My Olympian Life

The Olympics My Way

I’d have liked to be in the Olympics this year, but I had too many chores around the house. All of which I’ve shoved aside so I could watch the events.

Irony? For sure. But there’s an up side. Being reduced to a spectator has alleviated great pressure and allowed me to explore the Olympics from new and different angles.

This morning, a male trampoline competitor was suited in emerald green — the exact color of my bridesmaids’ dresses twenty-five years ago. It lacked the black velvet bodice and off-the-shoulder sleeves, but it got me thinking. If I was an Olympian, I’d say fuck the red, white and blue. I’d insist upon periwinkle leggings and an eggshell top with iridescent purple paisley winding up my side and three-quarters of the way down my left arm. If I was refused, I’d have a full-out tantrum next to the parallel bars.

But that’s just me.

A thought: Those outfits aren’t cheap, and I can’t see wearing them more than once.

Just sayin.’

Have you noticed how skin-tight the men’s ensembles are? If one of them got wood, it would stick out like a mutant, two pound thumb. And be televised around the world, including his Aunt Gurtie’s living room.

This morning I was disabused of the notion that water polo involves horses.

Can someone please tell me why they aren’t showing skiing?

When I watch Olympic athletes, I’m acutely aware of their years of grueling practice, all culminating in a single performance. If you ask me, they’re held to unreasonably high standards. Points are lost for an imperfect quadruple flying buttress followed by a triple-Dutch-lutz-loop, or a pinky toe gone briefly awry after an impeccable series of double French spiral jackknives, complete with a Jeri-Curl finish, on the balance beam.

You know what? Just once, I’d like to see an Olympic judge attempt a somersault cum twisted camel on the gymnastic rings or trampoline. Then see how he scores the athletes. In the meantime, I’ll make due with poison pen letters.

If they have synchronized swimming, why not synchronized golf?

This morning in the shower I began to wonder, if I could create an Olympic sport, what would it be?

My first thought was reading. But what if the chosen books were fantasy or science fiction? Or worse, Anna Karenina? Could I ask for extra-large print? Would I have to identify a theme? A metaphor?

I just didn’t think I could win.

My second thought was Bananagrams. This was summarily dismissed: I make wonderful, impressive words, but lose every game in the process.

Then, from on high, it came to me.

Shoe shopping.

In this I excel.

Endurance: I can start at Marshall’s at 10:00 am and cover every mall in Northern Jersey by 9:30 pm, without ever stopping to pee.

Speed: I move fast.

Acquisition level: I’ve bought up to 87 gorgeous pairs of shoes in the course of one afternoon.

Bonus points earned: Some shoes fit; 3.5 points. A few I could actually walk in; 4.1 points.

Sale locator skills: I’m your girl.

Go, U.S.A.!

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