Over the past two weeks, we have been mesmerized by an amazing display of athleticism, strength, and grace on ice and snow at the winter Olympic games. A friend observed that the athletes are almost all young, fit and ridiculously attractive. With apologies to my Wisconsin roots–the exception to this observation may be curling–which is essentially bowling on ice.
The Olympics are high on drama: Many of these sports only get prime time coverage every four years – doing well at the Olympics can make a huge difference in an athlete’s career: to maximize this opportunity, they must peak at just the right time and be flawless under the most stressful of conditions. The tiniest hiccup during a critical moment can undo years of training, expectations and hype. Champions deliver when it matters the most, and the others become footnotes in Olympic history.
The figure skating has blown me away – these men and women do things on two tiny blades on ice that would put most of us in the hospital if we attempted them on land. This theory that has been put to the test in recent weeks for many of us in southern Wisconsin, where unpleasant weather conditions have turned many streets, yards and driveways into ice covered obstacle courses.
I performed my own graceless version of ice dancing every morning this week, as I gingerly tiptoed through the ice-covered expanse of our yard to retrieve our morning paper, while hanging onto Cleo’s leash. Cleo is a hunter, and I am ever mindful that an unfortunately timed sighting of a squirrel could easily result in jerking me off my feet onto my well-padded behind, or other less well protected parts of my anatomy.
I may well have qualified for the bronze medal in the front yard ice-dancing event this morning, when I managed to stay upright after unwittingly discovering a patch of black ice that wasn’t there yesterday.
Perhaps we can teach Cleo to retrieve the paper solo. It could work if we can figure out how to disguise the paper as a squirrel.