So, what does defeat look like? It’s 24 dejected American ice-hockey players receiving Olympic silver medals after the final game against the Canadians. With heads hung low, each player reluctantly extended his hand to the distinguished-looking men in the black suits draping medals around their necks, their lips mouthing a faint, “Thank You.” There were no smiles, no emotion, just a blank look of loss and devastation.

My first thought was, “You better try to muster some enthusiasm since you’re the second best hockey team in the world. Best you show gratitude and joy for that!”

But, my second thought reverted to my high-school years as a sports competitor. I always loved the grace of diving, and with the help of a few lessons, my diving improved. As my diving repertoire increased, I entered into a world of competition at our local swim club, nervous but proud to show an audience what I’d learned.

My competition? Well, I’ll call her Bonnie. Bonnie’s mother performed in Billy Rose’ aquacade shows in the late 1930s and pushed her daughter to excel in both swimming and diving — for that matter, to excel in everything. Yes, Bonnie was the “all around” type of girl whom teachers adored, boys loved and jealous girls stayed clear of. I had no choice but to interact with her. Bonnie always entered swim meets and was a tough competitor. I was also competitive, but did so, quietly.

The diving competition this day featured only two of us — Bonnie and me! I could win, have the satisfaction of beating Bonnie and score a golden trophy; or I could lose, feel the agony of defeat and receive a second-place silver trophy.

My swan dive equaled her swan, or may have surpassed it. Our jack-knives looked about the same, both nearly flawless. My half twist was so-so. I never really mastered that maneuver. Bonnie’s was better. Our one-and-one-half sommersaults looked equal, not a strong dive for either of us. Bonnie nailed the back dive. I failed to enter the water in a straight line. Then came the fun part.

We both chose a dive for our finale. Bonnie performed an inward, back jack-knife, a dangerous dive if you come too close to the board. Cheers erupted, as her back jack came off without a hitch.

I walked to the end of the board, put my hands down, kicked up my feet into a handstand. There I stood, holding it for a few seconds, with toes pointed and straight legs. Slowly, I let go and headed into the water — no splash, just the silence of a dive executed to my idea of perfection.

Cheers erupted.

Happy the competition was now over, I remained hopeful. The judges added up our scores on each individual dive, then announced …

“In second place, Sue Seeley.” “In first place, Bonnie Kestner.”

My handstand just didn’t carry the same degree of difficulty as Bonnie’s inward jack. For me, I didn’t come in second that day, I lost.

The USA hockey team didn’t jump for joy that they had won second place. They lost that game to Canada — their Bonnie. It will take awhile for the players to realize what an amazing accomplishment they made that day and how proud we, Americans, are of them.

My day of diving defeat remains, but I also realize that only two people in our entire high school of 2,000 had the courage to perform dives the way Bonnie and I did. I know that a competitive event lasts only a few minutes … being the best we can be at something is a gift that lasts forever.

Following the swim meet, Bonnie said to me, “Sue, you’re good competition.”

USA men’s hockey team? You’re good competition!