The best you've got

Austen Timm had one more chance.

Timm waited for his signal to go. He was competing in the men's high jump finals at the 2012 NAIA National Track and Field Championships at Indiana Wesleyan University. Eight competitors remained as the bar was raised to 2.08 meters; Timm's career best was 2.11.

His first two attempts came up short, giving the jumper from Point Loma Nazarene University one last shot to make it to the next round.

Rain started to fall just before the official called his name. By the time he got the green light it had turned into a steady drip.

Facing a do-or-die situation, Timm began his approach. His steps became longer with each stride, until he planted his foot to jump and heard a sound he will probably remember the rest of his life.

Timm's foot slipped and scrapped against the pavement as he flew into the bar with a jump that might not have even cleared one meter. He was done, finished, out of the competition because of little lapse in friction.

And he was a senior.

Timm sat on the padding. Maybe he was wondering what happened. Maybe his career was flashing before his eyes. Maybe he was cursing the shoe company. But no matter what he was thinking, he knew that his career had just ended.

Call me crazy, but as I watched this sad scene unfold, I couldn't help but feel sorry for this complete stranger. The look in his eyes as he hopped off the padding and walked away for the last time was painful to look at. He ripped off his green jersey and trotted into the empty field as the rain continued to fall.

As sobering as this was, I also knew that Timm should be grateful for at least part of his situation. At least he knew that was his last jump. Because while yes, that knowledge made the moment a terrible one, it's a lot better than not knowing at all. Despite the unfortunate slip that ended his career, he was still able to give everything he had to his last jump, and could quickly enjoy the closure of knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was over.

How many things happen in life that we don't get to know it was the last time?

I think back to friends who recently graduated from college. Those few days during finals probably marked the last time I will ever see most of them. Sad, right? Yes, but I never knew when exactly that moment was. And who knows? I still might see them at some point, so there's a certain level of uncertainty there. And I'll probably never know when my last article will be.

For me, I enjoy a good game of sand volleyball as much as anything. And someday I'll play my last match (hopefully not for a long time), but there won't be a definite time that happens. Someday after that I'll probably look back and try to remember the last time I played, realizing it was my last game. I'll also think about what I would have done differently had I known. Flip that around to when you do know something's coming to an end, and it's easy to see the difference; there's a lot less chance for regret.

No matter if we're talking about volleyball or time with loved ones, there are an unlimited number of life events and interactions that have an ambiguous expiration date on them. The worst part is not knowing when that date is. Because then you can't give your every last bit to it. And I mean really, giving it all you've got.

So what did I take from watching this? Surely not some overused cliche about always giving your all because you never want to look back and wonder "what if?"

But then again, what's wrong with that?