Currently in Beijing, there are people launching themselves down ginormous, steep slopes on two skinny planks of wood, hurling into the air and turning summersaults.
Meanwhile, back home in Scotland, I lose the will trying to push a loaded supermarket trolley with a wonky wheel. I can’t decide which is more of an extreme sport.
I am fascinated by the Winter Olympics, more so than I could have imagined. How did these athletes get involved in these sports in the first place?
Who wakes up and thinks, ‘I’m going to be on the 100mph bobsleigh team when I grow up’? The sheer nerve required just to participate in some of the events astounds me.
Having just watched the women’s Freeski slopestyle, my jaw is on my chin. Kirsty Muir, the young lass from Aberdeen way, makes it look like an absolute breeze.
She competes in events with names like ‘big air’, implying to this couch potato there is a lot of height and associated danger.
Kirsty Muir – a brave competitor
She doesn’t even look mildly anxious. I don’t know this brilliant, brave lassie. I am not acquainted with her family, but I cannot help cheering her on, with my heart in my mouth.
At just 17 years old, she made the finals. Did she win? Maybe not, she even crashed on the first run but dusted herself off and went back up there AGAIN!
She skied her absolute socks off, finishing 8th before being interviewed showing grace and charm beyond her years.
The joy of sport
Congratulating those around her and being full of the joy of participation. To my uneducated, tiny mind – THAT’S what the Olympics should be about.
I saw her dad being interviewed and liked him immediately. He managed to beam with pride without any hint of arrogance and we learned she’s been brought up knowing the importance of her education alongside her athletic prowess.
Well done to her parents. I admire your values and your nerves of steel. I make my biggest kid turn on her snapchat map getting the train home meanwhile Kirsty’s travelled all over the world representing her country and has a long, long list of accolades to show for her young age as a result.
Cross-country ski-ing
If any of mine had shown an interest in hurtling themselves down snowy slopes, I’d have probably encouraged them more in the direction of the curling rink.
Just watching the men’s knackering aerobic challenge of the cross-country ski-ing has me exhausted.
A gruelling 20km route, 1,700m above sea level, and some parts are ski-ing uphill, all while carrying rifles. Did I mention they have to stop and precisely shoot tiny targets or risk time penalties?
Fatigue
From my spot here on my couch, under my blanket (in my defence resting due to being on my 47th consecutive cycle of chemo) I can only imagine the word to describe their fatigue is ‘brutal’.
One commentator just announced, a 32-year-old participant has a ski speed not quite what it was a few years ago. Good grief!
The lad is balancing on skis resembling knitting needles whilst conducting precision shooting. I’d be breathing out my backside, shaking hard enough to wipe out half the supporters with my misplaced shots.
International athletes
The chap defending his title is an Italian, Quentin Fillon Maillet. Why he’s not riding about on vespas, looking handsome and eating spaghetti I’ll never know, instead he’s gone head-to-head with chaps called Roman, Johannes or Benedickt, Vetle and Maxin. Shug frae Govan need not apply.
I pride myself on running some Olympian level supermarket gauntlets this week.
Someone rammed into my leg with their trolley, and (while I naturally apologised to them) I couldn’t help being reminded of the brutal ice hockey matches I’d watched.
A supermarket dash
I stood and stared at some onions for an absolute age trying to choose one, not unlike the intense analysis of the stone placements during the curling.
Pulling some moves darting down an aisle to avoid someone I recognised could be my figure skating routine and I enjoyed watching all the panicked husbands/boyfriends hunt down last-minute Valentines gifts in the hope of a gold medal win at home.
Finally, the endurance I showed carrying all the things back to my car, having told the cashier I’d be alright for bags, makes the cross-country ski-ing look like a stroll in the park.
