Running on Faith; Every Body Welcome

Before today’s official post, a few odds and ends that are somewhat related to recent subjects around here, and that will potentially keep you reading for a very long time.

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In my last post I described how running has become an increasingly spiritual activity for me over the past several years.  Coincidentally, last month the New York Times published a feature length article about U.S. Olympic marathoner Ryan Hall – among other things, it details how he uses Biblical tenets to guide his training program, how he feels more connected to God through his workouts, and how he uses his considerable talent as a platform to demonstrate his faith to others.  Even if you’re not the religious type, it’s a fascinating depiction of the mindset of one of America’s best marathoners. 

Ryan Hall; photo from New York Times

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If I told you that Malcolm Gladwell wrote a piece about distance running that is framed around an extended profile of Alberto Salazar, would you be interested?  And if the piece also included Gladwell’s remembrance of his own distance running days, or details about how Salazar’s faith influenced his training regimen (are you sensing a theme here?), would that pique your interest further?  And finally, how about if the piece were called “Slackers”?

Alberto Salazar; photo from The New Yorker

I may have mentioned once or twice before that I’m a stark raving Gladwell fan – not to mention an almost religiously-dedicated slacker – so needless to say, this New Yorker piece doesn’t do anything to dissuade me of that opinion.  Do yourself a favor and check it out; my own mediocre scribbling will be here when you get back.

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One more item on the subject: lest you think that either Ryan Hall, Malcolm Gladwell, or I were the first people to delve into the communion of running and spirituality, check out this Amazon.com page of books on the topic.  Most curiously of all on that list is a book called Running Barefoot, which, based on the synopsis, has absolutely nothing to do specifically with either running or being barefoot.  I suppose sometimes the ways of the spirit are quite convoluted.

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My offering for today was inspired by watching the Olympics: more specifically, the large degree that one’s physical stature predisposes him or her to excellence in certain sports – with the curious exception of running.  I’ve always bought into the conventional notion that I was too tall to be an elite runner, but when I started paying attention to the stats on some world class runners, the numbers revealed a different story - one which is told in the Monterey Herald piece which follows below.

As an entertaining aside, if you want to see what Olympic sport your own body is best suited for, take a look at this Olympic Body Type Match site created by the BBC.  Although it’s a cool little game, I kind of regret that I did it myself; when I plugged in my height and weight, the closest match it could find for me was a Turkish Greco-Roman wrestler.  That’s not exactly the comparison that a guy who’s getting ready to run 100 miles is looking to hear - but at this point there’s really nothing I can do about it, so this is just another one of those things I have to learn to let go.

Running Life 8/9/12                                           “Every Body Welcome”

A frequently-played VISA spot during this year’s Olympic Games features world-class pole vaulter Yelena Isinbayeva; it describes how she “grew up dreaming of hearing the roar of the crowd as a gymnast … but she grew too tall.”

Apparently once Isinbayeva crested 5 feet, her chances of becoming an Olympic gymnast became rather slim.  Indeed, female all-around champion Gabby Douglas stands a mere 4’11” – and she’s actually tall in comparison to the 4’9” average height of the Chinese women’s team.

Chinese women (girls?) in 2008; photo from Reuters

Other sports are exclusive on the opposite extreme.  Imagine being a swimmer trying to reach the wall ahead of 6’1” Missy Franklin or Michael Phelps’s 6’7” wingspan.  Basketball players, volleyball players, rowers, and countless other sports filter out hopeful participants through prohibitive size and strength requirements.

And then there’s distance running, which is pretty much open to anyone who wants to try it.

This may sound odd at first, as conventional wisdom usually holds that runners should be small and skinny, but a closer look at world class athletes tells a different story.  Just like recreational plodders, elite runners come in a wide variety of heights, and it’s unlikely that someone’s stature should ever disqualify him or her from competing.

