My Bid for Olympic Glory
Your comments on this blog are, as always, much appreciated. On my last post Ruth made the very sensible suggestion that, since I now have a cross-trainer (oh yes, going very nicely, thank you) and have joined a Yoga class, I should consider which sport I’m going to enter in the next Olympics.
The idea quite attracts me since it’s going to be in London and hence would only require a day trip by train. But if I’m to be remembered with eternal affection by the British public, I need to make sure I make the right choice of sport.
So I did a comprehensive survey of all the people in our house who are up at 9am this morning: and this meant asking Stephen.
“Which British Olympic competitors do you remember?”
He pointed out that I might do better if I asked someone with any interest in competitive sport. “No”, I said, “I want to be remembered by everyone, so you’re a good indication.”
After a few minutes and a bit of prompting he accepted that he had heard of Sebastian Coe “but he became a Tory so I don’t want to think about him”. Then, after a few minutes, we came up with The Other One Who Ran, who wrote I Love You in the air. And the bald one called Duncan who swam. And the one with the moustache in the Seventies. And Paula Radcliffe (he didn’t know what she did, though). Kelly Holmes? - - Who?
So, that’s it, then. Winning gets you temporary glory, but you’re soon forgotten. But Eddie “The Eagle” Edwards, now, the bespectacled ski-jumper who never won a thing - - ah, yes, who could forget him?
The British public likes the underdog, of course. So I am going to cast aside my first thought, which was the Whole Paragraph Speed Typing Contest – oh yes, I might win, but nobody would remember me.
Similarly, I think I’d be rather good at the Synchronised Swimming, but I’m not doing it because can anyone name one Synchronised Swimmer? Also it looks truly ridiculous.
No, I’m going to go for the hundred-metre sprint, for a couple of reasons.
Firstly, it’s over pretty quickly. Train to London, hang around a bit, do the race, have lunch, trip to the National Portrait Gallery or similar, train back to Leeds. A Grand Day Out without too much hassle.
And although I probably wouldn’t win, I once did really well in it when I was at school, though I expect it was a hundred yards then, not metres. I beat several people who were in the school teams and they all glowered at me. The teacher nearly choked when she checked her stopwatch.
Of course, the only reason I ran so fast was to get the blasted thing over with, and I made jolly sure I never did it again.
But I think that ought to be enough to get me into the Olympic squad. I don’t think I shall be wearing Lycra though – I’ll be going for jeans and a T-shirt, and I’m going to persuade all the others to do the same, or it just won’t be fair.
I think I’ll spend today thinking up a nickname which will endear me to the British public for ever.
The idea quite attracts me since it’s going to be in London and hence would only require a day trip by train. But if I’m to be remembered with eternal affection by the British public, I need to make sure I make the right choice of sport.
So I did a comprehensive survey of all the people in our house who are up at 9am this morning: and this meant asking Stephen.
“Which British Olympic competitors do you remember?”
He pointed out that I might do better if I asked someone with any interest in competitive sport. “No”, I said, “I want to be remembered by everyone, so you’re a good indication.”
After a few minutes and a bit of prompting he accepted that he had heard of Sebastian Coe “but he became a Tory so I don’t want to think about him”. Then, after a few minutes, we came up with The Other One Who Ran, who wrote I Love You in the air. And the bald one called Duncan who swam. And the one with the moustache in the Seventies. And Paula Radcliffe (he didn’t know what she did, though). Kelly Holmes? - - Who?
So, that’s it, then. Winning gets you temporary glory, but you’re soon forgotten. But Eddie “The Eagle” Edwards, now, the bespectacled ski-jumper who never won a thing - - ah, yes, who could forget him?
The British public likes the underdog, of course. So I am going to cast aside my first thought, which was the Whole Paragraph Speed Typing Contest – oh yes, I might win, but nobody would remember me.
Similarly, I think I’d be rather good at the Synchronised Swimming, but I’m not doing it because can anyone name one Synchronised Swimmer? Also it looks truly ridiculous.
No, I’m going to go for the hundred-metre sprint, for a couple of reasons.
Firstly, it’s over pretty quickly. Train to London, hang around a bit, do the race, have lunch, trip to the National Portrait Gallery or similar, train back to Leeds. A Grand Day Out without too much hassle.
And although I probably wouldn’t win, I once did really well in it when I was at school, though I expect it was a hundred yards then, not metres. I beat several people who were in the school teams and they all glowered at me. The teacher nearly choked when she checked her stopwatch.
Of course, the only reason I ran so fast was to get the blasted thing over with, and I made jolly sure I never did it again.
But I think that ought to be enough to get me into the Olympic squad. I don’t think I shall be wearing Lycra though – I’ll be going for jeans and a T-shirt, and I’m going to persuade all the others to do the same, or it just won’t be fair.
I think I’ll spend today thinking up a nickname which will endear me to the British public for ever.
posted by Daphne at 9:26 am
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