My dad likes to tell this story about my sister, Megan. One sports day at school, she was coming first in the sprint race. But when she saw our parents, she stopped and waved, letting the other kids take over. She was so happy to see them, she didn’t even cross the finish line. Dad feigns disappointment at her lack of competitive spirit, but I know he tells the story because it shows just how good natured she is. I, on the other hand, always tried to win.
‘Tried’ being the operative word. After years of wanting to win and failing, with plenty of fourth places under my belt, I concluded that I just wasn’t a sporty person. So I stopped trying.
Then, in my late twenties, I booked an active group trip: Intrepid's Cambodia. Hike, Bike and Kayak. I felt that mix of nerves and excitement that comes from committing to something challenging. Maybe it was time to face my complex feelings about winning head on.
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Our leader, Bo, introduces the week ahead: cycling, hiking and kayaking. The group spans from their twenties to seventies. I call it an early night with the next morning's cycle looming over me.
It’s on quiet Koh Dach island that I discover cycling is a great way to make friends. Setting aside my worries about proving myself, I slow down or pick up the pace as I get to know everyone. My boyfriend Hugh turns to me after ten minutes on the bike and says, ‘This is going to change how we travel from now on,’ perfectly capturing the joy of moving through the Cambodian countryside.
Hikes usually stress me out. I put pressure on myself to match the fastest person’s pace, which often leaves me breathless and frustrated. But on the trail to Sopheakmit Waterfall, something feels different. Even when Bo suggests a break after noticing my flushed cheeks, I realise I’m doing fine. For once, I’m not trying to beat anyone. As we reach the waterfall together and celebrate with a dip, I wonder if this is what replacing a ‘must-win’ attitude with mindfulness feels like.
Later, as we kayak downstream in pairs, Bo calls out that we should race for the last 600 metres. ‘Let’s pick up the pace!’ I yell at Hugh. But his arms are already sore. I realise he’s been doing most of the work while I’ve been providing commentary from the front. As the prospect of winning slips away, so does my motivation to race. We pull up last, only to find everyone already swimming in the river together. No one cares who won.
At Angkor, Bo suggests another race. I pedal as fast as I can, but this time I’m in it purely for the fun. Which is lucky because, true to form, I pull up fourth.
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Over our final dinner, someone from the group asks Bo if we’ve been his favourite group to lead. He diplomatically declines to answer, instead saying we all have ‘the same strong energy level’. I’ll take ‘strong energy’. That feels like enough of an achievement. Somewhere between the bikes, kayaks and waterfall hikes, I stopped obsessing over how I was doing and actually started being part of the adventure. Physical activity does that. It forces you out of your head and into the world.
Turns out my sister was right all along. If you stop treating everything like a competition and choose to share moments of joy with others, you'll always feel like a winner.