Consider female marathoners.  In the 2000’s the sport was dominated by Kenyan Tegla Loroupe, who stands barely five feet tall and might weigh 90 pounds dripping wet.  However, Loroupe isn’t the world record holder; that honor goes to 5’8” Paula Radcliffe, an indomitable force who represented Great Britain at four Olympic Games.

Paula Radcliffe; photo from The Guardian

The men’s marathon record is held by 5’5” Patrick Makau, but for many years it was the property of 6’ Paul Tergat.  The record books of most major marathons will show an even wider range: the shortest champion in the 116-year history of the Boston Marathon is 5’1” Yun Bok Soh of South Korea, who is more than a full foot shorter than the tallest winner, 6’3” Kenyan Robert Cheruiyot, who won the race four times in the last decade.

Last weekend’s men’s 10K gold and silver medals weren’t won by tiny African runners, but by 5’9” Mo Farah of England and 5’11” American Galen Rupp.  As impressive as Rupp is, he only recently became the US 10K record holder; until last year it belonged to 6’1” Chris Solinsky, whose best 5K time is slower than 6’3” Craig “Buster” Mottram of Australia.  And if Buster ever lined up against America’s best 1500m runners, he’d be two inches shorter than 6’5” Andrew Wheating.  Incidentally, one of Wheating’s 1500m teammates in London is 5’5” Leo Manzano.  Do you still think height makes a difference for speed?

Andrew Wheating, Matt Centrowitz, and Leo Manzano; photo from Runner's World

Even over extreme distances, smaller isn’t necessarily better.  One of the brightest talents in ultrarunning is 5’7” Kilian Jornet, but his accomplishments pale in comparison to 6’3” Scott Jurek, who won the brutal Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run a record seven times.

Granted, many world-class distance runners are remarkably skinny: Buster Mottram carries only 160 pounds on his 6’3” frame, and Cheruiyot is even more slender at 150lbs.  Galen Rupp looks like he might snap in half if you hug him forcefully.  However, this is one of those chicken-and-egg scenarios that’s difficult to quantify.  Are they elite runners because they are naturally skinny, or are they skinny because of all the miles they’ve logged to become elite runners?

The answer isn’t that important; what’s more critical to realize is that there’s virtually no body type that’s unsuitable for running.  In other words, don’t worry about what you look like – just get out there and do it!

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Honey Stinger Contest Winners; Leadville Trail Video Mojo

Well, that was entertaining.

Thanks very much to everyone who entered the Honey Stinger contest and suggested sports for future consideration into the Olympic Games.  As the entries came in and I returned to scroll through the list a few times, the suggestions naturally segregated into a few distinct categories.

The first category is legitimate and/or somewhat mainstream sports that really do make you wonder: If sports like golf, water polo, and beach volleyball are included, why shouldn’t these other ones be?  If there’s any argument to be made against sports like lacrosse, baseball /softball (which were once there, but now are not), cross country, and even roller derby, I’d love to hear it.

In the middle lies the fringe category of activities that initially seem more like hobbies or niche skill sets than real sports … but considering that shooting, fencing, and table tennis are included, maybe they’re not so far-fetched.  Are events like kickball, skateboarding, dodge ball, hopscotch, pogo sticking, boomerang throwing, Frisbee golf or ultimate Frisbee really that different than the ones already included?  Their case for inclusion is strengthened even further (among Americans, at least) when you consider that most of these are playground games that American kids are still playing long after their Russian or Chinese counterparts have been sent away to gymnastics or diving academies, so maybe this is one way for the US to increase its medal haul.  Then again, maybe that’s precisely the reason they haven’t been included yet.

And then we had the purely “no way in heck” list of games that were completely preposterous, but made me smile just at the thought of them.  Cup stacking, milk chugging, catfish noodling (for the uninitiated, that means catching them with your bare hands), thumb wrestling, slip ‘n’ slide, staring, synchronized bowling … any of these would be surreal to watch.

