How I Became The Fastest Typist On The Planet, But Never Knew It

Here is a strange but true story from my old high school days. I had taken a typing class in middle school, so I was already quite proficient at typing. If I remember correctly, I was able to reach speeds of 50 or 60 words per minute with less than three errors. Not bad for a seventh grader. Well, when I found myself in 10th grade, I had moved to a new state and a new school, so my typing class I had already completed did not count toward my diploma. I was not really looking forward to taking the same class again, but knew that I had no choice. Therefore, faced with this dilemma, I went and tried to attack it head on. With my previous experience, no one in my class had a chance of keeping up with me. My teacher was a very proud woman. To see her face contort when I finished all of the starter assignments, learning how to type the home row and so forth in less than a minute, it really fueled my ego. I thought, for a time that I was tops in her class. She had made it a point to tell that that she had never seen anyone take the keyboard so quickly, even with my middle school credit.

Yes, things were going very well. I had no initiative to move any faster at that point as I was skyrocketing way past everyone in my class. I admit a few of my classmates gave me a hard time about it but for the most part, they were amazed, which only made my head bigger. It was all too easy.

We tested each week. Our teacher allowed us no more than three errors on each Friday’s three minute timed speed test. I had it in the bag for weeks. Nothing could stop me. Well, nothing could stop me in that class. One day I looked at the wall where all of the scores were posted, and realized that she had posted scores for her other classes as well. Imagine the shock to my ego when I saw that in one of her later classes, one gent had surpassed my best time by 20 words per minute. He was only a word or two from breaking 80. Something in me snapped. I was never the competitive type. I never signed up for any sports in high school or joined any clubs, but when I realized that some faceless person on a piece of paper had beaten me at my own thing, well, it was inconceivable.

With a fury that I had never felt before, I set out to beat my fastest score. It was simple enough the first week and I even beat the other guy whose name I had already forgotten. The following day, I looked again to the scoreboard and it was to my dismay; this other guy had already beaten my new score by five words a minute. Instantly, I knew his name. I memorized it with zeal and with vengeance in my heart. I remember it to this day, some 20 years later. This boy, who was a year ahead of me, was the one that taught me one of the most important lessons I have ever learned in this life.

This is how it went. We traded blows from week to week, like prizefighters lashing out, trying to best the other. Both of us prayed that each effort would land the knockout punch. One week, we were in the nineties. The next week we had each broken over 100. I can still picture my teacher’s face. She would post the scores, look at me and just shake her head. Once, after class, she laughed and told me that we were both insane. I had to admit, it was quite humorous. I mean, I had never even met this person. He was just a faceless name on a piece of paper, and he was taunting me.

Weeks went by and the blows kept trading. I was getting to the point where I was doing most of my tests with only one error. However, in the last semester of the school year, my opponent broke the 200 word a minute barrier. I was beside myself. I had not realized that such a thing was even possible, yet this usurper has outwitted me at every turn. My fingers were still throbbing after my last test. My rage built to a fever pitch and on my next text plowed straight through the 2oo words-a-minute wall. Not to be outdone, two weeks before finals, he whooped me again with score of 209.

I felt broken inside. Defeated. At that point, there was only one more chance at me winning this unannounced competition that I had found myself in: the final exam. Something inside me that day moved my spirit like never before. I tromped into the classroom that morning with a sense of purpose that surpassed any other thought. My focus was so razor sharp, that I failed to respond to any “Good mornings” or “Hello’s” from my classmates. The girl that sat next to me later remarked that she saw this look in my eyes that seemed to shear off the rest of the room from my own personal reality. The timer started, and I allowed the words to just pour from the book into my eyes into my brain and waterfall into my fingers. My fingers were a blur. For three minutes of my life, I was Superman. My fingers were moving at the speed of thought. I recall now how natural it felt. It was meant to be.

My teacher yelled out time, and the world snapped back into place around me. I took the first of so many breaths, as now I realize, I must have stopped breathing those three minutes. I did a quick count. I literally jumped out of my seat and pumped my fist in the air. Wait for it . . . 644 words in three minutes. A little quick math and we have 214 words per minute and I only had one error. I had done it! On the last possible hurdle, I had surpassed the faceless man and secured my seat as the fastest typist in the school.

I was on cloud nine all that week. It was even better than I felt when it just came easy to me. It was a well-earned spot and the lesson learned was that I could apply this type of focus to anything in my life. I mean anything. I continue to use this power even unto this day. I am a little arthritic now, so those speeds are probably a bit beyond my ability today, but I am still able to put up scores of just over 100, I'm sure.

Now, it was not until a few years later I actually bothered to take the time to look up the world record for fastest English typist. At that time, a Barbara Blackburn held the record, 213 words per minute. I was ecstatic and upset all at the same time. I had beaten the world record holder by one word and nobody ever told me. You would have thought that the typing teacher who thought we were both crazy would have looked it up and even called Guinness. No.

Now, mind you, that record has been beaten in different ways, on different style keyboards, and on the internet in different timed tests numerous times since my minute in the "spotlight". However, for one brief shiny moment in my history, I was the fastest typist on the planet.

There is still a part of me that just will not get over that. Perhaps I should have looked it up myself back then, but I was just too narrow-minded to see it. I have no regrets though. Through this trial, I have gained much more than the fame of winning a world record. In truth, I was not even trying to do so. It was not my goal. I just wanted to be the best that I could possibly be in something and I believe I did just that. I did not do too shabby for a skinny 140 pound high-schooler that didn’t play any sports. In doing so, I realized my own potential in anything that I set out to do. I learned how to reach inside myself and push out 100, 110, and 120 percent and beyond.

So pick something. Give it your entire soul and you too may find yourself rewarded in ways that you did not imagine. I was once the fastest typist on the planet. How many people can say that?