Once every four years:
I decide that I probably could have been an Olympic swimmer. Maybe for some landlocked country where the men are “eh”-looking and the women can crack walnuts under their arms. But then I heard a horrible rumor that swimmers have to do sit-ups.
I watch Women’s Gymnastics while spouse goes on and on about how Women’s Gymnastics is a misnomer: because the athletes have no hips. (I’ll never understand why those girls have to do a floor routine set to music but I figure that Burt Bacharach (or his cousin- Stavros Bacharach XIVIIM) was at the first Games.)
My neighbor Cory will say something like: “You know, if they put that balance beam on the ground instead of in the air, I bet anyone could do it. It’s the height that gets you.”
I go to the Village Pool and try some wacky new cannonball off the board- a Grande Fromage or a one-and-a-half Lewis (named for beloved actor Jerry Lewis) and I am humbled.
And once every four years is enough of that.
Leave a Reply