I love, love, love, the Olympics. Not for the athletic feats themselves, but for the stories; I’m addicted. Say what you will about NBC, but I love the cheesy human interest stories they throw in to the broadcasts. I love hearing how the athletes have overcome some obstacle or another and what drives them to do what they do, skiing through pain, skating through uncertainty, laying it all on the line. If the Olympics were just filmed athletic competitions, I probably wouldn’t bother watching—it’s not like I ever watch figure skating or ski jumping any other time.
The Norwegian skier who came back from a wicked crash in ‘07 to win gold in the Super-G, the French figure skater in the men’s competition who was found abandoned as a baby in Brazil only nine days old, the Chinese pairs skaters who skated together for 18 years and recently got married, coming back to claim the gold medal that was the one thing that had eluded them, or the Canadian ski cross racer back to the sport after nearly killing himself from alcoholism who risked it all and crashed going for gold rather than settle for a bronze medal—all of them fascinate me.
And it’s always interesting to follow an athlete who’s been on both sides of the slope, so to speak, heading up and heading down. Take Bode Miller: darling of ‘02 with 2 silver medals, excoriated in ‘06 with nothing to show but a bad attitude, and back in ‘10 to win a bronze, silver and gold by skiing like he’s actually really enjoying himself. It goes along with my theory that sport is a metaphor for life, where the moments that count are condensed into a few minutes or seconds, but reflect a lifetime of choices that went before.
I think I love the stories because part of me realizes that but for the flip-flop of a few pieces of DNA (or if you believe in reincarnation) I could be one of them. What choices would I make?
Photo of Bode Miller's Bronze Medal-winning start of the men's downhill courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/jonwick/ / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0