I have couch sores all over my
back and a remote control button shaped dent in my thumb. My skin is the colour of grey
milk and I have reached gold status on loyalty points at Mustapha’s kebab
emporium.
Why? I hear you ask.
What cataclysmic event has occurred
which has lead me down the hazardous path of becoming lazy, fat or a little bit
Greek? What has happened to me to precipitate a tornado of doing nada? A
maelstrom of doing knack all has taken over and I need to move, I need to eat
something green but most of all I need to stand up.
And I will in two weeks.
Personally I blame the BBC, ITV,
SF1, some dodgy Albanian streaming websites and the various sporting bodies
across the world for my extreme, and temporary, state of health.
They decided in their infinite
wisdom to schedule a bonanza of televised sport this year and it seems there
has been hardly time to catch breath, go to the toilet or wash between the
conclusion of one and the start of another. Aussie Open Tennis, football
league, champions league, French Open, Euro 2012, Wimbledon and now the
Olympics. All have arrived with a flurry of flags and expectation and some have
even lived up to their pre-tournament hype.
The finale this year is the
Olympics and so far it seems to be going to plan, the French are winning
nothing, the Americans and Chinese are battling for first place, we have some
doping and for the first time, after the appearance of a female swimmer with
huge hands and feet, the mention of genetic manipulation.
It’s impossible to tell if her
size 20 flippers and webbed snow shovel hands are natural or the result of some
form of genetic jiggery pokery as science stands today but I have heard she
does a cool slithering party trick if you throw her at a window so make of that
what you will.
Genetically developed freak or not
the question of genetic doping as it is known will become more and more prevalent
in the future and the governing bodies really need to start developing tests before
we start seeing mermaids lining up for Fiji in the 200M backstroke.
For the most part though the athletes
appear to be living up to the Olympic ideals of fair play and good competition
and as I sit on my couch watching these athletes in prime physical condition
battle it out I marvel at their single minded determination. They have trained
every day for 4 years for this moment, they are totally obsessed with their
goal. They have sacrificed everything, they get up at 3.30am to train, eat raw
eggs and rabbit food all day, every day. They haven’t seen their families for
years and have to lift heavy logs in the snow, probably.
As I munch on my Mustapha spicy special
I find myself wanting to be one of them. If I am being honest, I am a little jealous.
I too want to be an Olympian.
I too want to compete at the
pinnacle of my chosen discipline.
I too want to walk proudly around
a stadium carrying a flag.
I too want to cry live on telly
like a little girl.
I want all this, I want to be an
Olympian but as the old guy out of the Indiana Jones movie, the one with Sean Connery
and that weird Nazi lady said, I need to choose wisely. My discipline that is.
I wont age horribly and explode into dust if I choose poorly but if I was to
opt for the 100M sprint or marathon I might find it a bit of a struggle.
So choosing my discipline is
important but there are other variables other than fitness, age or ability to
wear spandex which I can use to increase my chances of success. I will use my
42 years of acquired wisdom and cheat.
Great Britain has a population of
approx 70M people, most of them are far from Olympic standard but with a
population this big, the competition for places is going to be fierce. To
increase my chances I am going to take citizenship elsewhere and after using
the power of Google to help me, I have determined my new adopted country will
be the Vatican city (pop 1000).
The application form was in Latin
and had some odd questions like How did Mary get pregnant? and St Peter?
Discuss? but these are minor obstacles in my quest. And once I have my passport
it doesn’t really matter what discipline I choose, surely I will be able to
run, jump, ping pong, horse ride or shoot things better than a bunch of holy drunk
old guys?
As an aside I did actually Google
‘how to become an Olympian’ and hit upon a website called fabjobs.com. Their
advice is a ten-step guide to becoming an Olympian starting with ‘Choose your
sport’ and ending with ‘Qualify for the Olympics’.
Thanks fabjobs! Yes, it really
had that sentence; Qualify for the Olympics.
So my sport doesn’t really matter,
my country is chosen, what next?
Fabjobs have another good suggestion,
a couple bullet points down from choosing your sport, they advise me to ‘Get really good at your chosen sport’
I am feeling positive now, I can
almost see myself entering the stadium carrying a flag.
I have four years to do this.
I will do this
I will become an Olympian.
The motto of the 2012 Olympics is
‘Inspire a Generation’ and I for one am inspired.
My training regime will be
brutal, I will have to give up everything I love in life if I am to walk tall
in the stadium. I will have to sweat blood and will cry a lot. I imagine myself
doing it to stirring music, running through city streets, over mountains,
straining as I struggle to lift random heavy objects, a park bench, a letter
box, a homeless person. I will fail of course but as my training increases, as
my strength and stamina grow, the bench will become less and less of a
challenge until eventually, the day before the opening ceremony I will hold it
aloft as the orchestra reaches its crescendo.
I will do all of this.
Starting in two weeks.
