Counting Down

Well, it's that time of year for my annual shindig. In late July, my son and I continue a hobby tradition and join a mob of others with a similar interest in a week of of cardboard debauchery and all-night endurance contests. I've lately come to realize that the 'social' aspects are more meaningful than the actual activities - a far cry from the early days. (This is the twentieth year of doing this, only interrupted once by the impending birth of my daughter. If not for the vehoment protestations of the spouse, I would not have missed the tradition that year either. My son has been joining me since he was 11 and it's safe to say he's an even bigger addict than I am.) Some of the friendships formed during this one-week-a-year event have endured the entire 20 years; some friends have died and some formerly single bachelors are bringing their kids. The wheel continues to turn but this 'thing' remains constant and I seriously expect it to outlive my marriage. (Not that there's anything amiss there, of course.)

When I started, money was the primary restricter. Now, the issue is time. It used to be a 4 day event for 600 people, this year it's nine days with 1600+. To be honest, I no longer have the ability to survive on three hours of sleep for an indeterminate number of days. Alcohol is not even the issue - that too has gone by the wayside. For what I do, the dulling effect of booze is most definitely counterproductive. Exceptions being granted the second weekend, of course, when anything goes and the last night's sleep is more than curtailed. My son, impetuous youth that he is, is oblivious to any strains on the body and his primary goals are to keep up with his gang of similarly aged teens and not missing out on the periodic buffets featuring his culinary favorites. Time, for me, is measured in games, meals missed, and old friendships renewed.

The secondary theme for me these days is competition. It's not just about winning and losing, it's about continuing to develop and advancing further into the final rounds. With 120+ events over the period, there is ALWAYS something going on that's better than sleeping! My first 3-4 years are all a blur but enhanced competencies have allowed me to bring home the wood which serves as a permanent reminder of triumph and near-triumphs. A steady diet of losing is nowadays punctuated by more wins which is a not insignificant sign of continued progress. There will be a day however when I will no longer be able to keep up. Will I truly care if I don't actually know it? This brings to mind one event where I was matched against on opponent who had Parkinson's. I didn't realize it at the time and just thought he was particularly slow and 'spasmotic'. Nevertheless, he played, AND COMPETED, which would seemingly indicate that instinct alone can keep you afloat. I can't say I'd want to to repeat this experience but it's certainly memorable as a potential glimpse of the future.

When the week is over, I am usually an exhausted wreck. Going back to work is actually a vacation at that point, and even 10-hour days are a relief after 18 hour days of competitive trauma. I'm all 'socialized-out' and happy to rejoin the family. Nevertheless, by the second week I'm already counting down for the next year's event...