It’s easy to overlook the significance of participation when you’re not standing on the podium. I came in 43rd place in a recent marathon—no one’s handing out trophies for that. But I still walked away with a sense of pride, not just for the medal, but for showing up and pushing myself. Out of thousands of runners, only a handful left with any “real” recognition. Yet, I realized the value of competing isn’t in victory alone. It’s in the sheer act of showing up, of being counted among those who tried. Sometimes, that’s the real reward—more than the medal or even the PR I achieved (3 hours and 37 minutes).
There’s something oddly satisfying about being one of the thousands who didn’t win. You’d think going home without a trophy would feel like a loss, but it doesn’t. It feels more like you’ve joined some club—one where the badge of honor is just having participated survived the grind. It’s a bit like being part of any elite group—whether it’s Columbia University, NASA, or JP Morgan. You got accepted or hired and that in itself speaks volumes.
This was certainly true at the Olympics last month—10,000+ athletes show up, but only around 2,000 medals are handed out. That leaves over 8,000 of the world’s best athletes going home without any hardware to show for it. But does that make them any less incredible? A tiny, tiny bit. Their reward is in the grind—the years of sacrifice, the early mornings, and the countless hours spent pushing themselves just to make it there. In that sense, showing up becomes the real victory. Sure, it’s not as shiny as gold, but it carries a weight that only those who’ve been through the process can understand.
This idea goes beyond sports. Just like those athletes, the rest of us spend our lives competing in arenas that don’t always have clear winners. Life isn’t set up like a race; there is no finish line. It’s messier, more subjective. In the professional world, success is less about podiums and more about participation—being part of something bigger, whether that’s a prestigious institution or a tight-knit team. People don’t ask your GPA years after you leave an Ivy League school; they just care that you were there. If it’s not a job interview and someone asks you, best to probably leave that conversation. Anyways, generally being in the right room is enough to tip the scales in your favor.
It’s the same logic behind all those participation trophies we hand out to kids. Sure, there’s a lot of lucite involved, and let’s be honest, no one’s holding onto their five-year-old soccer trophies forever. If you are, please read The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. But the point isn’t the trophy itself—it’s the lesson behind it. Showing up, being part of something, trying your best even when you know you won’t win—that’s where the value lies. We’re conditioned to think that success is binary: winners and losers, gold or nothing.
But in reality, the act of participating is what shapes us, what teaches us to keep going, even when the podium is out of reach.
Being a competitor and putting yourself out there—that’s what defines any sport, or really, any pursuit. There are no winners without participants. And sometimes, it’s less about performance and more about belonging—being part of a team, a group, or an institution. Years later, no one remembers if you placed 43rd or 23rd in a marathon (they might remember if you get on the podium), but the fact that you were there and gave it your all leaves a lasting impression. It’s the quiet achievement that stays with you, long after the race is over.
Showing up isn’t about ticking a box—it’s about engaging, committing, and being present, even when winning feels out of reach. Whether it’s a race, a job, or anything in between, the real rewards are often subtle but profound: the connections made, the lessons learned, the resilience built. It’s less about standing on a podium and more about how showing up shapes who you are. Those childhood trophies weren’t just lucite—they are a reminder that being part of something matters.
In a world obsessed with outcomes, it’s easy to miss the point: just being there is half the battle. Participation gives life its texture. It’s not the finish line that matters—it’s the grind, the hustle, the narrative you build along the way. Sometimes, the story you walk away with is the real prize, and if that’s not enough, hopefully a participatory medal or lucite figure is.
unpublished alpha 