Going for the Gold

On the heels of the closing ceremony of the 2022 Winter Olympics in Beijing, I can’t help but wax nostalgic over watching the games as a young child.

For two weeks in the winter and two weeks in the summer, I was glued to the TV watching every minute of Olympic action that was broadcast from the other side of the world (and occasionally from the U.S.).  

Usually, that meant three hours at night during the week and all-day Saturday and Sunday. 

Fridays and Saturdays were my favorites, because my parents would let me stay up to watch the late-night coverage until visions of medals were dancing in my head.

There was a feeling of pride, even as a 7-year old, when Team USA stood on the podium.  A knot forming in my throat and tears spilling down my cheeks when they took the gold, the stars & stripes were raised, and the National Anthem played.

I can’t really say which I liked better.  Winter or Summer Games.  I liked them equally.  And for different reasons.

I’m not a huge fan of freezing temps, but the one thing I like about Winter is being able to dress cozily. 

Cozy sweaters. 
Cozy sweatshirts. 
Cozy coats. 
Cozy scarves. 
And the occasional cozy hat.  (I’m not a big hat-wearer as they just don’t look right on my German-style block head.)

As a child, sitting in the grocery store shopping cart, I would surround myself with all of the things my mom tried to put into the basket.  It was a good day when it was winter-time, and I could wrap both mine and my mom’s coats around me too.

Oddly enough, I’m somewhat claustrophobic. 

There’s a difference, right?  Between being cozy and being claustrophobic?

Curling up in a blanket.  Cozy.

Riding in an elevator in Europe.  Claustrophobic.

But I digress.

Given my affinity for all things cozy, it’s no small surprise that the first time I saw bobsledding, I fell in love with the sport. 

Just imagine.  Two or four athletes all crammed into one tube-like vehicle on blades.  Sliding down an icy track.

Cozy.  Right?  RIGHT?

And this year, the monobob.  Be still my heart.  Not one, not two, but THREE bobsled events!

Imagine my delight when the now-defunct Astroworld theme park had a bobsled-like rollercoaster.  Man, I loved that thing!

There is a “Winter Bobsled Experience” in Salt Lake City, where wannabe Bobsledders (raising my hand here!) can ride down the track used during the Winter Games held there in 2002.  I have two words:  Bucket.  List.

Another event, similar to bobsled, the Skeleton, is one I'll take a pass on.  Thank you, very much!  Heading down an icy slide head first with nothing to protect you should a crash occur.

That's a no for me, Cotton.

If you’re reading this, you probably know I was born, raised, and still reside in the great state of Texas.  So it should come as no surprise to you that I’ve never been a big fan of ice hockey.

Until, that is, a group of amateur hockey players donning the red, white and blue took the ice in Lake Placid, NY in 1980. 

I’m pretty sure the odds-makers in Vegas referred to Team USA ice hockey as a Longshot (pun fully intended).  Unless the bet was that Team USA would lose.

Boy how they surprised everyone!  The excitement of watching them advance further into the tournament was palpable across the nation.

It was a Friday night in February.  My parents had some friends over.  Their daughter, one of my very first childhood friends.

Team USA was playing Russia in the medal round.

Russia’s team, stacked with professional players. 

Terry and I, age 14 at the time and both boy-crazy, had picked out our Team USA crushes.  I can’t remember who her pick was.  But for me, goalie Jim Craig had me swooning.  Or was it Mike Eruzione?  Or Mike Ramsey?  Or maybe Jack Hughes?

Laying on the living room floor, watching the game, snacks in hand, and, as a couple of teenage girls, waiting for a glimpse of our crush(es) without their helmets on.

Our living room erupted as Al Michaels called the final seconds of the game. 

“Do You Believe in Miracles?!?!”

The Americans had done it!  They had beaten the heavily-favored Russian team 4-3 and would go on to win the gold medal that year.

This Texas-girl was ecstatic!

Next to bobsledding and ice hockey, I also enjoyed watching skiing even though I’ve never snow-skied a day in my life.

Of course, I’ve never ridden in a bobsled or played ice hockey, either.

My mom always enjoyed ice skating.  I couldn’t for the life of me fathom why. To me, it was straight-up, yawn-inducing boredom. 

Fast forward to “these games” in 2022, and I actually enjoyed watching ice skating.

