In which the author — dragged down by an inconvenient bug and an equally inconvenient lack of sleep — rides into cosmopolitan Modesto for the final contest showdown.
Going the distance through all the levels of a speech contest must be a little like a marathon. Now, I’ve never run a marathon, so I don’t understand the experience personally, but I have friends who have, and clearly it’s grueling.
In its own way, a speech contest can be, too.
I estimate I probably put in about 60 hours writing, rewriting and rehearsing (or should I say “hearsing and rehearsing?”) “The Ordeal of the Fish” for that season. I understand it is not unusual for the serious International competitor to put in over 100 hours to get their speech to District, and probably a comparable amount (or more) for each of the next two levels.
I was not facing this level of competition with the Tall Tales contest. The Tall Tale is an strange animal, and I am told it is a hard one to judge and a harder one to execute. Just after my Division win, the then Immediate Past District Governor Bruce Louie called my speech a perfect example of what a Tall Tale speech should be.
Flattering, and bittersweet at the same time. It’s the nature of Toastmaster contests that you really can’t recycle material, certainly not verbatim, and a winning speech — if you can take it the distance — will wind up retired to a shelf somewhere, a pleasant memory collecting dust.
(Yes, Grasshopper … that which passes, passes like clouds.)