I’m sure I’m not the only one who has caught Olympic fever. It’s hard not to become enveloped in the excitement. Staying up late to watch the athletes we’ve come to know and love. Waking up bleary eyed to enjoy the recap and relive the celebrations on the morning news. Setting our DVRs so we don’t miss a minute of tonight’s new festivities.
Announcers tell the stories of childhood aspirations, lives built on hard work and dedication, and families who have sacrificed to help them achieve their goals. A name turns into a person as we hear them tell their personal story. Before we know it we are invested in their dream too.
We stand in our living rooms but feel like we’re there in the stands. We hold our breath and mimic the movements of their routines and races right along with them. We cheer out loud and sigh relief once they have successfully completed their moment in the spotlight.
And if it doesn’t go the way they wanted, we would give anything to reach out and help ease their disappointment.
The energy sneaks into us and before you know it we want to go for a run, a swim, and see if we could leap splits in the air. And I bet I’m not alone in wondering to myself….. could I do this?
I drove to my parents’ house last week for that very reason. I couldn’t get rid of the impulse to see if I could swim the strokes I’ve been witnessing all week on t.v.. Luckily no one was watching. Up and down I went – butterfly, back-stroke, breast-stroke, and free-style.
Exhausted, I contemplated how the length of our backyard pool compares to the Olympic size one I’ve been seeing. Pretty close, I try to tell myself. Maybe I’ll do it twice just to make sure.
It’s now two days after my eight lap marathon. I’m aware of muscles hurting that I didn’t even realize I had.
I proudly tell my husband, I think I could have done this, as I mull over which Olympic sport I would have been best at.
Swimming is the most obvious I tell him, since I just proved I could make it for those eight laps. I neglect to add in the break I needed to take in the middle to catch my breath.
He gently reminds me that I never go under water because I don’t like to get my hair wet. It’s not the wetness, I explain. I don’t want my highlights to turn green from the chlorine. He does have a point though. And I don’t like to be barefoot on damp public floors. Scratch swimming.
Divers are in the water much less time and get to wear a cap to protect their hair. I don’t even say that one out loud though, knowing right away my fear of heights wouldn’t even let me climb the steps to get to the board.
Track, I tell him next. When I was in sixth grade I won first place in the 50 yard dash. And if I have on the right sneakers, the ground is flat, and I haven’t just eaten, I think I could still beat just about anyone in a race.
He gingerly points out that my knees get sore fairly quickly. This is true, I admit to myself. My joints do get achy at that time of the month these days. And if I sit with my legs curled under me too long. And if I walk down steep stairs. Too bad, but better take running off my short list.
Soccer, I come into the room and abruptly announce to him. That’s a sport that looks like fun. And all the popular kids in high school used to play soccer.
Still running for your knees, he cautions. And they have to head the ball. You get migraines too easily. Foiled again. And it would be a lot of rules I’d have to learn all at once. I’m guessing it would be easier if you learned as a kid.
Basketball! I’ve gone with him to shoot hoops at the school near our house. And I’m pretty good, if I do say so myself. I’m always surprised to see professional players miss free throws if I can make them. You’re standing right in front of the net, and no one is even running at you. How could you miss?
You’re only five feet, three inches tall, he reminds me. And I let you stand a lot closer to the net than they do on a real court. Back to the drawing board.
Gymnastics? I do yoga and have good balance. I could probably do splits on that balance beam with some practice. Could you jump up and do a flip on it, he asks. Could you even do a flip from the floor mats? Wouldn’t a somersault make you dizzy?
We both know the answer. I get dizzy just looking back and forth in a parking lot searching for an open space.
Beach volleyball…… now that sounds like a fun lifestyle. The ocean as your backdrop, outside in the fresh air……..
He stops me before my thoughts wander off too far. You always say you’re afraid too much sun will age your skin and give you wrinkles. And think about how much it bothers you when you get sand in your bathing suit. Foiled again…… he knows me too well.
I try to think outside the box. I turn to set my sights on the winter Olympics. I’ve always loved to watch figure skating. So graceful and powerful. I do dancer pose with my yoga dvd, so I why wouldn’t that translate to gliding on the ice?
You hate being cold, he reminds me. You would need to wear earmuffs, mittens, and a flannel feet-pajama leotard.
He’s right. I guess all of these sports are even tougher than we think when you get down to all their details. You can’t just do the parts of a sport that you like, you need to master the whole sha-bang.
Then the harshest reality sets in. I’d have to eat healthy for long stretches of time to maintain that ideal fitness level. No eating pizza until my belly hurts on Saturday night? No cake for breakfast on the Sunday morning? Hmmm…. I contemplate……. I’m out!
Well it was a nice momentary goal, my broken road to the Olympics. But I think I’ll sit back – warm and comfy, with my feet planted firmly on the ground, a bowl of cookie dough on my lap, no pressure under the judging eye of the public – and watch it at home like the rest of our country.