I really love the Olympics. I start getting excited about it weeks in advance. I know, I know, it bores a lot of people.
Happy Hour put up a post about enjoying figure skating, in part because it seems so far from anything he would ever be able to do. I totally get that. It’s exactly why I love all of the Olympics so much.
I am in no way athletic. Never have been, always dreamed to be, but it never took. I was such a sickly kid. I missed school all the time. When I see athletes able to do these incredibly difficult and insane things, it fascinates me because even if I had wanted to, I would never have been able to do it. I don’t even know how to swim or ride a bike.
I also feel this way about dancers. With both Olympic athletes and dancers, there is such a short window of time in their life in which they can compete or work “professionally.” My life is set up differently, with me being interested in things that I think I actually get better at and more believable with age (stand up/writing/storytelling – there are certain things people don’t want to hear from 22 year olds that have only worked better with each passing year).
Athletes and dancers are in so many ways my opposite and it fascinates me. And since I love to travel and am a sucker for stories, the Olympics, with their short videos about the athletes and different countries, can just take me over for hours.
It’s weird now, because I recently found out I have celiac disease. I had to start a gluten-free diet (or rather: lifestyle) and I have to say that while it’s only been a month, my energy level has improved immensely and I already feel much better.
I’ve had it my entire life and I can see patterns from a very young age where it was making me sick. But I never knew that was what it was, I just thought I was sickly.
I’ve met people who have celiac disease who are very underdeveloped compared to their siblings because they had celiac. I met a woman with celiac who is 2 inches shorter than her identical twin sister because celiac kept her from thriving and stunted her growth.
My mom was a dancer (or a “b-girl”) in Brooklyn in the late 70s/early 80s. My father was an amateur boxer/prison boxing tournament champion (mostly the latter as he was in prison so often) around that same time and later. I always wondered how those two managed to create such an “indoor kid” like myself. Maybe they weren’t supposed to.