Having said all that, we need to announce our winners.  BE, Steven Peterson, and Yo Momma Runs, e-mail me your contact info – you’ve won the sampler packs.  As previously mentioned, thanks very much to everyone else who entered, and especially to Honey Stinger for sponsoring the contest.

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I indicated yesterday that with less than two weeks remaining until I'm on the start line at Leadville, it’s probably time for me to start collecting my thoughts about the race.  I’m not quite there yet, but one thing I have been doing to build my mojo is browsing some YouTube videos that feature the race – and the one that follows is clearly one of the best. 

The clip was made by Salomon Running, who have also produced the brilliant Kilian’s Quest video series for the past couple of years.  This piece profiles Ryan Sandes, the Salomon runner who won Leadville in 2011, but also does a great job of capturing both the challenge and the allure of the event.  (In a sad side note, it also features a cameo from the late Micah True, AKA Caballo Blanco.)  I dare you to watch it and tell me you're not compelled to take part in some aspect of the Leadville race, or at least a little more appreciative of the metaphysical appeal of this crazy sport of ultrarunning.  

“Salomon Team – Leadville Trail 100 Miles” (click to play):

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Showdown at Shepherd's Bush: Book Review and Giveaway Contest

I’ve often made reference to the fact that for a very long period of my running career, I was something of a marathon fanatic.  I ran several races per year, routinely travelled hundreds of miles to find new courses or revisit old favorites, and excitedly watched every major marathon I could find on television.

I also absorbed every piece of information I could find about the history of the event, which I considered nothing less than the most epic and legendary race in the history of the world (I was a bit younger then, and a bit more inclined to hyperbole).  Although I now have a different perspective on the race – it’s not nearly as epic as I once imagined, but perhaps just as legendary – I’m still fascinated by the marathon as an event, particularly in the details of its formative years.

Accordingly, for the past couple of weeks I’ve been completely geeking out over Showdown at Shepherd's Bush, a captivating history of the marathon at the most critical time in its existence: the years immediately before and after the 1908 London Olympics.  Most folks know the ancient Greek origins of the marathon; very few, however, recognize how pivotal the London race was in cementing the marathon as one of the preeminent athletic pinnacles and cultural touchstones of the 20^th Century.

The book is also the story of three remarkable runners whose paths converged on that fateful day in London: Dorando Pietri, a determined and hard-nosed Italian who almost literally ran himself to death in front of the Queen and 80,000 spectators; Johnny Hayes, an opportunistic working-class Irish-American who rose from an often tragic upbringing to achieve athletic immortality; and Tom Longboat, an Onondaga Indian from Canada whose sheer athletic talent was rivaled only by the severity of the persecution that followed him to every corner of the globe.

Dorando Pietri at the 1908 Olympics; photo from Getty Images

Author David Davis culled literally hundreds of source documents to create a vivid narrative (along with a cool collection of vintage photos) of the three runners in the years before 1908, and follows them throughout their post-Olympic notoriety.  At the center of it all is an extended account of the 1908 Olympic Marathon, which has to go down as one of the most dramatic and controversial of all time.   I won’t go into all the details here, but suffice it to say if something similar took place today, it would cause a fair amount of hysteria among Olympic aficionados or sports junkies.

Aside from putting some wind into my geek flag, another pleasure of the book was its depictions of the training conditions and prevailing exercise science wisdom of the day.  Davis reports that before key events, “competitors were given breakfast [of] milk and a couple of beers apiece”, and that during long footraces, “If a runner was in extremis, he downed a shot of whiskey or brandy.”   Other anecdotes are particularly amusing in light of the current natural running craze: Davis notes that the “primitive, arduous” footwear the runners used were nothing more than a leather upper and rubber outsole.  He doesn’t mention that today, modern minimalists shell out upwards of 100 bucks for similarly primitive gear. 

