"Step right up, ladies! Guys? Come on! Anybody, everybody! Remember you must be 13 years old to play! Winner receives a brand new 3rd generation Apple iPod Touch! Ladies and gentlemen, this is not an opportunity to miss! Step right up! No purchase necessary, folks! What did you come here for? The food?"

Laughter from the crowd bounces off the trees and buildings around us and echoes back. Of course we came here for the food! Why else would we come to the annual Bite of Seattle? A new iPod Touch definitely wasn't in mind, but hey. Why not...

"I'm in!" I raise my hand and lift the rope to enter the field of play, high brown ponytail bouncing behind me.

"There we go! That's 9 contestants. Ladies, how about one more to represent? Can't let these guys over here outnumber you!"

Following the announcer guys' remark, I quickly send a glance across the black rope surrounding the concrete area, scanning the crowd for my best friend. Caitlin, Caitlin, where are you? Finally, my eyes lock with her big browns. I raise my eyebrows in a last attempt to lure her onto this side of the ropes. My pleading glance isn't working. She turns away laughing, as if my request is so vile.

I can almost hear her thoughts. Oh, please! No way, Danielle. You're crazy!

Why does she have to make me have fun all alone? It's not like she'll ever see these people again. We live like an hour away. And, heck! I'm out here doing it. Plus, everyone else out here has got to be at least a couple years older than me. What is with all the other teenagers here? I'm barely 15 and eagerly signing up for this gig.

I don't even know what the competition is! But by the reward, you would think more than 9 people out of the hundreds gathered around, would volunteer. Seriously!

My feet begin moving toward the third rung of ropes where Caitlin is averting her eyes and trying to make a quick escape.

"Hey! And there we go! Our last volunteer! Are we ready to play..?" The announcer nearly shouts over the speakers blaring way too loud.

Shoulders dropped a couple levels, and disappointed I couldn't have this experience with my best friend, I turn and walk back toward the group of nine (plus me) to see what it is exactly we might be doing.

"I said, are we ready to play?!"

A roaring, "Yeahhhhhh!" erupts from the crowd, along with a couple whoop's and some high-pitched screams thrown in. A grin stretches across my face as I see the tug-of-war rope being pulled out from beneath a blue tarp.

Thank God I decided to not go for a low-cut today! I think, glancing down graciously at my loose t-shirt.

Immediately, I begin rolling up the sleeves of my shirt; maybe not so much for the current extreme August heat, but to prepare myself for a real arm workout.

Plus, you know, a fake-out to the other team with my toned volleyball biceps never hurts...

"And how about...a very competitive game of...TUG-OF-WARRRRR!?" The announcer's voice deepens and almost rumbles at the last term of his crowd-enticing sentence.

The viewers start shuffling to get a better view, no doubt bumping into others shoulders just to see ten people pulling on a rope.

Some cheers and cat calls come from the crowd once again as the ten of us get more and more anxious to play. Competition brings out the best, and the worst, in people. My whole life, I've been a sucker for some good competition. Any time I can man-up and beat some over-confident boys? I'm in! I don't have a perfectly fit body, don't get me wrong. I still drink pop and eat cake whenever possible. But sports are, and always have been, a huge part of me. In 5th grade, sometime in the last month of school, my teacher decided to take us out to the school's field to soak up the sun. Mostly we just ran around with our groups of friends doing whatever we pleased. But right before we went to grab our book bags and head out toward the bright yellow school busses, the teacher declared a sprinting contest among all the students. Everyone had to participate. To some people it was no surprise that only one guy in the whole class beat me. I mean, we'd gone to PE and I had gotten high-fives from all the guys whenever the soccer ball got kicked extra hard or my hockey stick had slammed the puck in for the winning goal. But to others, like my teacher, they had never seen it coming. I thrived on the attention from winning something. Even if no one was there to watch, nothing felt better than being pushed past your limit in an old-fashioned competition.

The announcer clicks on to the speaker again, the rope now set up with lines of hot pink chalk marking where the blue flag on the middle of the rope had to pass for one team to win. "Now how should we split these ten eager participants up?"

I catch a glimpse of the announcer for the first time, up above everyone else by about 5 feet on a podium with a microphone in hand. By the way his hand is dramatically scratching his chin, I can automatically tell this is a rhetorical question.

"Hmmm," he continues. "Maybe...a...Battle of the Sexes?"

Surprisingly, he keeps a very nonchalant voice throughout his announcement.

I'd say his plan's a hit. The audience, now increasing in size, makes its record for the loudest and longest cheer of the day on that idea.

"Nahw. You guys don't sound too excited. Must've been a stupid idea," Mr. Announcer teases.

A chant grows among the viewers, repeating, "Do it! Do it! Do it!"

Obviously, the crowd is going to expect an easy victory of the guys. But headstrong little Danielle over here, isn't going to let that happen. Never has. Never will.

Turning to my new teammates, I grin and hold out my arms to huddle up and create a game plan. Believe me, I'm not signing up for team captain, but someone's gotta get the ball rolling.

I gab, not without a smile and a bit of enthusiasm, "Alright, ladies. I'd say it's time to make some boys cry!"