with sweat. After just medaling in the long jump, this fifth grader thought he had a future in international track. Our relay team had practiced baton handoffs for the better part of April, and we felt pumped about our chances. Waiting for the baton, I was petrified. Would I drop it? Would I be slower than the other runners? Would I have to change schools on Monday?
I started off as the third-leg runner approached.
Faster.
Then full speed, reaching back for the baton.
A seamless transfer.
I ran like my brother and I were heading home to dinner for my mom’s pork chops. My feet seemed to be on air as my legs pumped, barely touching the track. Time slowed down. Everything disappeared except the painted lines in front of me. I was truly in the moment. Flying. Usain Bolt in his prime with just a few feet to go! I pumped my fists and crossed the finish line.
We came in second.
That was my first and last track meet. Even though we didn’t win the race, standing on a podium with my three classmates, being handed a miniature track trophy that barely passed as an award, and getting hugged by my mother became one of my happiest childhood memories. Everything was possible that day.
Technically, it wasn’t a participation trophy. We’d earned second place. But decades later, it’s the feeling I remember more than the finish.
In the following years, I received medals for playing rugby, larger trophies for racquetball tournaments, ribbons and awards for artwork submissions, plaques for band leadership, and even a certificate as a “Collaboration Guru.” Eventually, participation trophies became the norm for many endeavors. My son received countless variations during his childhood. We crave recognition. Someone saying, “You were here. You mattered.”
As best man at my brother’s wedding in the old Bismarck Hotel, I gave an infamous “Team” toast. It was essentially a sports rant, and I probably even said, “There’s no I in team.” But the message was heartfelt: my brother and new sister-in-law had a whole team of friends and family behind them. Whatever life threw their way, we would show up for them.
I’m not sure anyone wanted a trophy for sitting through that toast. They may have deserved one.
Last weekend, the Greenland Sharks set out in our kayaks from a marina on the Chicago River’s north branch. It was about as perfect a day as it could be, and several new faces showed up. We introduced ourselves, put on life jackets, and climbed as gracefully into kayaks as guys our age could.
We headed north and were immediately at ease on the water. It was awesome to watch the ebb and flow of our excursion as we paddled next to one another, exchanging pearls of wisdom. We were like a giant Greenland Sharks amoeba. I found myself in that blissful state I’d experienced decades earlier, weightless and in the moment. Time stood still.
It’s not easy to show up consistently. As we age, many of us struggle with aspects of life that others find easy. One of the guys had to turn back because his shoulder couldn’t take the repetitive paddling. He’d still shown up. How far he paddled didn’t change that.
For a few hours, there were sharks in the Chicago River.
No participation trophies were given, although our “I’m the Greatest” banner found its way to a new Shark named Felix for Kayak Curling. A bold claim for a bunch of guys just trying to get in and out of their boats.
These days, participation feels like a reward of its own: getting out there, making a new friend, being there for an old one. Sharing a few hours that we’ll remember long after our shoulders stop aching.
There was no podium on the river. But for a little while, everything felt possible again.
About Greenland Sharks
Greenland Sharks is a Chicago men's group who value friendship, experiences, and the long swim. Just a crew that shows up. No speeches. No name tags. No nonsense.
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