Medal Count

 

I’m supposed to be working right now. Le sigh. But amid the "do laundry", "pick up groceries" and "send stupid emails" neon signs flashing within my constantly singing brain, something else has been kicking around in my head. So I’ll take an ADHD moment to write a few thoughts outside of my usual. 

For as long as I can remember the Olympics have been an obsession. I lived with my grandparents for a time in my life so maybe this is one of the things my sister-in-law teasingly calls my and my brother’s “old person habits” - like maple bars and apple fritters being our favorite donuts. Antiquarianism aside, I can remember watching figure skating at ridiculous hours with my grandma, Kristi, Oksana, Michelle Kwan (incidentally I did see her once at a bar in Hermosa Beach, she’s both smaller and taller than you’d think). The days before TeeVo where you would just happen upon epic track or swimming heats during the summer. Pure amazement at the molecular structure of these human beings and their lung capacity. And when snowboarding was added the Californian in me might have actually hooted out loud.  I rejoiced when I found out that there was no maximum age to compete in Curling; I still had a chance, my friend Debi and I joked! 

I watched each year’s opening ceremonies with reverence for the other countries. I judged a country’s outfit choice like it was the Met Gala and studied their flag bearers (and not just the shirtless Tongan guy from 2016). I rejoiced for the delegations that managed to send just one or two athletes to compete in their dream, rallying for their small country that undoubtedly had every citizen tuned in. But mostly, if I’m honest, I reveled in my country’s absolute DOMINANCE! USA! USA! USA! I was never more American; more red, white and blue; more delighted in our ability to train and send the best; never more Ralph Lauren wearing, chest beating, drink from the fountain of propaganda like a 1950’s cold war video- then I was every Winter and Summer Olympics.  

As a mixed-race kid, you learn differences early. You learn the nuances of otherness, bias and the bitter disappointment of inequality before many of your peers. Even in my relative privilege of border-town San Diego, private schools and colleges, or my Research Institute job with its international workforces, it was still present. By adulthood the mythos of the US was pretty non-existent for me. I struggled to fully let go in some areas, my support for the military because of my family or my absolute love of football, but one by one the veil of patriotism over most things had fallen away. Except the Olympics. The Olympics were still a refuge. Two weeks of respite where I could love my country and my compatriots and root for them purely and truly without having to think about all of that other stuff. The stuff happening in our daily lives; 9-11, endless wars, economic downturn. None of that could stop the Olympics (the Olympics have only been cancelled 3 times: 1916, 1940 and 1944 due to world wars). I could be genuinely excited about every person, the medal count, heck even beating Russia and China- like it somehow still mattered.

Now on the eve of the 2026 winter Olympics, in a year of literal ICE invasions (the irony could not be worse) and kidnappings, a year of genuine evil being revealed at every level of our government, industry and society and more stripping and tearing of the fabric of the US, I see the beautiful commercials and I just feel conflicted. 2024 was one of the best Olympics in a while, with Simone and Ilona, Noah Lyles, the goofy glasses gymnast and the golf guy. I don’t even care about golf, but I was so happy for him. That’s what the Olympics do to me! So maybe I should just leave it? Go out with that high still in my memory. But I want to support the athletes. I want the hit, to feel the joy like before. I want to go to that place of respite for a few weeks and see the amazing Lindsey Vonn comeback. Wonder if in fact ski jumpers can stay up (in the air) longer by enhancing their (ahem) anatomy by a few key inches with hyaluronic acid (it’s real, google it, or don’t). I want to swim in a world of cheesy athlete TikTok video, but I had to get rid of the app because evil cartoon villains run everything (I know, sigh again, they always have). 

I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. An online convo with a friend settled around using the Olympics for emotional support during these dark times and just supporting individual athletes rather than rooting for the US per se. It sounded good but I don’t know if my heart is there. Maybe one day I’ll get back to being able to chant for my country. I hope so. I guess until then Heated Rivalry tells me I should at least consider dropping in to watch Team Canada stretch before their game.

Photo by Hansjörg Keller Unsplash