Meow

When I entered high school in 1978, a girl could choose from three varsity sports, two of which — field hockey and cheerleading — had skirts as part of the uniform. I chose cross-country running, a sport for which I had, and still have, zero talent. But at least I could wear shorts.

We showed up every day for practice — the first sport that most of us had done, except for middle-school cheerleading. We ran long distances and short, and the primary lesson that I learned was how to suffer, that breathing hard did not mean death was imminent. By the end of the season, I could actually run three miles without stopping to walk.

But no one really taught us how to compete. The goal, of course, was to win. Or to run as fast as we possibly could. But we had no idea how to act as sportswomen. The other girls in every race were our enemy. Even the other girls on our team were the enemy. And we often treated them as such, in races and in life.

If we couldn't beat our competitors in a race, then we would trounce them off the field: for what they wore, who they hung out with, what they said, and where they were going in life -- but only behind their backs. We could be very, very cruel.

Thanks to Title IX, girls can now pick from a host of non-skirt-wearing sports. 

But has any of the mean-girl crap stopped? Can girls be proud of teammate who did well? Or only if they do well too? Has cat fighting remained a women’s-only sport?

Men seem to have the competition thing figured out. They compete on the field, against the clock, in the gym, and in the boardroom. But that's where they leave it. And they trash talk and tease with an innate sense of where the line is, or so a male friend tells me. Should a really good soccer player, cyclist, runner, lawyer, doctor, you name it, move to town, the others step up to the plate, try to keep up, and devise ways to excel themselves.

For men, a rising tide raises all boats.

Women seem to view the rising tide as a sign of imminent drowning. Rather than learn to swim, we stand there, water rising, making nasty comments about the tide-raiser.

Why do we care? And why do we pounce so brutally on a woman who dares show herself above the rest — in sports, in fashion, on the job? Must we compete in every venue? Do we fear our husbands, boyfriends, mates will judge us in comparison? Then flee, hoping instead to find the big-haired, big-boobed woman who once ran a successful Mary Kay franchise and now lives to decorate her home in color-coordinated basket arrangements? Does spinsterhood loom unless we have pot pourri in every bathroom and can still fit into our skinny jeans?

Why can't we rise with the tide? And be happy that someone in our midst is a success? Is it innate? Or simply a skill that we were never taught -- the skill of how to be a good teammate.

How great would it be to be on a team where everyone complimented us on our strengths and politely overlooked our weaknesses? Who cheered us in victory and defeat? And who openly talked about what each of us brings to the table? Might each of us actually flourish?

Hard to know. I have yet to find a team that works this way.

So if you'll excuse me, I'll go sharpen my claws on the furniture. Just to be safe.