Second Place is First Loser

My dad has two phrases I grew up on. The first is that there’s no defense in golf. You can’t block anyone, you can’t slow anyone down, all you can do is play your own game. Gymnastics works the same way, which is probably why it made sense to me. I was competitive as a kid, but the competition was always with myself. I never once hoped someone else would fall just so I would win.

The second phrase is the title of this post.

My first big competition was the Milo Little Olympics in the ’90s. I took silver on vault, which I earned, and silver overall, which I mostly backed and lucked into. Two silver medals. The competitions after that went about the same. Another silver here, a bronze there. I don’t remember ever standing on the top block.

Second place is first loser. My dad said it like a joke, and maybe it was one. He’s proud of the phrase now. He thinks it might be the reason I push, and he could be right. It’s possible I’ve spent decades just not wanting to be called a first loser.

Fast forward to 2023. I recorded a pole video for my birthday, the way I’d done for a few birthdays before, just for me. So when teacher encouraged me to submit it to a virtual competition, I said yes before I could think about it too hard. So my birthday video doubled as a competition piece. I stayed up in the middle of the night to watch the results come in from the other side of the world. Silver. Second. I was happy. I mean, I didn’t even plan to compete.

Then late that year, an email. I’d been named a finalist for Amateur of the Year, chosen from every non-winner first time competitor across every competition the organization ran that season. Being on that list at all felt enormous. The catch was that the winner would be decided by votes.

I don’t ask for help. That’s just a fact about me, and asking for votes was genuinely painful. I asked friends. I asked a few cousins. I couldn’t bring myself to ask people face to face, because a vote felt like a favor and favors are not something I collect. When the winner was announced and it wasn’t me, I was fine. Honest to goodness, fine.

Only for the org to later notify me that I was a very close second.

That one stung. Losing wasn’t the sting. The sting was finding out I’d been second. Again. Second is apparently my permanent address.

I still want to compete, and the truth about why is simple. I want to fucking win. Yes, I’ve been fine every time I didn’t. Both wanting to win, and being okay with not are both true at the same time, and I’ve stopped trying to make them agree.

Here’s the part that surprised me, though. Thirty years of second place, and I never once stopped showing up. Maybe that’s what all that silver actually bought. It built a person who keeps pushing. Dad might say that was the point. He’ll be taking credit, but I’ll allow it.

The girl who never hoped others would fail, and the woman who’s done being first loser are the same person. She’s just finally admitting it. I know how this works with me. The moment I say something out loud, I end up doing something about it.

So, hello, here it is. Out loud.