“August-itis” is upon us: the end-of-season scramble to check everything off the bucket list before school, or cooler weather, closes the window on summer. At Seven Days, lots of people are taking time off this month. It’s vacation season everywhere else, too, so meetings outside the office require nothing less than long-term strategic planning. Social life is comparably frantic; everyone wants to make plans before autumn sets in.
Meanwhile, all I want to do is watch the Olympics. Even when the sun shines and the lake beckons, my sole desire through August 11 is to sit in front of the television to witness the Herculean efforts of athletes from around the world. Since I was a kid, I’ve been enthralled by the quadrennial display of perfection-seeking practitioners of every imaginable sport, from synchronized diving to discus, archery to artistic swimming.
The “show” has certainly changed over the years. I remember when the networks used to broadcast the entire routines of the top-ranked gymnasts and the announcers — mostly white men — actually had to learn how to pronounce their mostly Russian names. Now a modern, searchable version of that athlete-by-athlete event coverage can be found on Peacock.
On NBC, though, we get snippets of events, none long enough to overstretch our shortened attention spans. Backstories and Snoop Dogg make it all funny and accessible. The cameras — so many cameras! — are almost exclusively focused on U.S. athletes and their anxious parents.
I know I’m being manipulated, but still I cry. A lot. There’s just something about witnessing the most important moment of an individual’s life, the success of which may be determined by a thousandth of a second. My first career choice was ballet, so I have some idea of what athletes endure to compete at this level. Most sacrifice “normal” youth as we think of it to train for this moment, and, in many cases, that life and goal of Olympic achievement may be all they’ve known. Such stakes make a potential loss that much more devastating.
That’s why, with scant time to tune in, I shed tears of joy when French swimmer Léon Marchand won gold in the 200-meter breast stroke. I got emotional when U.S. cyclist Kristen Faulkner dug deep at the very end of the 158-kilometer women’s road race through Paris and pedaled the final stretch alone across the Seine. (What a drone shot!) I wanted Spanish tennis player Carlos Alcaraz to beat Novak Djokovic in the men’s final but still got weepy for the Serb, who was sobbing himself. He seemed genuinely moved by the victory.
The Olympics are the ultimate, and arguably the original, reality show.
And, drama aside, they prove that with effort and dedication, we humans can always do better.
A perfect example: In 1900, women were only allowed to compete in five Olympic sports: golf, tennis, sailing, croquet and some weird equestrian event that didn’t even count at the time. Now strong, badass women from across the globe are crushing it in every sport, including hammer throw and boxing.
Here’s to the home team: What a thrill to watch Burlington native Ilona Maher help her rugby team win a bronze medal. And to see middle-distance runner Elle Purrier St. Pierre of Montgomery Center back on track after her strong showing in the Olympics four years ago. Last March she gave birth to a son. On Tuesday she qualified for the semifinals in the 1,500-meter. Purrier St. Pierre runs again Thursday.
From where I sit, center couch, it’s a sight for sore eyes.
The original print version of this article was headlined “Games On”
This article appears in Aug 7-13, 2024.
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