Seems like this is a really, really good time for an Olympics – our country could stand to rally around something. We’re so divided… Thankfully, I think we can agree that cheering for world-class athletes is a good thing.
Is “world-class politicians” an oxymoron? But I digress...
I’m playing a little game with myself as I watch the gymnasts – how far into their routines can I actually see myself doing what they’re doing? For the floor routine, I’m generally done at first pose. For the uneven bars, as soon as they grab on, I’m out. For the vault, I’m pretty sure I could run up to it and jump on the trampoline-thingy and that’s it. But for the beam I’ve got nothing. That looks like the hardest thing in the entire Olympics, if not the world. How do those people walk on that thing, much less jump around and flip on it?
I’m not a participation trophy proponent, but I think anyone who finishes the beam routine should get a giant trophy, bouquet of flowers and a lifetime supply of chiropractic treatment.
There’s a 41-year-old woman competing in the gymnastics events. Forty-one. She’s only five years younger than I am! Which led me to wonder what could I do now, at 46? Is there something I could train for and compete at such a level? Race Walking? Badminton? Table Tennis? Nope. Nothing. But it’s fun to dream!
(That’s the thing about the Olympics – they feed dreams. Sometimes dumb dreams, but dreams nonetheless.)
The Summer Olympics bring back such great memories of the time the Games were in Atlanta. It was blazing hot and I was a million months pregnant with Amy but we soaked up the international vibes and felt so proud that our city was hosting such an amazing event.
That summer our TV was tuned to the Olympics non-stop. Michael was 2 and loved watching all the events, but was especially fond of Bob Costas. We didn’t realize the connection he had with Costas until we took him to Centennial Olympic Park, where there were giant screens broadcasting the TV feed. When they switched to Costas, his giant head appeared much larger than life and Michael screamed, “It's BOB!”
Now we yell, “BOB!” every time we see Costas. Every. Time.
Here's to twelve more days of Olympic madness. And just for kicks, yell, "BOB!" when you see him. Trust me; it's fun.