With another London Olympic marathon just around the corner, the timing of this book is just about perfect.  If you’re a marathon geek like me, or if you simply enjoy the historical intersections of athletics and sociology, Showdown at Shepherd’s Bush makes for a very entertaining read.  And for one of my readers, you’ll get a chance to check out the whole story for free.

Showdown at Shepherd’s Bush retails for $17 from Amazon.com (or $13 in Kindle format), and the publisher has provided one copy for me to give away as a contest prize.  But since I’m celebrating my inner geek in this review, I want to give my fellow running geeks out there an edge of sorts in winning. 

So here’s the deal: you get one contest entry for leaving any old comment, one additional entry if you identify a memorable world-class marathon moment (for example, German Silva turning the wrong way in NYC or Bob Kempanien puking Gatorade at the Olympic Trials – and no, you can’t use those), and a third entry if that moment happened in an Olympic marathon (like Deena entering the stadium in Athens – and that one’s now ineligible as well).  Also, there’s no copying someone else’s moment; if there are duplicate memories listed, I’m only giving credit to the earliest entrant.  As I said, the advantage definitely goes to the geeks on this one.

Leave your comments in the box below to enter, and I’ll announce the winner this Saturday, July 8.  Thanks very much to St Martin’s Press for sponsoring this contest, and good luck to everybody!

*Product provided by St. Martin’s Press

**If you have a product you’d like reviewed, contact me at info@runningandrambling.com.

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Swifter, Higher, Stronger ... Prettier?

You never know when something you write will come back to haunt you - and sometimes, the lines that you regret the most are seemingly incidental when you first put them on paper. Such was the case with the Monterey Herald column I submitted last week, on the eve of the Winter Olympics.

It has been a running (so to speak) joke among my training group whenever the Olympics roll around about how poorly we identify with sports that are determined to any extent by presentation and style points rather than defeating an opponent face to face in competition. The Winter Games are chock full of such events, and we decided to have some fun with applying the style point philosophy to the world of road racing.


The last paragraph was intended to be a bit of comic relief, suggesting some absurd ways that events could be tinkered with to make them more to our liking. One event we mentioned was the luge – and then tragically, less than 24 hours later, a young Olympian was killed on the Vancouver luge run on the day of the Opening Ceremonies.

It was a horrible coincidence, and it obviously reinforces how inherently dangerous many of these winter sports are, and how seriously every Olympic event should be respected. In hindsight, I probably wouldn’t have made the same comments at the end of this one - but honestly, I don’t think there's any way something like this could have ever been anticipated ... so I’m letting the article stand here as originally written.

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Running Life 2/11/10 “Swifter, Higher, Stronger … Prettier?”


Just for kicks, imagine the following: you’re charging through the final mile of a 10K, on pace to set a personal record or win an age group award, and giving it every ounce of effort you have.

The situation grows more difficult with every step - legs screaming, lungs burning, heart pounding like a jackhammer – but you somehow muster the courage and determination to stay on pace all the way to the finish. Finally you cross the line and almost keel over from sheer exhaustion, filled with satisfaction and pride from a maximal effort and a long-awaited goal.

Shortly thereafter, you’re approached by a race official, where the following exchange begins …

Official: Nice job – it looks like you might win an age group award. Of course, your official result is pending final review.

You: Review? What kind of review?

Official: By the judges, obviously. They deduct or add seconds to your time based on style. Like the way you were really grunting during that last mile – that might cost you about 15 seconds.

You: Seriously?

Official: Uh-huh. Also, your arm swing looked kind of funny throughout the race – that’s probably another 10-second penalty. And you had this strange grimace on your face towards the end – maybe another 5 or 10 seconds for that. Honestly, you weren’t as graceful as the other runners, and some of them really impressed the judges out there.

You: But this was my fastest time ever - I set a PR!

Official: Yeah … about that. By my calculations, your clock time was 39:35, and factoring in style points, your official time will probably be about 40:10 or so. Congrats on almost breaking 40 minutes! Unfortunately, two guys behind you earned time deductions, so they passed you in the age group standings. Something to work on for next time, maybe.

