Life of Rae: Defending (the) Champion(s)

I feel the need to defend the reason my kids have been staying up late; the reason we have spent hours glued to the television instead of enjoying the unseasonably cool August; the reason we haven't gone to the park, or the zoo, or really anywhere except school (another post on that coming), work and the grocery store in the past week or so.

We've been watching history being made.

I'm a total sucker for the Olympics. I always have been. I remember watching Mary Lou Retton in the 1984 games. I bounded over the sofa for weeks to come, trying to replicate her vaulting skills. In truth, it wasn't weeks, it was years. My parents finally enrolled me in gymnastics to save the furniture. That's not an exaggeration. While I never quite made it to Olympic skill (okay, I never made it anywhere close) I spent about 6 years of my youth going to weekly gymnastics classes, tumbling, back-handspringing, swinging from the bars, balancing. I loved it. I finally quit when I hit my growth spurt (5' 4" is huge for a gymnast) and towered above the rest of my classmates. (And I knew that my small town school didn't have a gymnastics team, like the larger towns on either side of ours. If they had, well, I might have stuck it out...)

Maybe I'm sentimental (yes, I am), maybe I am a dreamer (yeah, sorta), maybe I'm just a sucker for the way they put video in slow motion, add dramatic music, and focus in on tears of mothers' faces (heck, even the Olympic commercials sometimes make me tear up.) I am unashamed of the pure, raw emotion I feel (and express) when I see Olympic dreams come true before my eyes. Its really frickin' cool.

So, I've been letting Owen stay up way too late on his first few days of school, to watch Phelps win one ... and another... and one more... and another one. I've pleaded with Lauryn to just wait to go to bed, until she can see one more floor routine. One more vault. One more swim. One more race. One more medal ceremony. One more mother , with tears flowing down her cheeks.

Of course Michael Phelps has been a large part of this. To say he is impressive is almost an insult. He's amazing. But he's also a really good example. Bullied and teased as a kid for having big ears, long arms and big feet (two of which play a major role in his swimming skill -- I'm not sure the ears have anything to do with it); dealing with ADHD; living without a dad around, raised by a single mother and two sisters -- this guy took all of that, and turned it into the motivation, drive, determination, sheer will to become one of the greatest athletes of all time.

As the most athletic kid of my family (I'm not being boastful, my sisters would agree), I was involved in gymnastics, volleyball and track. I never competed in gymnastics. I never made the 1st string team in volleyball. I never placed higher than 2nd (and that only happened once) in high jump (I wasn't much of a runner). But I tried. I competed. I practiced. Literally, from age 6 until 18, I was involved in some sort of organized sport. And. I. Loved. It. It kept me busy. It kept me in shape. (It allowed me to gorge myself on chips and candy and somehow keep a great physique. Sigh.) It taught me to keep going, to never quit, to stay involved.

And sorry if you're hearing the Hallmark Card music fade in over my little speech. Sorry if you're ready for me to step down from my soapbox. Sorry if my enthusiasm doesn't seem genuine enough, or if you think I'm just caught in the dramatic commercialization that the Olympics have become.

But I'm not going to apologize for sleep-depriving my kids. I'm not going to apologize for not going to the park, or spending an evening outside. I'm not going to apologize for calling for the kids to come to the TV every time I see a Phelps story come on, or for making them stop practicing piano to see another race. THIS is history being made. THIS is where dreams are born and how motivation turns into determination. And I'm not going to apologize for exposing my kids (and myself) to it. We all need a little bit of inspiration, once and a while. And at the very least, I'm going to immerse myself into it. Every. Four. Years.