Race: a competition between people, animals, vehicles, etc., to determine which one is the fastest : a contest of speed (Merriam Webster) / a competition in which all the competitors try to be the fastest and to finish first (Cambridge). Example: "what's supposed to be a chilled community race in the park" (above)
And apologies for the following. Silly - but fun to write...!
'Do you remember,' O'Brien went on, 'writing in your diary, "Freedom is the freedom to say that Parkrun is a race"?'
'Yes,' said Winston.
In one hand, O'Brien held up a placard, with a list of times ranked by place. In the other was a newspaper article, congratulating a woman on a new record.
'What does this information show, Winston?'
'Competition rankings. A winner.'
'And if the party says that this is evidence that there is, in fact, no competitive element -- that it's all just about fun? Then what does this show'?
'Well... rankings. Because it's the competitive tension of anticipating where you finish that makes it so satisfying for lots of people: that makes it a r-'
The word ended in a gasp of pain. The needle of the dial had shot up to fifty-five. The sweat had sprung out all over Winston's body. The air tore into his lungs and issued again in deep groans which even by clenching his teeth he could not stop. O'Brien watched him, the posters still held up. He drew back the lever. This time the pain was only slightly eased.
'Is it competitive, Winston?'
'Yes.'
The needle went up to sixty.
'Really, Winston? Really?!'
'Yes! Yes! What else can I say? Yes!'
The needle must have risen again, but he did not look at it. The heavy, stern face and the four fingers filled his vision. The images stood up before his eyes like pillars, enormous, blurry, and seeming to vibrate, but unmistakably lists of relative times, ranked one against one the other, with the words "first finisher" at the top.
'What does this show, Winston?'
'Who was first! Stop it, stop it! How can you go on? RANKINGS! Positions in a race!'
'REALLY, Winston?' O'Brien's fingers hovered over the highest number on the dial, which was an appropriately impossible Spinal Tap 11...
'Ok! Ok, ok! It's a fun run! And the rankings don't make it competitive, they make it boring, people hate them - HATE them!... Nonono, NO, SORRY, OK, WAIT! WAIT! People... er... love them... because... because... because it shows how fast they've gone...!" The words tumbled from Winston as he grasped a brief train of logical thought, but then he saw his tormentor's face, and changed track.
"But... but... that's NOT how they use them, really! Because..."
Here, again, he found a route through the horror, and began to speak more rapidly: "It's NOT a race because everyone will only check their OWN number. In fact, we could even black out all the other numbers - we SHOULD, really... So - NONONO! WaitpleasewaitI'msorryI'm sorryIgetitIdo! I know, I know..."
His mind raced ahead, trying to anticipate his captor's next Moebius inversion of illogicality, and, victorious, finding it: "Because, if we did that then no one would turn up! So we DO need them! We DO! Because otherwise" (confident now in his own absurdity - that he was at last thinking the way O'Brien wanted, he ploughed on), "Because otherwise, everyone would have to buy a hi-tech sportswatch. EVERYONE!"
He looked at O'Brien, hopeful that this last irrational claim in a world of smartphones and indifference to rankings would save him... And blanched as he saw the man's face. New panicked words tumbled out of him: "But timings DON'T matter anyway! At all! AT ALL!
I don't know what you want, O'Brien. I don't know what you want!
I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WAAAAAANT!!!'