You: This is insane.

And you’d be justified in thinking so. Nevertheless, every four years we embrace and celebrate a whole collection of sports that rely on just such a premise to separate winners from losers. Tomorrow evening, the craziness begins all over again; that’s right … we’re talking about the Olympics.

Before you get the wrong idea, we’ll say very clearly that we absolutely LOVE watching the Olympics. We love the ideals they embody: pursuit of the highest levels of human performance, uniting people from all corners of the globe, who set political and religious and cultural differences aside in the name of brotherhood through competition.

It’s just that last part – the “competition” thing – that rubs us the wrong way sometimes. In our book, sporting competition consists of either 1) defeating someone face to face, or 2) outperforming everybody on the same field at the same time. It doesn’t include who looks the prettiest, who puts the most flair into their routine, or who benefitted from better course conditions earlier in the day.

The Summer Olympics, particularly gymnastics, feature an element of this capriciousness, but the Winter Games are the stage when such absurdity truly shines. However, we realize that most of the events don’t lend themselves to side-by-side competition, and that won’t stop us from watching and appreciating the grand spectacle that every Olympiad offers.

But deep inside, part of us will be wishing for an eight-lane luge track, full-contact figure skating (have them all do their routines at the same time; last one standing wins), or a simultaneous downhill ski event - anything where we don’t need judges to tell us who the winners are.

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Olympic Depression

Given that the Closing Ceremonies wrapped up almost a week ago, it’s somewhat late to write a postmortem on the Olympic Games – but when you have a newspaper column that only appears only a couple of times per month, occasionally the timing gets screwed up like that.

Additionally, in light of all my 100-mile hysteria, I managed to neglect posting anything about the Olympic track and field events that I so passionately promoted in this space just before the Beijing Games got underway. Make no mistake, I was still watching as many races as possible – but unfortunately, the majority of the coverage left me feeling dissatisfied.

Those issues are the topic of this week’s Monterey Herald column, in which my friend Mike and I were more specifically focused on our perspectives as fans of distance running (and then, as is our custom, we got a little bit silly towards the end). Actually, the running contingent wasn’t even the most afflicted fan base at these Games; God help you if you tried (like me) to watch any of the triathlon or open-water swimming events.

Anyway, the column is below – which all likelihood will represent my first and last words on the Beijing Olympics for the foreseeable future.

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Running Life 8/28/08 “Olympic Depression”


Runners are used to being misfits — so it will be no surprise to us if we're in the minority with the opinion we're about to offer: namely, that we didn't enjoy watching the Beijing Olympic Games very much. Instead of being impressed by all of that "faster, higher, stronger" stuff, we found ourselves depressed about the competitions that interested us the most.

See, here's the thing about being a distance runner: no matter how old you are, or how fast you are, you get extremely little recognition for your accomplishments. Even when you're among the best in the world, you're doomed to an anonymous, impoverished career. You can even be overshadowed under the bright glare of the Olympic flame.

This wasn't always the case. There was a time not too many Olympiads ago where the 1,500m run was the premiere event of the Games, with the 10K and marathon a close second and third. While we understand the interest in the seemingly huge variety of sports that have attained Olympic status recently, we hate seeing our beloved events kicked to the curb. (In a related story, we're puzzled over NBC's determination to make every person in America a platform diving fan.)

We've always known it was tough to be a competitor in distance running events — what we didn't realize was how difficult it would be just to watch these races at home. Most nights, we waited patiently through synchronized diving and trampoline gymnastics and preliminary BMX heats (called "motos" — See, we were actually paying attention) without any idea when our coveted events might appear.

Unfortunately, TV listings weren't much help to us, either — they'd only list "track and field" without mentioning whether it was the 5K final or the prelims of the women's shot put. Our options were to record and wade through 20 hours of coverage each day, or take our chances that some of the high-profile distance races would be shown in prime time. You already know how that one panned out.

