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David Spates Ski jumping the first time? That takes guts The Winter Olympics have us Americans thrilled
beyond recognition. We're visibly in a twitter. It's Olympic
fever! Can you feel it? Who will bring home the gold? Nations
are coming together in the spirit of camaraderie and sportsmanship
to bask in the thrill of victory -- and suffer the agony of defeat. Blah, blah, blah, blah. Sounds like an NBC promo, doesn't it? The
reality is that some of us are interested, and some of us could
care less. Some folks proudly proclaim their sincere interest
in the Winter Olympics, but ask them to name six 2002 olympians
and most "fans" will begin to stare off into space
after listing Michelle Kwan, Bonnie Blair and that speed skating
kid, what's his name? You know, the guy who looks like he just
walked out of a Pearl Jam concert. Apolo Ohno, yeah, that's it.
Oh, and Picabo Street. She's there this year, right? But that's fine. We Americans aren't all that
interested in winter sports, except every four years. With high-profile
leagues like the NBA, NFL, major league baseball and NASCAR,
not to mention college football and basketball, competing for
our attention, it's little wonder most Americans don't know the
name of our fairest luger in all the land. (By the way, it's
Mark Grimmette or possibly Adam Heidt. And, no, I didn't know
their names. I looked it up.) But once every four years, we hop on the Winter
Olympic bandwagon. I'm all for bandwagon hopping, so here goes. What strikes me most about the Winter Olympics
is the relative oddity of the sports. For the most part, these
are not activities in which people with "active outdoor
lifestyles" participate, and you sure didn't play these
sports in high school gym class. How does one become interested
in luging, curling, skeleton(ing?)? Take ice hockey, figure skating,
snowboarding and alpine skiing -- I can see how a youngster might
excel at those sports and one day wake up in Salt Lake City with
Al Roker shoving a microphone in his face. Little Timmy takes
ice skating lessons, discovers he has a natural aptitude for
it, he practices and practices, and if he's good enough he's
an olympian. It's a simple progression. That being said, I want to know what the progression
is in ski jumping. Have you taken a good look at this sport?
How does anyone EVER do that for the very first time? Are there
ski jumping lessons at the local Y I can sign my kid up for?
There's a first time for everything you do, otherwise you never
do it. (Profound I know. Tree falling in a forest. One hand clapping.
Is God so powerful He could make a rock so heavy that even He
could not lift it? Wax on, wax off. Dude, you're freakin' me
out. Zen!) How do you convince yourself ski jumping is
something you should try? I did some stupid stunts when I was
young and immortal, but I never considered swooshing down a 295-foot-high
snow ramp. That's the smaller of the two ramp sizes, by the way.
There are events in which jumpers use a 394-foot-high ramp. That's
nearly 40 stories tall to you and me, Rusty. I can't imagine standing at the top, much
less sliding down, and yet every one of the Olympic ski jumpers
did it, once, for the first time. They somehow overcame their
fear and took the leap, literally took the leap. I was scared
of a lot of my "firsts." I was scared of getting on the school bus for the first time. I was more than a little apprehensive about riding a bike without training wheels. I was profoundly afraid of my first day in sixth grade at a new school. I worried that my first kiss might be terrible,
and although I tried to portray a cool and confident exterior,
I was deathly afraid of turning the ignition key for the first
time. I suspect Dad was a little anxious then, too. My first
real job was pretty distress-laden as well. And yet I did all of it. Except for the first
kiss, I'm still waiting on that. I remember being scared of those things, and
the interesting part is that I also remember feeling like a such
dope for worrying. Chalk it up to fear of the unknown, I suppose.
Do it once, and the unknown becomes known, and it's a lot easier
to deal with things you know. There was no reason for me to worry
about the school bus, my two-wheeled bike, sixth grade or driving
a car. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, and I'm a stronger
person for it. I'm still a little antsy about the prospective
of what I expect will soon be my first kiss, but hope springs
eternal in this young lad. I suspect, however, staring down the fear
of a 40-story ramp is a little different. There aren't too many
unknowns 394 feet up. One wrong shift in your weight and you're
immortalized in ABC's "Wide World of Sports" intro,
and that's not the kind of history I'd like to make. I applaud the ski jumpers for taking that
courageous leap, and I wonder this: If they were able to screw
up their courage and ski down a 394-foot-tall ramp, what would
it take for them to say, "No way, man! I'm not doing THAT!
Are you nuts?" Watching a "Who's the Boss?" marathon on a full stomach would take some guts, but I'll bet even that wouldn't scare them off. · · · |