What drives you to succeed?

Is it the recognition? The trophies, the ribbons, or the certificates? Is it the satisfaction of knowing you can do something, or the warmth you feel when someone tells you congratulations?

Coaches such as Jimmy V and Kay Yow received attention, hardware, and plenty of support after their successes. But, were those just aftermath of a deeper drive, or were they what pushed the basketball coaches to succeed on the court? How did they measure success?

There is a cedar chest at home that contains trophies, plaques, and dozens of crinkled certificates I accumulated over the years. They call the chest home for many reasons; they're kept together and easy to access if I ever maybe one day over the next 70 years want to take a peek at them. To be honest, I put them in the chest to remove the clutter. I could care less about a piece of paper that I kept in my backseat for a few weeks before I brought it inside, or the piece of wood I never hung on my wall. The trophies have broken handles and my ribbons are frayed. In fact, I'm not even sure how I got some of the awards. But, the feeling of achievement is far from a tarnished memory.

To my very core, I am a competitor. Regardless of circumstance, I'm in it to win it, and I've been that way my entire life. It's just how I'm wired. If I didn't bring home first, both the 2nd place trophy and the memory of receiving it proved to be lackluster. I would replay the scenario over and over and over, desperately searching for the reason I wasn't deemed a winner. I couldn't help but drown in my own misery. I wanted to compete because I thought I could win, and that brought a satisfaction that's hard to articulate... a thirst that's unquenchable.

I portray "competition" as a weakness, but don't let me fool you. It is undeniably one of my greatest strengths (my #2 in Strength Finders, if you are familiar.) However, my outlook on competition has evolved over time.

While the first place trophy may not mean everything, preparing yourself to win it is. If you are doing everything you can to develop yourself to win, winning is just a byproduct. You're growing, and ultimately, that's what matters. My desire to be not merely the best, but MY best is what makes competition a strength. I am willing to do whatever it takes, and therein, my friends, lies the beauty of the competitive heart.

However, there are misconceptions about a competitor. A true competitor does not cheat. A true competitor knows the battle is not with everyone else, but with himself. Winning is nothing if it wasn't because of my own efforts or abilities. I value competition, not winning. There is a difference. I value character more than either.

There was a point in time where winning first was my definition of success. I can, without a doubt, say that isn't the case any longer. My success isn't measured by blue ribbons or first place trophies. It's not a number or figure that grows with time. If I can look in the mirror and honestly say the person looking back at me has done everything she can to make herself better for the sake of others, I'm moving in the right direction. If I've practiced good character, genuinely pursued my passions, and learned from not "wins" and "losses" but the journey to either, then I'm jogging in that direction. If I've put forth the effort required to be my best, then I'm sprinting.

You know what I really like about Jimmy V and Kay Yow? Their competitive hearts. Not just on shiny, hardwood basketball courts. No, I prefer their fight to live. They did whatever it took to make the very most of every day, and they put their best selves forward... because others deserved it. They did what they loved, and they did it with a fire that could never be put out. They live on forever in the hearts and minds of others, and will continue to be celebrated for not just their trophies, but their passion for life. They were each true competitors, and it was evident in the way they battled cancer.

Both coaches ultimately lost the battle to cancer. But did they really lose?

"Cancer can take away all of my physical abilities. It cannot touch my mind, it cannot touch my heart, and it cannot touch my soul. And those three things are going to carry on forever."

- Jim Valvano