Even when we found our races, the coverage was sadly limited. For example, the women's 10K was televised at 2 a.m. — and even at that late hour, NBC only aired the first four minutes and last four minutes of the race. Consequently, most U.S. viewers missed an incredible performance from Shalane Flanagan, who won a bronze medal in an American record time of 30:22.

It's almost certain that nobody at NBC suspected Flanagan was going to medal, which explains how the coverage got buried in the middle of the night. It also illustrates another sad truth of distance running: if there aren't any Americans competing for medals, you have zero chance of seeing the event on TV. During the women's marathon, American cameras didn't even show the finish of Blake Russell, the only U.S. woman to complete the race, who came in less than one minute behind world-record holder Paula Radcliffe.

However, fans of distance running enjoy these races even if U.S. athletes are not involved. It's like being an American soccer fan who enjoys watching David Beckham or Cristiano Ronaldo. We always cheer for American favorites like Kara Goucher, Ryan Hall, and Dathan Ritzenhein, but we also enjoy the brilliance of Ethiopian Kenenisa Bekele, Aussie Craig Mottram, Kenyan Catherine Ndereba, and other foreign distance running heroes.

Unfortunately, we realize that these folks will always play second banana to marquee names like Phelps, Nastia, or Walsh and May (all very attractive to look at, by the way — which is no small factor in TV exposure). So it's clear that distance running needs a bit of an image makeover. At the same time, maybe we could infuse a bit of running's old-fashioned sensibility into some of the higher profile sports.

For example, it seems like there's always a controversy about gymnastics scoring. This year, Nastia Liukin lost a gold medal to a competitor with the exact same score. If runners were in charge, we'd alter the events to eliminate any scoring issues. Take the balance beam; instead of 90-second routines that are different for each competitor, we'd set up a row of several parallel beams that are about 50 meters in length, then have the gymnasts race on the beams simultaneously. They'd still be required to do four back flips and two pirouettes and other tricks before they dismount at the other end — but in this case, the fastest gymnast who gets across without falling wins. Controversy solved!

There's no question that swimming is one of the most popular events at the Games, even when Phelps isn't in the pool. Some runners might find it strange that swimming has several races over the same distance using four different strokes. For runners, the object of races is to reward the person who gets from point A to point B the fastest, regardless of what type of stride they use — but maybe this is an area we could tweak to our advantage for next time.

We're thinking that the runners could have competitions at all the standard distances, but include hopping, skipping, and backward running categories in addition to the usual "running forward" technique. They could also have medley events for those who excel in all four disciplines. Throw in a couple of relays (forward-style and medley), and a talented guy like Usain Bolt could definitely win eight or more gold medals.

It's sad that we may someday need to resort to carnival-style stunts in order to attract viewers to what were once the most prestigious events in the Olympics. What we really need is a stunningly beautiful, overwhelmingly dominant, American-born runner who can enter 10 different events as the odds-on favorite — but sadly, that wish may go ungranted for quite a while.

In the meantime, we'll continue to hunt around the TV dial in the dead of night, resigned to our pitiful fate as frustrated fans of long distance running.

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Olympic Lessons

A few quick notes before today’s post …

* First, an update on the fires marching toward Carmel Valley: Firefighters have made significant progress in controlling them. The fire is something like 70% contained – but unfortunately, the active portion is creeping ever closer to a populated area about 4 miles from my street. The immediate vicinity of my house is considered well protected, but the nearby evacuations that were initiated this week are still in place. I guess “cautiously optimistic” is an accurate, if very understated, way to describe the situation.

* On a lighter note - a few days ago my wife was at an outdoor store, and came home with this announcement: “Apparently, Sport Beans are on their way out. I can’t find them anywhere. The guy said they won’t carry them anymore.”

