“I've got at least 3 of 4 and that ain't bad.”
That was my case for joining the Prospect Park Track Club board.
The four things were curiosity, empathy, intelligence and the desire to get things done. I did not say which one I was missing.
The rest of the email was equally restrained.
I told the elections team I was ready to “throw my hat into the ring” for the upcoming election extravaganza. If I lost, I was prepared to run again, depending on the heroism and prestige of the other candidates.
I was mentally ready, and at least for then physically ready, to outlast every no vote until somebody let me serve our “great, wild and weird club of adult race/run/jog/walk enthusiasts.”
I signed it Chris “most inspirational nominee” Fischer.
Then I added a note that it had been composed on my phone and people should excuse the typos like it was 2005.
Under the jokes, I wanted the job.
PPTC had become an important part of my life. The daily runs gave me structure. The races gave me goals. The people made New York feel smaller and better. When work was rough, the club was usually the thing that still made sense.
I had already been helping as a captain. The board was another way to work on the club itself, not just show up for workouts and races.
My real pitch was simple. The members had good ideas and very different perspectives. I wanted to understand them, represent them and use whatever skills I had to make the club better. I had energy, team spirit and what I described as “unmeasurable excitement” for helping other people have a good time.
That part sounds like campaign copy. It was also true.
I had spent most of my career building teams and products. The club was not a startup and did not need to become one. But I knew how to ask questions, organize messy work, listen to opinions and keep moving.
The candidacy email ended with typos, too many exclamation points and a fake nickname.
It sounded like me.