The gavel I use against myself would be better served against others. For too long, I’ve forgiven but not forgotten, allowing losers to cross the finish line. But I knew all along they did not deserve a medal. Yet I awarded them the prize of my patience and humility. All the time my cells clamored in my gut, telling me to question their integrity, that their merit was flawed. I reserved all judgment against their lies and shortcomings, but liberally banged the gavel at my own sentencing. Now I am aware, as the price of gold continues its climb, that my medals are worth as much as my name. So I will scrutinize their every foot fall, challenge every questionable turn, because I am worthy of the race.