It is not up to me whether I win or lose. Ultimately, this might

Apolo Ohno, the swift skater whose blades carved his name into the ice of Olympic glory, once declared: “It is not up to me whether I win or lose. Ultimately, this might not be my day. And it is that philosophy towards sports, something that I really truly live by. I am emotional. I want to win. I am hungry. I am a competitor. I have that fire. But deep down, I truly enjoy the art of competing so much more than the result.” In these words, there is a wisdom older than sport itself—the wisdom of detachment, of humility, and of reverence for the struggle more than the crown.

For in the arena of competition, men and women often chase only the prize. The medal, the trophy, the laurel wreath—these become the idols of the heart. But Ohno’s philosophy is deeper. He confesses his hunger, his desire, his fire, yet admits that the outcome is not his to command. Fortune, chance, the will of the gods—these always play their part. What is his, what belongs to him fully, is the spirit with which he enters the contest. Thus, his joy is found not in victory alone but in the sacred act of striving.

The ancients knew this truth well. At Olympia, the athletes of Greece raced, wrestled, and fought not only for the crown of olive but for the honor of having competed. To run the race itself was divine, to test one’s body against others was to honor Zeus. Victory was glory, yes, but participation in the struggle was itself a holy offering. So too Ohno reveals the eternal spirit: to love the art of competing more than the fleeting moment of triumph is to live as the true athlete lives.

Consider also the story of Eric Liddell, the Scottish runner whose life inspired Chariots of Fire. He ran not merely for victory, but for the sheer joy of running, saying, “God made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure.” At the 1924 Olympics, he sacrificed his chance at one race because of his beliefs, yet went on to win another, proving that the joy of the contest itself surpasses the desire for the result. Like Ohno, Liddell understood that the true glory lies in the fire of effort, not merely in the medal placed around the neck.

Ohno’s words also remind us of the fragility of outcome. A stumble, a fall, a sudden twist of fate—these can rob even the strongest of victory. If one builds happiness only on the uncertain foundation of winning, one’s spirit will always be at risk of collapse. But if one builds joy on the eternal foundation of striving, of effort, of courage to enter the arena, then even in defeat, there is triumph. For no power can take away the dignity of the one who gave everything.

The lesson, then, is clear: do not live only for the results. In your work, in your studies, in your life, cultivate love for the process. Relish the sweat, the struggle, the long journey, for these are the true treasures. To fix your eyes only on victory is to live in anxiety and disappointment; to fix them on the art of striving is to live in joy, whether or not the crown is yours.

Therefore, take action in your life. When you wake to face the day’s labors, remind yourself: “It may not be my day, but I will give my whole spirit to the contest.” Strive with passion, hunger, and fire, but release your attachment to outcome. Whether you rise in triumph or stumble in defeat, you will carry with you the satisfaction of having fought well. This is the way of the competitor who endures, the athlete who finds peace, the human being who finds joy even in struggle.

For in the end, as Ohno teaches, the crown is fleeting, but the art of competing is eternal. To embrace this truth is to live not as a slave to victory, but as a master of the spirit. And such a one, even in defeat, walks as a victor through life.