I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but the 2012 Olympics are going on in London right now. Hot Mess Hubby and I always enjoy watching the Olympics and hearing all the amazing stories of so many inspiring athletes from so many different, interesting countries – but somewhere around little Gabby Douglas’ history making medal win, I remembered something really special that I haven’t thought about in a long, long time.
I was an Olympian.
In the summer of 1972, my BFF and I spent our days rollerskating on the corner by my house. If you asked us, though, we weren’t rollerskating. We were were graceful ice skaters at the winter Olympics. We spent hours perfecting the art of swooping around that corner and gracefully plucking imaginary flowers up off the ice as we waved to our adoring fans. The judges, of course, gave us perfect scores.
Now it’s…a few years later. I’m all grown up with a house and a hubby (boys…gross!) and a job and everything. And yet when I flop on the couch after a long day and turn on the games, I’m that little girl again. I’m the amazing Dianne…the super talented girl who’s figure skating was so great, she brought on world peace with her glorious spins and twirls set to the theme from Star Wars. (Hey…don’t judge me…I’m a proud geek!)
I’ll never win a gold medal…or a silver or a bronze. I’ll never skate the rink and pick up flowers and stuffed animals. I’ll never sit on the bench with my coach, waving to my family on camera while I wait for my perfect scores to roll in. But I can still live part of that dream while I watch today’s Olympians chase their dreams. I’ve been on the beam with Gabby Douglas and in the pool with Michael Phelps. I’ve been on the track with Oscar Pistorius and Noor Hussain Al-Malki. So many countries, so many inspiring stories…and I’m a part of them all as I sit in my living room and watch their amazing stories unfold before my eyes.
Sometimes these amazing athletes make me feel like a bit of a slacker – especially Oscar Pistorius, the South African runner who also happens to be a double amputee. And there he goes flying down the track with those amazing legs. Awe inspiring. After the plateau that came and went and has returned again…I feel like a slacker next to these people who charge head first after their dreams.
They make me realize, though, that while I will never have a gold medal…I’m in my own Olympics. My events are the Treadmill 30 minute speed walk, the Morning Turkey Bacon Grill, and the Resistance Band Couch Routine. But I’m not racing against other people. I’m competing against temptation…distraction…weakness. I’m running toward confidence…strength…and a very personal, heartfelt glory.
It’s been a long time since I’ve used my muscles. I think it’s time they made a comeback. I think of Olympians past, present, and future. If they can do it, I can do it. Only I don’t have to go to London. I can do this from my own living room.
Here’s to the Olympian in us all. May she…or he…never stop reaching for the gold. (Not the gold crushed velvet couch I’m sitting on with my brother…that’s just my Mom’s groovy decorating!)