I have a handful of life principles. One that I see played out over and over again is just how much competition reveals a person’s heart. In the heat of competition, true colors are shown. It is hard to hide your heart when you are sweating and giving it your all. Everything seems to come out, and sports have a way of exposing the truth. That can be really good or really bad, depending on what is in your heart.

About 10-12 years ago, my wife started running. In that time she has run about a half dozen half-marathons, one full marathon and uncountable 5 and 10Ks. She usually competed in these events with a friend or family member, and in years past, it wasn’t me. I was a tennis-only athlete with a few medals on the mantle. Because I had never competed in endurance sports I couldn’t understand why she would always want to run with someone. I had always competed to win. I couldn’t understand wanting to run with another.

In the first three rounds of this year’s NCAA Tournament, Davidson’s Stephen Curry absolutely torched teams, averaging 34.3 points per game and leading his team to their first Regional Championship since 1969. Though Kansas defeated Curry and the tenacious Davidson team in the Elite Eight, the Wildcats will still go down as the Cinderella team of 2008.

It was only two years ago that Curry was overlooked by several other schools whose seasons ended long before Davidson’s. Curry was a scrawny, 6-1, 155-pound senior, considered too small and frail to handle the physical play of the AAC and SEC. Many major Division I coaches could not get past his physique. But one coach, Bob McKillop, looked beneath the physical appearance and saw the heart of a champion.

Living in full view of the microscopic public eye can test the will of even the strongest of characters. Tony Dungy can certainly attest to that brutal truth. As the celebrated head coach of the Indianapolis Colts, he’s experienced the pinnacle of success, the most tragic of personal losses and everything in between.

For the average Joe, experiencing a few highs and lows with plenty of non-descript days in between is simply called “life.” But for Dungy—when every detail is reported, discussed, prognosticated and opined—life is something completely different and looks more like a virtual three-ring circus in which triumphs and defeats are fodder for the masses.

For centuries, mankind has debated this universal question: Are leaders born or are they made? In other words, do people come out of the womb with leadership skills built into their DNA? Or is it the process of life combined with the right environment and proper education and training that help people develop into leaders?

Depending on who is asked, the answer will likely be different, which most likely means that leaders arise in both ways. While some people are born with certain gifts and abilities that might give them an advantage when it comes to leadership, others are not so blessed at birth but instead work hard to overcome whatever obstacles and challenges stand in their way.

Ask anyone associated with the American Basketball Association (ABA) or National Basketball Association (NBA) throughout the mid to late ’70s and the early ’80s about the hardest-working players in professional hoops and inevitably one name will come up time and again: Bobby Jones.

Legends such as Julius Erving, Charles Barkley, Larry Brown and Dean Smith—men who all played alongside or coached Jones—all give the same glowing praise of his blue-collar work ethic, his respect for the game and its rules, and his virtuous life of integrity.

To achieve any kind of success in life takes a certain measure of courage and boldness. This is especially true for the athlete who must believe in his or her talents and abilities enough to chase after a lofty set of goals.

Jon Kitna is certainly no exception to that rule. As the Detroit Lions’ starting quarterback, he has come a long way, thanks mostly to an uncanny confidence in his ability—even when most others failed to recognize what the scrappy athlete had to offer. And it’s that same confidence—a confidence that he developed growing up on the unsavory east side of Tacoma, Washington—that Kitna believes has allowed him the opportunity to be a unifying force in every locker room he’s ever occupied.

When Laura Wilkinson says she used to be a very quiet and shy person, it’s a little hard to believe. That’s because these days, the outgoing, personable world-class diver is one of sport’s most outspoken Christian athletes.

Wilkinson is also very articulate when it comes to matters of faith. She strives to live with integrity in an effort to maintain solid footing on the broad platform that worldwide notoriety as an Olympic gold medalist has afforded her.

“I’ve had to learn to speak up for God in my life,” Wilkinson says. “I’ve realized that if He has a presence in my heart, He needs to have a presence in everything. If He’s really the center of my life, He’s really going to be involved in everything.”

Depending on the golf course, the average PGA golfer will take roughly 280 shots during a four-round tournament. Within each one of those swings there is an enormous amount of pressure. For some players, one shot could make the difference between picking up a weekend paycheck and making an early exit—the difference between retaining a tour card and going back to qualifying school.

Aaron Baddeley fully understands all of the ramifications that accompany golf’s micromanaged scoring system. He has missed the cut by one stroke and made the cut by the same paper-thin margin. Baddeley never takes his position on the PGA for granted but somehow finds relief from the inherent stress with a special technique.