Olympics
Neither Michael nor I are sports people. My mom loves any and every sport and doesn't understand how anyone can not want to spend an afternoon at the ballpark. I was a constant disappointment to her as a kid, whether I was bringing my book with me to read in the stands at Wrigley Field or expressing zero interest in driving 3 hours to go to an IU basketball game. Actually, forget the "as a kid" part. It's still a disappointment to her.
When my dad asked me a few weeks ago if I was going to watch the Super Bowl—even "just for the commercials"—I laughed at him. At least I've stopped pretending. For awhile in college and my early work years I thought sports were one of the things I had to feign interest in to appear normal and healthy, like enjoying happy hours, and parties, and social interaction in general. I wish I could go back to my younger self and tell her there's an entire population of introverts out there, and you don't have to beat the introversion out of you to be successful or liked.
But anyway, Michael and I don't watch sports. EXCEPT for the Olympics. The Olympics are different. I'd always loved the gymnastics and diving and ice skating, but when the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver came around a few months after we started dating, we spent the entire two weeks cuddled on the couch watching all of it. Snowboarding, the moguls, curling, that one event where they ski and shoot guns—all of it. It's the best. Every two years we have a date with NBC. Our only date with over-the-air television now that Netflix and Hulu are around.
What is it about the Olympics? Is it patriotism and wanting to see the USA take home medals? Meh. Is it that these sports aren't on my radar any other time? Perhaps. More likely it's the emotional gravity, all that "one chance in a lifetime" and "chasing your dreams" hoopla that the VISA commercials are so good at capturing. I remember watching the Atlanta games in 1996 and being obsessed with the female gymnastics team. After watching one particular event, I walked outside, overcome with the sudden and disappointing realization that I will never, ever, ever be an Olympic gymnast.
It didn't matter that I had no interest in gymnastics and hadn't ever taken a gymnastics class. At thirteen, I was already past my prime. There was no way. It was too late. How was I supposed to accomplish anything in my life? What was I doing? The sense of personal failure was overwhelming.
So for me it's probably a little bit aspirational, a little bit about missed potential. Everybody wants to feel like they've worked hard for something momentous and achieved something at their personal best. But they don't really give out gold medals for tasks like making a perfectly-proportioned plate of nachos. Too bad.
I did take figure skating lessons for awhile, and I wasn't half bad, just so you know. I was a bear in the winter skating show.
There's also something to be said for the individual artistry and skill in Olympic athletes, the impression that they've honed their bodies and abilities for years to achieve this pinnacle of athleticism. I'm sure people would argue with me and no doubt there's skill involved in being a professional football player (you're talking to the wrong person), but it's just not the same as watching somebody do flips in the air. Then there's the fact that most Olympic athletes aren't being paid million dollar contracts or selling shirts with their names on them—at least not until after they win a gold medal.
Whatever it is, the Olympics are fun. So for two weeks every two years, I am a sports person.
When my dad asked me a few weeks ago if I was going to watch the Super Bowl—even "just for the commercials"—I laughed at him. At least I've stopped pretending. For awhile in college and my early work years I thought sports were one of the things I had to feign interest in to appear normal and healthy, like enjoying happy hours, and parties, and social interaction in general. I wish I could go back to my younger self and tell her there's an entire population of introverts out there, and you don't have to beat the introversion out of you to be successful or liked.
But anyway, Michael and I don't watch sports. EXCEPT for the Olympics. The Olympics are different. I'd always loved the gymnastics and diving and ice skating, but when the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver came around a few months after we started dating, we spent the entire two weeks cuddled on the couch watching all of it. Snowboarding, the moguls, curling, that one event where they ski and shoot guns—all of it. It's the best. Every two years we have a date with NBC. Our only date with over-the-air television now that Netflix and Hulu are around.
What is it about the Olympics? Is it patriotism and wanting to see the USA take home medals? Meh. Is it that these sports aren't on my radar any other time? Perhaps. More likely it's the emotional gravity, all that "one chance in a lifetime" and "chasing your dreams" hoopla that the VISA commercials are so good at capturing. I remember watching the Atlanta games in 1996 and being obsessed with the female gymnastics team. After watching one particular event, I walked outside, overcome with the sudden and disappointing realization that I will never, ever, ever be an Olympic gymnast.
It didn't matter that I had no interest in gymnastics and hadn't ever taken a gymnastics class. At thirteen, I was already past my prime. There was no way. It was too late. How was I supposed to accomplish anything in my life? What was I doing? The sense of personal failure was overwhelming.
So for me it's probably a little bit aspirational, a little bit about missed potential. Everybody wants to feel like they've worked hard for something momentous and achieved something at their personal best. But they don't really give out gold medals for tasks like making a perfectly-proportioned plate of nachos. Too bad.
I did take figure skating lessons for awhile, and I wasn't half bad, just so you know. I was a bear in the winter skating show.
There's also something to be said for the individual artistry and skill in Olympic athletes, the impression that they've honed their bodies and abilities for years to achieve this pinnacle of athleticism. I'm sure people would argue with me and no doubt there's skill involved in being a professional football player (you're talking to the wrong person), but it's just not the same as watching somebody do flips in the air. Then there's the fact that most Olympic athletes aren't being paid million dollar contracts or selling shirts with their names on them—at least not until after they win a gold medal.
Whatever it is, the Olympics are fun. So for two weeks every two years, I am a sports person.