[Article by Conejo member, Tim Rockey]
At the ripe age of 19, I raced (barely completed) my first triathlon. It was a standard Olympic Distance competition in San Diego for which I did little training. I was particularly ill-prepared for the swim—it was in the open ocean and I had neither trained in the sea nor with the wetsuit I had purchased for the occasion. I was a pool lifeguard and a strong swimmer, but barely made it out of the ocean. Swallowing salt water, with the wetsuit tight around my chest and neck, I felt terrible at the first transition. After losing my breakfast in a trash can, I started riding on my dad’s heavy, old steel frame bicycle. While I no longer wished death upon myself, I still felt awful. As I was dragging up a hill, a man on a carbon-fiber bike with a brightly colored racing suit blew by yelling “SLOWER RIDERS STAY TO THE RIGHT” with a one-fingered gesture. Deflated, I somehow completed the bike and finally got to my element—the run. Somewhere in the middle of that 10k, I recognized his colorful getup ahead of me, slowly approaching. As I passed, I glared at him for several seconds but said not a word. While I by no means won that race, I felt vindicated that I—a rookie without costly gear or experience—was able to triumph over this person who made me feel so small.
Everyone loves a good underdog story, and mine was hardly the first. I spent many ‘90s nights in my backyard basketball court working on my fadeaway jump shot in the hopes that I could someday “be like Mike” as the Gatorade slogan would ring. Michael Jordan’s determination took him from a scrawny younger brother cut from the high school varsity team to a role player in college, and eventually the greatest basketball player to ever step on the court. He would lead teams to National and Olympic titles, and inspire millions. In one impactful commercial, reflecting on his challenges, he related: “I’ve failed over and over again, and that is why I succeed.”
Underdogs. A boy born to an unmarried mother and Galilean carpenter. He hung out with the outcasts. He chose humility over flexing his muscles. He was spat upon and mocked and crucified alongside criminals. His friends were confused and defeated. But the two Marys soon found out what we already know: the greatest underdog defeated death itself, without 10,000 angels, to reconcile your sins and mine. So whenever you feel up against the ropes, remember the Easter story: the hard times will (eventually) pass and the King of the underdogs reigns supreme. He is risen!
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