Jimmy and I went to school and scouts together for a few years, and lived just one block apart. I remember thinking he was an okay kid, we would hang out sometimes, and go fishing down at the river in the summer and sled the neighborhood hills in the winter. The biggest difference between us was I was average looking while he was beautiful. He had golden curly locks, a turned up pixie nose, and sharp jawbones that made him look like a hero. The girls in elementary school liked him just fine. One day during gym class we ended up facing off in an arm wrestling contest, laying on the floor, with a crowd gathering around us. I don’t know why it became such a big event, but it did. There ended up being thirty or more kids gathered around us as we began our contest. Jimmy and I locked hands, arms tensed, and began. Nothing happened as we started the contest, both of our arms standing straight up. I pulled, he pulled, one of us would lean a bit, then the other, but the battle remained a stalemate. I began to notice the kids getting louder and cheering…all for Jimmy. I began to glance around at our (his) cheering audience, then back at Jimmy, our faces grimacing and our arms straining. Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy! They wouldn’t be happy if their hero lost, so I gave them what they wanted. Down my arm went, up went the whooping and cheering, with the kids gathering around Jimmy while I stood back and watched. A few kids gave me their condolences, and that was that. I felt like I did the right thing for a while, until the “what-ifs” kicked in, and I began to feel worse than a looser. I was a quitter. Jimmy and I drifted apart and as the years went by there would be, for fun, many more arm wrestling matches with lots of other people, most of which I won. I learned that it felt much better to try and fail than to quit. Ignore the crowd and do your best.