Rock on, brother
I'm a rather, on average, introverted person, particularly when it comes to strangers. I make no effort to talk to them, and this saves me the trouble of having to think too hard about what to say to a person of whom I know nothing, and all the awkwardness that comes with the fear of making social mistakes.
But there is a class of human to whom I reach out on a regular basis: Athletes.
Now it's not full on conversation. In fact, it's often wordless. But it's that nod as you pass a runner on the sidewalk, that deference to the cyclist on the downhill, or the "toot toot" of the horn to the man attacking the uphill that says "power on, dude". It's the smile to the bedraggled windsurfer trudging ashore. There's this international brotherhood that crosses sports and languages: We who Train.
And there's a nice thing we do, as a culture, with our athletes: We honor the effort. This usually manifests itself as cars deferring so that runners and cyclists need not break stride or pace. Maybe drivers fear the lawsuit from mowing down one who is not equally armed with an internal combustion engine. But I'd like to think that we defer to the athlete because we sense, maybe just subconsciously, that the athlete is the incarnation of our highest potential as physical beings. Because that body and spirit are part of the human tribe, and because that body and spirit add their triumphs to the sum total of human achievement, we give them their place and their nod. We who Train trains for us all.
And this is why the Olympics always gets me choked up. Yes, affluent industrial nations clean up in the medal count. And no, we don't actually stop shooting each other over the way maps are drawn, whose notion of the divine is superior, or which gang we're in during the games. But we do enable our quickest and strongest to come together to explore with each other the boundaries of what can be accomplished with the human form. And while the political machines of the nations may remain divided by disrespect for each other's ideas, the athletes are united by respect for each other's abilities.
So give a nod, a honk, a wave, a brake, a smile. We who Train train for you.
But there is a class of human to whom I reach out on a regular basis: Athletes.
Now it's not full on conversation. In fact, it's often wordless. But it's that nod as you pass a runner on the sidewalk, that deference to the cyclist on the downhill, or the "toot toot" of the horn to the man attacking the uphill that says "power on, dude". It's the smile to the bedraggled windsurfer trudging ashore. There's this international brotherhood that crosses sports and languages: We who Train.
And there's a nice thing we do, as a culture, with our athletes: We honor the effort. This usually manifests itself as cars deferring so that runners and cyclists need not break stride or pace. Maybe drivers fear the lawsuit from mowing down one who is not equally armed with an internal combustion engine. But I'd like to think that we defer to the athlete because we sense, maybe just subconsciously, that the athlete is the incarnation of our highest potential as physical beings. Because that body and spirit are part of the human tribe, and because that body and spirit add their triumphs to the sum total of human achievement, we give them their place and their nod. We who Train trains for us all.
And this is why the Olympics always gets me choked up. Yes, affluent industrial nations clean up in the medal count. And no, we don't actually stop shooting each other over the way maps are drawn, whose notion of the divine is superior, or which gang we're in during the games. But we do enable our quickest and strongest to come together to explore with each other the boundaries of what can be accomplished with the human form. And while the political machines of the nations may remain divided by disrespect for each other's ideas, the athletes are united by respect for each other's abilities.
So give a nod, a honk, a wave, a brake, a smile. We who Train train for you.
posted by Kenneth at 7:03 PM
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