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?

Worth the risk

Call me a perfectionist.

I was that kid in high school who hated group projects because I like doing the work myself; I don't always trust others to do it right. I was also the kid who always got named group leader.

Go figure.

One of the things about my personal style that contributes to my perfectionist personality is I never consider failure as an option. For a while, that worked. I got all A's throughout high school and my freshman year of college, and I've been hired for all eight jobs I've ever applied for.

But I'm starting to realize that's not a realistic way to continue.

Sophomore year came, classes got harder, and I got my first B. Then my first B-.

While that's hardly failure by most standards, it was one of several things that made me realize life isn't always going to be so easy. But it can be a paralyzing thought to know that failure is inevitable. Seriously, think about it. You're going to screw something up. Probably soon. And it might even be something important. We're not just talking about school and work anymore. These are sad facts of life I denied for a good 19 years or so.

Knowing all this stuff, it's tempting (at least for me) to never try anything beyond what I know I can do. I mean, why try so much when you know it's not always going to work out? But that's no way to live, is it? I'm a big fan of not having any regrets. While yes, I'm the same age as Miley Cyrus, it's still working out pretty well so far. There's nothing in my life that I overwhelmingly wonder "what if?" about; I've taken some chances based on the fact that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't know how something would turn out. And if you ask me, that would be a lot harder than the occasional failure.

"Don't let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game." -Babe Ruth

Finishing the race...

I stood outside my dorm for the summer, wondering what the heck I was doing. It had been two weeks since my last run, a three-times-a-week event I did during the school year with my best friend who doubles as my girlfriend. But as the school year ended and I went on vacation, so did my exercise routine.

Fast forward to last night, when I decided to lace up the running shoes again and go for another run, of course with some encouragement from my best friend, who can no longer run by my side as she is in a different state.

It didn't take long into the run until my breathing became labored, my steps became heavier, and my stomach cramped like it usually doesn't do until the end of a run, and I honestly considered stopping several times. I actually quit in my head more times than I would like to admit, but kept going because I imagined those footsteps beside me, daring me to keep going the whole way.

I could have easily slowed to a mild jog, a saunter, a walk, or a plethora of other words obtainable by consulting a thesaurus. Or I could have taken a couple shortcuts, cut across some grass; skipped the extra lap. Would anybody have known? No, probably not.

But what I was thinking the whole time, while hearing the clicking of the steps I wished were there, was that I want to run the whole way in everything that I do. Even thought sometimes it's hard, sometimes it hurts, sometimes I don't think I can take another step, I still keep doing it because at the end of the day, I know it's going to pay off in the end. I don't think I could be sitting here right now without crushing guilt if I hadn't gone the whole way or if I had taken any shorcuts. Right now, looking back at what felt like pure hell doesn't seem so bad now, and it was certainly worth it.

I'm going to go out and run again a couple days. It's probably going to be difficult again. I'm probably going to almost throw up again. But I'll keep working toward finishing the race, because I wouldn't be able to look at myself in the mirror if I gave it anything less than my best shot and failed, and I'll keep imagining those footsteps beside me.

Bring it on, summer.

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith."
-2 Timothy 4:7