Can anyone else confirm this? Needless to say, this is a disheartening development. I guess this would explain why they never responded to my plea for free samples a few months ago. What a bummer. However, I have been on the receiving end of a couple of other swag items, which I’m very delinquent on reporting about. I’ll rectify this in the near future, I hope.

* Last evening, Willie Mays and Hank Aaron were guests on HBO’s Bob Costas Now - a sports version of a political town-hall meeting - on the topic of baseball in America. There was a retrospective look at their careers, and a half-hour interview segment with the two men who are widely regarded as the best to ever play. It was a wonderful segment, and the final exchange struck me as particularly profound.

The men were asked if, during their long rivalry and friendship during their playing days, they concerned themselves with who had the better statistics from one season to the next, or who would hold what records when they retired. I don’t remember the exact wording of their response – and to my eternal shame, I wasn’t watching with TiVo – but Aaron replied with something like this: We didn’t care about the numbers. We wanted to have fun. We both knew we were fortunate to be playing this game. We encouraged each other, because we recognized that our talent and opportunities were a gift, and we wanted to honor that gift by performing as well as possible.

(I looked for a video clip of this online, but I haven’t seen one posted yet. You’ll just have to trust me.)

Read those last four sentences again. Shouldn’t those rules apply to any of us? Running is a gift. Triathlon is a gift. If only we could all recognize and honor that fact. And I’m not usually one to get nostalgic … but I couldn’t help but think that many of today’s professional athletes could certainly take a little advice from Hammerin’ Hank.

OK, enough intro. On with the post …

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At long last, it’s time for the topic that was twice postponed over the past week. It’s on the subject of the Olympics, and it’s equal parts flashback and followup.

The flashback element is that this is an old article - one I originally wrote for my former website shortly after the Athens Olympics in 2004. The followup is in response to my recent speculation about Dara Torres, and the possibility that her story might not be entirely legitimate.

I truly want to believe in Torres. I also want to believe in Tyson Gay, Deena Drossin, Ryan Hall, and in the American triathletes competing in Beijing next month (by the way – is there any more complicated and confusing selection procedure than the one used by the US Olympic triathlon team? I actually tried to follow the process for a while, and it made my head spin. I’m just going to tune in this August and cheer for whoever is wearing the Stars and Stripes.)

The problem is that I also believed in Marion Jones, Justin Gatlin, Tim Montgomery, Tyler Hamilton, Floyd Landis, and many others. I’ve been disappointed too many times, and I have enough awareness of the scope of the drug problem to know that nothing can be trusted with absolute certainty anymore – and it simply breaks my heart.

Because ever since I was a small child, I’ve been enamored with the Olympics. I remember – even as a 9-year-old - being distraught at the US boycott in 1980, and I fondly recall the euphoria of America’s gold medal avalanche (thanks in no small part to the Soviet boycott) at Los Angeles in 1984. And with the recent blessings of videotape and TiVo, I watched almost every event of the track and field competitions from Atlanta and Sydney and Athens. If I had to rank my top 20 sports memories, it’s quite likely that more than half of them would be from a summer Olympiad (actually, that’s not a bad idea for a post someday - I’ll file it away for later).

Unfortunately, I don’t watch with the eyes of a child anymore – and that’s why I’ve become so emotionally conflicted with the specter of the upcoming games. Four years ago, I thought it might help to watch some events with my kids – and the result is the post that follows.

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“Olympic Lessons”

Sometimes, a race is just a race. Other times, it can reveal something of a person’s character – and not just for the athletes, but for those watching them as well. Last month’s Olympic track meet provided one such instance of the latter category.

I figured that watching the meet would be a fantastic opportunity to expose my two older kids to the events, and gauge their respective interest level. My son had just been to a track meet where he raced (well, sort of) in two sprints, and he liked watching the runners race the same distance - 100m - that he ran a couple of weeks earlier. My daughter hasn’t ever really paid attention to any sports, but she sat on my lap to watch a few races, and understood that her Daddy does the same thing (well, sort of) as the runners on TV.

