I could read them.
They assembled a bunch of jittery, miscellaneous, and mismatched individuals. Some were small, some big, some tall, some short, some thick, some thin, some muscular, some not so muscular, young, and old. They all stood in anticipation. Five kilometers of elevation and obstacles lay ahead, and right where they were standing, they could see the first challenge - a steep incline.
I could see enthusiasm in some and fear in others. In their zeal, the overzealous were contemptuous of the mountain's grandeur. They stood in defiance, eager and ready to attack the steep incline. Juxtaposed, the jaded were contemplative and weary. The imposing mountain before them was humbling. They stood baffled, distressed, wondering who usurped their wisdom into signing up for this insanity.
As a mere observer, I had no right to question the weary's wisdom. Their courage to stand on the start line, with a glaring steep incline, was an awe-inspiring achievement. But still, I did. Will they make it up the hill? If they do, will they be able to clear the obstacles? I pondered, and I speculated. They won't.
Notwithstanding my doubts, I admired the guts of this diverse cohort.
And then they were off. It was a hierarchical melee of the enthused and unenthused, the unconcerned and concerned, the swift and the sluggish, the willing and the unwilling; they all attacked the incline accordingly. And one after the other, the sun-beaten mountain swallowed them all.
What was to be? Will they emerge victorious? There was no time to ponder; I had a camera to set up and a vantage spot to find where I could watch the mountain regurgitate the ego, the fear, and the courage it had swallowed. I waited. And I waited. There was no sign of any of them.
Finally, the mountain regurgitated its contents. It wasn't what I anticipated. I expected the triumphant descent of the enthusiastic while the weary tumbled and rolled if they were to reemerge at all. But the regurgitated 'cud' was soft and unrecognizable, a mixture of softened egos and bruised courage. Yet, there was something, something unexpected. Restored confidence.
It was a transformation as surprising as it was profound. The group went up in a distinguishable hierarchy, but as they descended, I could barely tell the ones who went up armoured in courage from those who ascended clocked in fear. The façade was gone. The mountain had humbled the pretentious and exalted the humble.
It all became more apparent right in front of me. Staring at me was a row of gymnastics rings the participants had to swing on to make it to the other end. I saw, right there, a buff young man swing on one ring and fall to the ground. He looked up at the rings and realized he had no strength to clear the obstacle. So, he hung his head down in defeat and bypassed the obstacle.
Yet, as if to prove a point, this gentleman, right behind him, robed in blubber, made it across with ease. It was amusingly incomprehensible. How could a muscular juvenile fail to conquer an obstacle an out-of-shape elder easily sailed through?
As the randomized failures and successes continued, I realized that what we infer by looking is not necessarily what it is. People cannot be judged by simply looking at them. I was confident I had figured out the ascending group by looking at their presentation. I didn't. And I was convinced that, based on their looks, I could predict the outcome. I couldn't.
I must admit. I cannot read.
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