I realized I had a problem when I watched the 1999 Daytona 500 _Qualifications_ on TV.  I was craving a racing fix, and the winter without a race had been tough.

Tony Stewart was a rookie in 1999.  He earned lots of money racing, I spent lots of time watching racing. 

It was a small addiction then.  Missing a race didn't bother me (especially in the summer stretch).  Sometimes I wouldn't even know who won until a week later.  Nascar racing was available most of the year - no worries on missing a race.

Eventually, that changed when I moved and didn't have cable or satellite TV.  As the weeks went by, I missed racing again.  I needed the high of seeing stock cars race.  So, like any junkie, I found a new "dealer" = the radio.  It got me through the part of the schedule when I couldn't get the race on TV.

Years had gone by since I discovered this euphoria called racing, and I thought I had been hiding my racing problem well.  I didn't discuss racing because no one knew or cared anything about it.  I realized I had failed at hiding the amount of time I was spending on  racing when my brother bought me tickets to a race for Christmas.  "You should probably see one live sometime." he said.

My persistant- yet almost manageable - addiction was about to get a lot worse.

Sports fans love to debate whether any given activity is a "sport" or whether the people participating in it are "athletes."  I frequently encounter these arguments when I start talking about racing.  I don't think I've ever changed anyone's mind, nor have they changed mine. 

But it is an interesting question.  Why do we collectively recognize some activities as sports without question, but can't agree on others as a "sport" or "non-sport." Or as the participants as "athletes" or "non-athletes"?

There is little contention that football, basketball, baseball, or swimming are sports, and the people competing in them are athletes.  The sheer physical strength and agility required leaves little room for doubt. 

But mere use of your muscles does not make one an athlete - otherwise, we'd all agree that construction workers, landscapers or factory workers were athletes.  Dancers use strength and agility - does that make them athletes? 

So if the equation is athlete = strength/agility +___something__.   Perhaps skill?  Are golfers athletes?  What about archers or marksmen?  I'm sure they have strength and agility, but to a lesser degree than say a boxer.  Clearly they have skills.  Tiger Woods has amazing eye-hand coordination.  So do most grade school students who play video games.  Are they athletes?  Are poker players athletes? 

Does athlete = strength/agility + skill  + competition?  Or does competition alone make something a "sport"?  The most competitive  processes I have gone through (sit down for this) were musical theater auditions.  Yup - those actor/dancers are cut-throat.  More than any softball player, basketball player or volleyball squad could dream to be.  I think this is because "sporting" activities have a predetermined outcome - the team wants to win and the way to do it is to score points - hopefully together as a team.  In theater, the creativity involved means the audience doesn't know what its missing if Miss A gets the part instead of Miss B.  Mere competition doesn't make one an athlete - or all those Hooters girls & Miss America are automatically athletes.  I, for one, am not ready for that.

Does inclusion in the olympics automatically make an activity a sport?  Should it?  Is worldwide recognition and acceptance what defines something as a sport and its participants athletes? 

Does body position preclude an activity from being a sport?  Some argue that sitting down, as when driving a car, makes an activity not a sport.  But then what about rowing?  What about individuals who have disabilities that prevent them from doing anything but be seated - can they never be athletes?

If something has entertainment value - like the WWE - does that mean the performers are not athletes?

I don't know all the answers, but the question intrigues me.  

It started innocently enough.  After I finally finished my education, I was traveling across country with my Dad, and we stopped in Indianapolis (where else) to visit my aunt & uncle.  My uncle offered me the first seductive hit of racing by "forcing" us to watch a nascar race.  I don't recall seeing stock cars race before.  I suppose I knew it existed, but it had never registered on my radar.  Traditional stick & ball sports were my experience - both watching and playing.  However, my uncle's enthusiasm for this motor sport thing was catching.  And after that first hit, I remember thinking "I could learn to really like that."

Several months later I had my first memorable encounter with a nascar junkie.  He had all the trappings of a true nascar fan.  He owed numerous die cast cars, T-shirts, neon signs and other assorted junk.  I don't think he could decide which beer company to support, so he bought racing stuff from them all.  To top it off, he couldn't stop explaining the Daytona 500 qualification process to me and my co-worker.  We thought he was a scary  - so we set a new land speed record cleaning his house and bolted.

Shortly thereafter, I moved to a new town.  And, in the secret confines of my apartment, I began regularly taking hits of nascar races.  On Saturdays, I watched Dale Earnhardt Jr. and Matt Kenseth battle it out for the Busch series championship.  But on Sundays, I avoided the racing scene - everyone would be talking football, basketball or baseball  - and I didn't want them to know about this new habit I had picked up.