Living with Parkinson’s has given me a new perspective on rivalry

Rivalry made sense to me when it happened on a basketball court. Two teams, one ball, one scoreboard, and lines painted clearly enough that people yelling from the third row could pretend they saw everything perfectly.

As a basketball official, I understood rivalry, and I loved it. Sports fans also enjoy the energy, history, noise, and arguments about who is better and who got the better whistle. In the game, rivalry had structure, rules, and boundaries. The point was to let conflict happen without becoming chaos.

Then Parkinson’s disease showed up, and suddenly, the rivalry was taking place inside my own body.

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Now the opening tip can happen before I even get out of bed. My brain says, “Let’s go,” while my legs say, “Let’s discuss.”

My hand votes without permission. My shoulders brace for a storm only they can see. My face sometimes forgets to send the memo that I am still very much alive in the conversation. It is an odd thing to become both player and opponent.

Some mornings, the rivalry is obvious: Tremor versus stillness. Stiffness versus motion. Balance versus gravity. Speed versus safety.

Other days, the rivalry is quieter: Hope versus evidence. Independence versus accepting help. Patience versus wanting to fix everything right now.

The person I remember being versus the person I am learning to become may be the toughest matchup on the schedule.

Learning the rules

We like to talk about “fighting” Parkinson’s. I say it, too. It feels right, gives the condition a shape, and puts gloves on the invisible. But living with Parkinson’s has complicated that for me, because not every rivalry is won by overpowering the other side. Sometimes, the harder skill is learning the rules.

Great rivalries aren’t just about anger, but also adaptation. Each side studies the other, patterns emerge, and weaknesses are exposed. Timing, space, and momentum matter. So does restraint. A good rivalry makes you more aware, not less.

Parkinson’s disease has done that, whether I invited it to or not. It has widened the court, as the rivalry is not only inside my body. It is care versus access, insurance coverage versus medical judgment, research versus delay, funding versus urgency, advocacy versus fatigue, and prevention versus the comfortable habit of waiting for more proof.

And then it gets personal again. I notice the floor and doorways now. How stress turns up symptoms. How fatigue can quietly change the score. How pride can be helpful in the first quarter and dangerous in the fourth.

I notice how much of daily life depends on small negotiations most healthy people never have to name. Stand up too fast? Whistle. Skip sleep? Technical foul. Pretend nothing has changed? Turnover. Push too hard? Possible ejection.

That is not defeatism. That is scouting.

And maybe that is where “survival of the fittest” gets misunderstood. We hear “fittest” and think strongest, biggest, toughest, most dominant. But fitness isn’t always about dominance. In nature, in sports, and in chronic disorders, fitness is often about adaptation. The fittest is not always the one who crushes the rival. Sometimes it’s the one who learns faster.

That’s because Parkinson’s disease does not offer many clean victories. It offers adjustments, experiments, good hours, bad days, new questions, new routines, and new versions of old courage.

There are days when I still want the old scoreboard. I want a final score that says Parkinson’s lost and I won. I want the clock to hit zero and to hear, “That’s it. Game over.” But chronic disorders don’t work that way. There is no final buzzer, only the next possession.

So I am trying to become a better rival. Not a louder one, not a tougher-talking one, but a better one. One who studies the game. One who respects the opponent without surrendering to it. One who accepts help from the bench. One who changes strategy when the old play stops working. One who understands that stubbornness and courage are not the same thing.

Parkinson’s has taken plenty from me. It has changed my body, confidence, timing, future, and sense of control.

But it has also taught me something I didn’t fully understand when rivalry was just a game with a whistle: The goal is not to eliminate every rival. That is not the reality of life or chronic disorders. That is not even good basketball.

The goal is to stay in the game with enough awareness, humility, humor, and stubborn hope to keep adapting. That includes every useful tool, from medical care to exercise and movement practice, when possible.

I used to think the fittest rival was the one who won. Now I think it’s the one who keeps learning. And for today, at least, I am still learning.

Note: Parkinson’s News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or another qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Parkinson’s News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to Parkinson’s disease.