I love the Olympics! Since TV was invented and network programing began, I’ve looked forward to watching the masters do their thing on the small screen. This once-little child was mesmerized by the swimming, running, jumping, gymnastics and everything else offered up. Whether it was summer or winter, I loved it all. Fast forward.
The 2024 event’s opening ceremonies were not to my liking. Something about faux beheadings, including heads bobbing along the Seine felt odd. But what about Celine Dion? Talk about a comeback. She’s my hero. Talent plus toughness – you go, girl. Give that superstar a gold medal for her outstanding rendition of a “Hymn to Love.” It brought tears to my eyes, and I don’t even speak French. Sacre bleu!
Once upon a time, believe it or not, I considered myself rather athletic. After receiving a diagnosis of osteoporosis at age 39, it was game on. My casual walks at lunchtime around the corporate office park took on a new meaning. Coworkers would occasionally ask to join me, but even the tallest quickly faded from the pace I set. It felt so good returning to my office with all those endorphins pumping.
Today as I watch the Olympics from my comfy perch on the recliner couch, I am reminded that I must work myself up and hit the asphalt, as best I can. My stride isn’t as robust as it once was, but I’m not willing to chuck this body aside just yet. We still have work to do.
Watching those young athletes compete on the global stage is inspiring even for this aging soul. They put everything on the line for their moment to shine like a medal rightly earned and worn around their necks. Nothing can compare to the high they must feel if they do medal in their chosen sport. I don’t care what country they are from; I just want them to experience that hard-earned joy.
For those Olympians who fall off equipment, crashing spectacularly to the floor, or fail in some other way to excecute their chosen feat, I want to scoop them up in my mother-arms and tell them, “Everything is going to be alright … you did your best … there’s always next time.” For some, that may be true but not for all.
When I was fit with a full body of muscles and muster at my command, I felt I was on top of the world. Although I was never a runner, I was made for endurance, not speed. I’d walk as fast as I possibly could at a snappy pace. I was doing my personal best every day. Oh, the joy of movement.
The closest I ever got to truly understanding what a real athlete goes through came when I signed up for Fourth of July road races, and that one time I attempted the Lions Club triathlon. I’m still proud of my last-place standing. For me, just completing the course was my gold-medal moment.
In full disclosure, I completed the cycling and running (speed-walking) portions. A pal of mine at the time volunteered to do the swimming portion. Last place was just fine by me, although I think she was a bit disappointed.
Thanks to Nero, who history says created games testing man against man in various athletic feats, we are similarly entertained in 2024. But, assuredly, Nero could never have imagined the spectacle it would become complete with Snoop Dogg as an announcer. Who let the dog(s) out?
This Mattapoisett Life
By Marilou Newell