Despite their generally comparable upbringing, my son and daughter are very dissimilar creatures, and view the world quite differently in many ways. Watching the Athens Games together made some of these disparities even more evident.

My 6-year-old son is a pure logician, curious to know how things work, constantly analyzing the structure and mechanics of any item or event. He thinks like a scientist, and occasionally misses the forest for the biochemical composition and root structure of each individual tree.

Watching the 100m race from the elevated camera angle, he spotted the trackside camera moving along the railing beside the runners, and recognized the shots that came from this particular camera as they were interspersed in the broadcast. He wanted to know how they started the camera rolling down the track, and if they adjusted the speed of it to account for faster or slower runners. He also asked if the aerial shots of the stadium came from a blimp or a helicopter. He wondered how the runners know where to place the starting blocks before the start. (I felt bad for not knowing the answers. These are good questions, aren’t they? I really should know these things.)

Later, he asked if anyone had tried banking the curves of the track to make it easier for runners to turn when they are going fast (actually, I knew this one. The answer is yes…indoor tracks are built this way). Basically, he was turning the Olympic track meet into an episode of “Modern Marvels”.

Having just recently discovered the concept of competition, his typical pattern during races was first to ask, “Is that guy winning?” and if the answer was yes, then say, “That’s the one I’m cheering for.” Always a winner, this kid.

By contrast, my 3-year-old daughter is naturally considerate, compassionate, and nurturing - at such a level that it frequently eclipses that of her own parents. She has the same powers of observation as her brother, only for different things.

As she sat in my lap while watching various races, she noticed the many different colors of the runners’ skin, which led to a nice discussion about diversity of cultures and ethnicities. (Incidentally, she seemed more in tune to this than NBC- who somehow didn’t notice that Jeremy Wariner was the first white American to win a sprint medal since 1964. Are we so politically sensitive that we aren’t allowed to mention this? It seems like a great talking point for breaking down racial stereotypes. Sorry, I’m ranting.).

When the runners were introduced before each race, my daughter wanted to learn their names. In a couple of women’s races, she asked if a particularly muscular female was a boy or a girl (and stunningly, she was accurate- one of the women she questioned was later stripped of a medal for steroid use). She asked if any the women who were running were also mommies. She probably didn’t even realize that the runners were racing, but after they finished she often commented, “They look tired.”

Of course, I’m just as susceptible to natural bias as my children are. As the women’s 400m hurdles race unfolded, the TV commentators marveled at the inspirational performance of Greek champion (Fani Halkia), who was carried to victory by a delirious home crowd, and stood atop the podium for one of the most emotional medal ceremonies of the Games. Watching the same race at home, I was thinking to myself, hmmm…here is a woman who currently runs the 400m hurdles faster than she ran the open (no hurdles) 400m one year ago, who has become dramatically faster in her event in an extremely short period of time, and is a teammate of two other Greek runners who had been banned from the competition for steroid use. Are we just supposed to believe that these facts are entirely coincidental?


My cynical mind just couldn’t submit to the apparent splendor of the scene – but to my credit, I kept such thoughts to myself while my daughter admired Halkia’s long blond hair, “Like I have. And like Cinderella has.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that this particular Cinderella probably had a higher testosterone level than most princes she knows.

It’s always interesting to discover how different people can view the same event at the same time, and make completely different observations and conclusions about it. Such instances reveal a great deal about the viewer, and the inherent filters through which they see the world. Maybe it’s a bit unusual that these inner discrepancies would bubble to the surface during a track meet; then again, in my house, a track meet could be the backdrop for just about anything.

Besides, the Olympics are clearly a special occasion. I mean … how many other shows can a compulsively analytical boy, a romantic touchy-feely girl, and their overly jaded father all watch together with equal enjoyment? I guess that’s one of the things that makes the Olympic track meet special: it has something for everybody.

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