Recently, I've been looking forward to entering a charity 5K race. Now, I'm by no means the world's greatest athlete, but I can run a bit. And 5K's closer to a sprint than a marathon for me.

So I pay the $15 to enter, and I show up for the big race. However, apparently, I've been deceived: this isn't a 5K run, it's a yacht race. Now, I've always been a landlubber myself, but I've paid the entry fee, so I have to race. Luckily, a yacht is provided.
Now, the important thing to remember is that I've never piloted a yacht in my life. And there's no crew to assist me—it's just me against the elements.
After about two hours, my boat comes out to an opening in whatever body of water we're racing on (my best guess is Lake Michigan, but I could be wrong). I get caught up in an eddie and am stuck, unable to get my boat anywhere. I see the other yachts passing me up about 50 yards out to either side, and I'm worried that I'm going to lose.
An adept steering man?uver that I didn't know I had in me magically guides my craft out of the eddie, and I begin to pick up speed at an exceedingly rapid pace. I pass up all of the other boats but one, and place second.
Second! I can't believe it! I fought so hard to win this thing, and I only placed second? Then they tell me:
"This was just the qualifying heat. Your time was good enough to make the final round."
I reply, "So you mean I've got to run this thing again?!"

And then I woke.