The Olympic Fine Line…

Years ago I remember watching a Timex watch commercial in which we see a man and a woman walking towards each other in a crowd and the voice-over tells us that soon these two will meet, fall in love, get married, have a house in the country, tremendous careers, children, the whole dream-come-true…however, we watch them pass each other without a flicker of recognition at all. The voice-over tells us that because one of them wasn’t wearing a Timex watch they were just seconds from missing each other. The dream never materialized. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to happen. Maybe it was and it was sabotaged. Maybe…

That commercial had a huge impact on me. The idea that the line between this and that is so fragile. A blink. A cough. Missed seconds. If I hadn’t taken that road I never would have… Because he missed the plane… She stopped to have one more cup of coffee and…

You know what I mean? That’s how I feel about the Olympics. Such a fine line between a great run and a dead-end defeat…

I don’t know if you’re as crazy an Olympics fan as I am, but for me this is an every four-year true addiction. I absolutely LOVE the Olympics. Each time I watch them—summer and winter—I vow to reincarnate as a world class athlete. Maybe next time around I’ll have the discipline and strength and stamina and fortitude and vision and grace and above all COURAGE to go for the gold no matter what. And even though I find myself watching a younger and younger world of athletes (forget the fact that each time I’m older and older!) I still work on stepping outside of my ego—and the mirror—and am given so many gifts by watching these young warriors fight to win while the entire world is watching.

So many lessons I’ve gathered from taking in each wild ride to the finish. Some seem to soar straight into the heavens and roar back down to earth; or tear down icy tube-like shoots at over 80 miles per hour; others dance exquisitely or speed race on ice; they do insanely brave and exhausting feats through the snow facing unfathomable hurdles; they push through pain, old injuries and brand new ones, emotional upheavals and the hardest competitions and goals of all—that of the ones they’ve set up for themselves. And the outcome isn’t always fair. No matter how hard they try many don’t make it to medal. They’ve lost. And yes, we all say in unison that they’re already winners just by making it that far. That’s true of course, but still. After a lifetime of going through so much and feeling so indebted to so many who got them there and are waiting with baited breath for the small town parade and the endless honorary celebrations it hurts when there is no tah-dahhhh to wrap it all neatly in a sparkling gold bow.

So many times the loss is by a nano-second. A breath of a hair. The tiniest of fine lines between the win and the loss of that tantalizing medal and the sorry-kid-come-back-and-try-again-in-four-more years. It hurts. And we watch it hurt. The determined young ice dancer, Jeremy Abbott, who falls over and over again finally nearly collapsing into the wall as we all watch in one united gasp. And then he stands up, buckled by the physical and psychic pain and, buoyed on by the cheering crowds, he finishes his performance flawlessly nailing the triple lutz-triple toe combo and pulling off a triple axel. Through sheer adrenaline and the screaming admirers giving him a standing ovation he earned a 72.58—not enough for a medal win, but a bigger win none of us will ever forget. What he says afterwards still gives me chills, “I’m not a champion skater but I guess I’m meant to show the world that I can get up and go on after I fall.” I wanted to just hug him for that.

And we watched the wrenching swan song of brilliant Russian skater, Evgeni Plushenko. Doing all he could to skate his last performance with the grace and beauty he’s known for, he winced in pain not being able to fight through the demons of a chronic back injury. We cried along with him as he bowed his final farewell.

And so the dramas continue with the media feeding us back stories of these champions—prayers for their loved ones, premature deaths in the family, the constant fight to override the demands of age and illness and injuries—and the teen age athletes ready to carry the mantel of victory. Even the young have younger competitors straining at the bit to topple the great ones teetering for moments at the top. Fifteen minutes of fame is being zapped by insta-winners still wet behind their ears, with voices still pubescent and cracking they show up—and take over the gold before we even saw it coming. Such is life.

We see one Olympian overcome with elation winning a Bronze medal and another being leveled by the deepest of disappointment sobbing defeat after winning her Bronze. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. But for one it was a golden moment and another the epitome of loss. So many beginnings. So many endings. We watch as shiny new careers are catapulted to photographs on cereal boxes and talk show fame; their smiles signaling that the new heroes, the new darlings reign over the parades of the old ones—yesterday’s flavors spin off into the distant past in seconds.

But my take-away of it all is that fine line between joy and sorrow. Victory and defeat. Some grow from the loss and others crumble from the win. Too much of this and not enough of that. Maybe it doesn’t have anything at all to do with what we think it does. Maybe it’s as simple as how we get to where we’re going and not the result of what happens when we arrive.

Do we live with grace and courage and humility and gratitude and tenacity and generosity of spirit and no matter what we keep on going? We get up after the fall? Or do we depend too much on all that goes on outside of ourselves to shake us and make us believe we’re winners or losers? Maybe, just maybe we can learn from what these brave Olympians are showing us about living life to the fullest. It’s worth a try, isn’t it? Hey, let’s give ourselves a standing O just for showing up in the human race…

Author: Cara Wilson-Granat

Although I enjoyed my time as a copywriter I am now loving my new career as a full-time author and speaker. View all posts by Cara Wilson-Granat