Perhaps it’s something about my age.  And the fact that I’m no longer as graceful as I once was (but really, was I ever graceful?  If you know me, I’d prefer you not answer that.)  And that, as a gym rat, I can appreciate the athleticism it must take to perform such daring fetes.

I did try ice-skating once.  I was in college and there was an ice rink inside one of the local malls.

Even though I spent most Friday nights during my middle school years at the roller-skating rink, I found ice skating to be much more of a challenge. 

One tiny blade and a shoestring was all that stood between me and a broken ankle.

I needed a very stiff drink afterwards.  Nerves being nerves and all.

Just a few months after the Winter Games, the Summer Games began.

Yes, boys and girls, (at least the ones who are a couple of decades younger than me), the Olympics were held every four years.  Not alternating Summer and Winter Games every two years.  

Every.  Four.  Years. 

That’s a long time to wait for 2 weeks’ worth of excitement.  Especially when you’re a kid.

Bar none, my favorite summer Olympic sport is swimming, followed closely by diving.  Given my love for all things underwater (Under the Sea), that shouldn’t be a surprise.

Then again, given my fear of heights (there’s no way I could climb, much less go off of a 10m platform) and the fact that I nearly drowned at summer camp when I jumped into the deep end of the pool without really knowing how to swim, maybe it is a surprise.

Watching Mark Spitz win 7 gold medals in 1972 was awe-inspiring. 

And Michael Phelps?  Amazing.

But watching Greg Louganis hit his head when he came off the 3m board at the 1988 Seoul Games is one of those memories that is forever etched in my mind. 

That horrific injury is so embedded (I can still see it when I think about it), that I didn’t remember he went on to win gold in that same event, having returned to the pool a mere 25 minutes after the concussion-inducing accident. 

Google is your friend.

Beach Volleyball is also must-watch TV. 

I wasn’t much of an athlete when Athletics were introduced to us in Middle School.  I really excelled at Bench Warming, though.  So there’s that.

As an adult, I decided to tap into that inner bench-warmer and tried my hand at Softball and even joined a Sand Volleyball league.

You know the kind of league I’m talking about. Beer drinkers that also think they can play volleyball.

My sand volleyball career came to an abrupt end when, during a warm-up one random Tuesday night, I bumped the ball and felt a pop in my left-hand ring finger. 

But I played through and actually had the best game I’ve ever played.  I ate sand while successfully digging the ball, allowing my teammates to score.  And I even, at 5’5”, spiked the ball that night too, making a point in the process.

The next morning, my finger was two sizes too big and turning various shades of red and purple.  An X-ray showed a hairline fracture that required merely a splint to be worn for 10 days.  No problem.

Until the night before my follow-up.  When I picked up a load of laundry, pulling my finger in the process.  And ultimately separating the bones further than bones are supposed to be.

One surgery later and I had a shiny sawed-off nail (which, in the medical field, is called a “pin”) placed in said finger.  And learned how to type using just 3 fingers on my left hand over the course of the next six weeks.

Fast forward 24 years and I was afraid I had separated the bones of that same knuckle just this past weekend while clearing rocks and raking fill in our backyard.  Thankfully, there was no break this time, just one hyper-extended finger.  I’ll be as good as new in a few days.

Again.  I digress.

Track and Field events (yes, all of them) are also favorites. 

Tell me.  When I say Decathalon, who do you think of?

For me, it’s the person formerly known as Bruce Jenner.  What a remarkable Olympics he had, winning that event in 1976.  Breaking the existing world record at the time and going on to earn his spot on the Wheaties box.

I certainly wasn’t going to eat the cereal (I’m more of a Special K kind-of-girl). But oh, how I wanted that Wheaties box. 

I tried out for the track team too.  And was named the equipment manager.

My only memory of going to track meets when I was in middle school was being at one in the pouring rain at the local high school.  Everywhere the equipment needed to be, was a mud pit.

And I ceremoniously ruined a brand new pair of shoes that day.

My mom.  Not a fan.  Thus ending my esteemed equipment manager career.

I did, however, set foot on the starting line of the track used in the very first Olympiad held in 1896 in Athens.

That’s about as close to glory as I’ll ever get.

That and working out alongside two-time Paralympic Gold Medalist Jen Lee, a goalie for Team USA sled hockey.

Jen, a fellow Longhorn, and one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet, is on his way to Beijing soon.  I can’t wait to cheer him on from halfway across the globe.

Go Team USA.