It's Not Like I Made it to the Olympics

Years ago, I was trying to tell the inspiring story of my first triathlon race, which I won first place in my age group for, in my mid-thirties, after never having won first place in anything athletic ever in my life. I thought that the realization that I wasn’t actually terrible at something that I’d failed miserably at in high school would be of interest to most people, but the middle-aged white man I told it to claimed to me unimpressed.

“It’s not like you made the Olympics,” he said, and walked away.

For a moment, I was hurt. I mean, I suppose there are stories of women in their mid-thirties finding their way to the Olympics after no athletic success in their lives before.

Then I laughed and realized this was exactly the response I could expect from someone who didn’t want to admit that he was impressed, after all, by the inspiring woman in front of him, because, after all, he had never done nothing like that in his life and he had to make it seem like it was pretty small to all the things he’d never done in his life.

I come from a wildly unathletic family. One of my sisters was decent in gymnastics and actually made cheerleader, though my parents refused to support her in any way because they needed to make it clear that they did not approve of her wearing such an immodest outfit. By the time I was in the swim team, it was clear that my parents not only did not approve of the immodest swimsuit I wore to compete in events, but also that they didn’t consider women in sports at all a good idea on any level. They never attended a single swim meet I competed in, not in all the three years I was on the team in high school. And honestly, this was about what I expected from them. It wasn’t as if they didn’t show their wild approval of all my academic success.

When I retired from competitive swimming at the age of seventeen, after a final year of five hours of swimming a day (one workout in the morning at 5 am, one after school), I was convinced that I didn’t have the natural physical prowess to compete athletically and that my time was better spent in academic pursuits, where I was clearly more gifted. I injured myself in the next year while running, just trying to keep in shape, and returned to swimming a few times a week for the next fifteen years.

I returned to competition after a physical sports doctor gave me a series of stretches and sent me back to run, swim, and bike. I signed up for my first triathlon not long after, and I did far better than I expected. It’s true that the team swim coach told me that I hadn’t met a long enough distance yet and he was right. It’s also true that I was right when I considered how gifted I am physically in comparison to my abilities mentally. I am somewhat clumsy, even now, and I’m probably slightly below average in terms of physical strengths. I do my best to make up for this in sheer determination, grit, and maybe a little bit of over-zealous training.

I will never go to the Olympics in any sport. I am a gifted writer and I think I have some unique personal strengths that have come to the surface over a difficult life as a Mormon mother of six children (five living). I am content with my skill. I am getting slower over time. My body is aging and my muscular spots are beginning to sag. I suppose I could fight harder against those conditions, but mostly, I aim to enjoy what a below-average body and far above-average focus and consistency will continue to give me.

Over the last few weeks, I have enjoyed watching those at the Olympics who combined both physical gifts and mental focus and persistence. Both must be combined for this kind of success, but I think I have a pretty good picture of what it looks like to fight and continue to compete, even if not at that level. And to the man who scoffed at my level of success, I say, Dude, some people choose not to give up if they are not always the best. This is a good thing for the world

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