Where you two headed? Where's your daily pre-dawn ritual take you at such an unholy hour? What's at the end of that long road you're traveling?
A training center of course. (The Olympics are happening. What else would I be talking about?) A far off facility (because these things are never in your hometown) dedicated to shaping young bodies, hearts and minds into championship calibre weapons of athletic grace. Training for what? Well that varies with the traveler and the charge under their care. Could be an aquatic center, instructing young swimmers and divers in the chlorinated arts. Could be a school for gymnastics, teaching young boys and girls to fly high and stick the landing. Could be a place of learning for any of the winter disciplines like skiing, skating, curling… seriously, you gotta go somewhere to learn to curl. That stuff don't come naturally.
Could be any one of a couple hundred different things, the specific sport doesn't matter. Your child wanted to learn, wanted to try, wanted to be the best at whatever their heart desired, so you wanted that for them too. That's why you don't greet the dawn, you beat the dawn, out there before the sun even has a chance to get warmed up. While other people are reaching for their first cup of java, your first cup of the morning is a distant memory on the verge of making the return trip into the world by way of your bladder.
At the training facility (after reliving the aforementioned bladder of course) you'll sit. And you'll sit. And when you're tired of sitting, then you'll sit some more while your young one receives lessons in their chosen discipline.You'll watch them train, you'll read a book, maybe you'll talk to other parents, sometimes you'll even sleep and then when they're all done for the day you'll climb behind the wheel and head back from whence you came with the rest of your day still ahead of you, all the normal life things still to be done. Always errands to run, a household to be maintained, most likely a job to show up for, hopefully with a boss who helps you out with a flexible schedule and a boatload of understanding. After all, that training stuff ain't free, bills gotta get paid, glory don't come cheap.
Sadly, for every one hundred stories such as the one I just made up here, studies that exist only in my head suggest that ninety-nine of them don't end in glory. An unfortunate amount end with injury, some end due to unforeseen circumstance, some simply end because the child's just not good enough. Harsh to say, but still, it happens, all too often. And sometimes a complete loss of interest is to blame. For some reason the kid just hangs up the swimsuit or the skates or the… whatever gymnasts wear. (They still call them leotards or has that been deemed politically incorrect for its use of the word 'tard'?)
Whatever the case may be, these fictional results are clearly supported by the fact that actual research is hard. My numbers say that ninety-nine percent of you early-morning road warriors will see your efforts go for naught, your Olympic dreams for your child will go unrealized. You won't get to travel to a distant foreign land to watch your progeny compete and win. No commentator will tell your story of sacrifice to the world while dramatic music plays over a documentary montage. The network cameramen will have no reason to seek you out in the crowd because you won't be there.
But for that truly lucky, truly blessed one percent of you, well you get to take a ride on an emotional roller coaster and make faces like these.
A training center of course. (The Olympics are happening. What else would I be talking about?) A far off facility (because these things are never in your hometown) dedicated to shaping young bodies, hearts and minds into championship calibre weapons of athletic grace. Training for what? Well that varies with the traveler and the charge under their care. Could be an aquatic center, instructing young swimmers and divers in the chlorinated arts. Could be a school for gymnastics, teaching young boys and girls to fly high and stick the landing. Could be a place of learning for any of the winter disciplines like skiing, skating, curling… seriously, you gotta go somewhere to learn to curl. That stuff don't come naturally.
Could be any one of a couple hundred different things, the specific sport doesn't matter. Your child wanted to learn, wanted to try, wanted to be the best at whatever their heart desired, so you wanted that for them too. That's why you don't greet the dawn, you beat the dawn, out there before the sun even has a chance to get warmed up. While other people are reaching for their first cup of java, your first cup of the morning is a distant memory on the verge of making the return trip into the world by way of your bladder.
At the training facility (after reliving the aforementioned bladder of course) you'll sit. And you'll sit. And when you're tired of sitting, then you'll sit some more while your young one receives lessons in their chosen discipline.You'll watch them train, you'll read a book, maybe you'll talk to other parents, sometimes you'll even sleep and then when they're all done for the day you'll climb behind the wheel and head back from whence you came with the rest of your day still ahead of you, all the normal life things still to be done. Always errands to run, a household to be maintained, most likely a job to show up for, hopefully with a boss who helps you out with a flexible schedule and a boatload of understanding. After all, that training stuff ain't free, bills gotta get paid, glory don't come cheap.
Sadly, for every one hundred stories such as the one I just made up here, studies that exist only in my head suggest that ninety-nine of them don't end in glory. An unfortunate amount end with injury, some end due to unforeseen circumstance, some simply end because the child's just not good enough. Harsh to say, but still, it happens, all too often. And sometimes a complete loss of interest is to blame. For some reason the kid just hangs up the swimsuit or the skates or the… whatever gymnasts wear. (They still call them leotards or has that been deemed politically incorrect for its use of the word 'tard'?)
Whatever the case may be, these fictional results are clearly supported by the fact that actual research is hard. My numbers say that ninety-nine percent of you early-morning road warriors will see your efforts go for naught, your Olympic dreams for your child will go unrealized. You won't get to travel to a distant foreign land to watch your progeny compete and win. No commentator will tell your story of sacrifice to the world while dramatic music plays over a documentary montage. The network cameramen will have no reason to seek you out in the crowd because you won't be there.
But for that truly lucky, truly blessed one percent of you, well you get to take a ride on an emotional roller coaster and make faces like these.
While you watch your babies do stuff like this.
And yeah, then sometimes… that happens.
With all due respect to the ninety-nine percent, (well, THIS particular ninety-nine percent anyway) it just wasn't meant to be for you. No sense feeling blue about what your kid coulda been, appreciate them for what they are… failures. KIDDING! (Kinda.) So just occupy your living room like the rest of us and watch as NBC reaches new heights of ineptitude in their coverage of the one percent that we can all live with. This one percent is willing to share the wealth — metaphorically speaking of course — with the rest of us. They're good like that.
Congrats to all our medalists thus far and all those yet to be crowned in the coming week of competition. Although I suppose that in the spirit of sportsmanship and goodwill I should be sending out well wishes to all the medalists no matter their nationality.
But yeah, I was raised in the era of Reagan and Rambo, so I'm not gonna do that.
USA! USA! USA!
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