I don’t remember exactly when it happened. Maybe it was always so. But somewhere along the way, I became competitive. Not the kind of competition that needs to win every game that is played. When it comes to board games, card games, and the like, my competitive drive drops to around 40%, but when it comes to my achievements, up goes the drive. As I think about it, possessing a competitive drive has served me well. It helps propel me toward goals and sustain my effort when the steps in between are wearisome and tedious.

Before my transplant, I used my competitive drive to help strengthen my body. Sidelined from tennis, working out, and many other forms of physical activity, walking became my elixir. Setting goals gave me a sense of power when much of my life felt out of control.

I’ve been home for three days, and already I feel cabin fever setting in. Even if the medical constraints don’t restrict me from being around people, driving, and other joys, my energy level does. I wake up with a burst of energy that is applied to the routine of getting ready in the morning, leaving me with little left. After a few short hours, I am relegated to bed for a nap.

As I awake from my snooze, sunshine filters through the bare branches of the trees. The voice from within declares, “I’m going to walk.” Putting on my shoes and asking Ben to go with me, we walk up our street. I set my sights on reaching the crest of our hill. One house, two house, white house, blue house, up the slope we go. The freshness of the impending winter air invigorates me. The familiar voice within beckons, “Go farther.” And so, I do. We pass the top of the hill and move toward the cul-de-sac. One house, two house, white house, blue house. As the sidewalk ends, we return home.

Walking up the steps to our door, the Fitbit tells me it was half a mile. New goal. Half a mile or more a day. My competitive self smiles as I lie down to rest again.