Olympic Dreams
For these past few weeks, I’ve been watching the Olympics. Not the same few sports I always try to watch, but just the Olympics in general. I didn’t see much swimming or gymnastics this time around. But I watched skateboarding and almost all the field events that make track and field what it is. I even caught some kayaking and weight lifting.
Of course I knew the schedule for all the track races I was hoping to see. And I relentlessly checked my phone for 2 hours and 27 minutes for live updates during the women’s marathon when I couldn’t watch the broadcast. Even though I know how it ends, I hope there’s still a rebroadcast available of that legendary race.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cried watching athletes go for their Olympic dreams these past two weeks. More tears fall when I’m watching their reactions of heartbreak or triumph in the raw moments before they compose themselves at the end of their events. Then, I’m sobbing when I read the gratitude in words they share on social media.
Medal or no medal, these athletes are the best in the world at what they do. First or last in their event, every athlete had to qualify to be there. Every single athlete in the games had to prove that they deserve their spot. While countless other athletes just as capable as this year’s Olympians cheer from homes with the rest of us. Because on their day it mattered most, they fell short. But if they’re lucky, in a few more years they’ll get to go for it again. The thinnest of margins between heartbreak and triumph.
I think we sometimes forget that as we watch the games. We just assume that a decorated athlete from the last Olympics is a shoe-in to dominate again. We forget that four [or in this case five] years ago, that same athlete proved to their sport what’s possible. There’s a reason Roger Bannister’s 3:59.4 mile world record only stood for 46 days. Once he proved that a man could run faster than a 4-minute mile, others knew they could do it too.
And that happens in every sport. A record or a medal sets the bar of human potential on that particular day, but not a limit on potential forever. World best performances are documentation of the past. They are a line in the sand marking what someone alive today, in this moment, has done. They are not predictors of where possibility ends in the future. So athletes will continue to pull themselves closer to the new standard of excellence. And the best in the world will have to keep pushing forward to stay competitive.
We forget, until we watch them cry in the post-competition interview. When they are so overwhelmed by what just happened that we can almost see the strain training takes to be right where they are. The sacrifice and dedication required to put yourself in a position to have the chance to compete in an Olympic Games. The incredible weight it takes to realize a dream. A dream that may or may not have gone your way. A dream that in all probability, happens just once. Most of us will never know how much work it takes to make one Olympic team, much less two or three.
And so, we cheer athletes on from our living rooms. We cheer, and we wonder what’s wrong with them when they only win two gold medals and two silver instead of four golds and one silver. We can’t believe the losses our dominant teams let happen early in pool play. And then we talk about how bad they played this Olympics. Even while watching the gold medal match.
Even in my favorite cinderella moment of the games: When an American athlete takes bronze in the marathon, we focus on how it’s only her third ever marathon. In our desire to glamorize the improbable, we overlook that she’s been running her entire life and has almost a decade of excelling in longer races under her feet. Her inexperience in the marathon specifically is because she’s young. Not because she hadn’t already proven she’s capable on a 26.2-mile course.
When one athlete scratches herself from team competition because she believes it’s the best thing she can do in that moment for a team medal and her personal safety, we call her selfish. We say she should have competed anyway, even though mistakes in her sport are costly. And then we focus on how the team lost gold instead of how cool it is that they earned silver.
We discount that we saw her teammates win medals they wouldn’t have gotten to compete for in finals if that selfish athlete didn’t withdraw from additional competitions. That selfish athlete knew that she wasn’t at her best and gave her teammates a chance to compete instead. And we call her selfish because we didn’t get to see her win another five medals this Olympics.
Yes, Olympics athletes are selfish. They choose to sacrifice is ways we will never be able to imagine to become great in their sports. They choose to be singularly focused for decades to sharpen skills and give themselves their best chance at being one of the best in the world. And in those ways, we want them to be selfish. So we can watch them compete at levels we can only dream of while watching them in action. So we can critique and comment on their every move and mistake from the safety of our couches.
But when an athletes shows us they are human, those are my favorite moments in sports. When you can feel their joy from halfway around the world, it’s amazing. After a performance that didn’t showcase their potential, I cry right there with them. When you see the crushing weight of a dream only half-realized in their tears of gratitude at the chance to compete, it’s a special moment. It’s not just their dedication and sacrifice for them; it’s their family’s too.
An athlete will selfishly sign up to have their heart broken again and again for the slim chance they will get to stand on the world’s biggest podium even once in their lives. So that they can honor the sacrifices their families and friends make to help them compete at their best. So that we can disregard their decades of daily dedication as not performing up to our standards when they fall short of our expectations. Really, how dare they be so selfish.
