Video Montage

My favorite part about the Olympics is the dramatic life stories. Those five-minute montages about a sick mother or an athlete’s medal threatening injury complete with sorrowful music and a voice over. I love those. And I love that they show them right before the athlete competes for the gold. If they’re trying to make me anxious and on the edge of my seat shouting hallelujah at every triple toe lutz and ski jump landing then they’re doing something right. It’s hard not to root for someone with a back-story.

However.

I sometimes (always) roll my eyes when they interview an athlete’s friend or teammate who says “she never gave up” or “he never complained about the pain”. It makes me want to shout YEAH RIGHT and change the channel to a CSI rerun. Surely Olympians aren’t made of something different than me? I have to believe that they have days like mine. Days that smother them and wound them. Days when they say I’m never skiing again! Skating Sucks! I’m no good at this and I’m just going to quit and get a job at The Home Depot!

Right?

The other night I had a meltdown. Ryan didn’t freak out since I’ve been having fairly regular meltdowns. I cried a lot and said I suck as a writer and I’m going to quit my book and never write again! There’s no use! Later that night we were watching the Olympics and there was some story about some athlete and their overpowering will to succeed. Their determination to fight through the pain and the disappointment. Their lack of complaining. The background music seemed to ooh and aahh at their mighty achievement. The hurdles they have overcome. I looked at Ryan with a quivering chin and wondered aloud if I was perhaps the weakest woman alive. If I was the only person whose problems overshadowed me instead of my overshadowing them. No he said.

But then I noticed...none of them win alone. There’s always someone to hug or wave to or say hello into the camera to while waiting for scores. There’s always a coach pushing or a mother gushing. And even though I don’t have thighs like Sasha Cohen or a backside like Kelly Clark, we do share one thing in common. When I’m feeling down and out, I’ve got friends who tell me it will be ok. When I’m feeling gloomy, I’ve got Internet friends who encourage. When I totally give up, I’ve got Perfect Ryan telling me that I can do it. That I will do it. That I have talent. That he has total faith in me. And whether or not he’s right, he makes me believe that I can do it. With people like that in my corner, my video montage might look hopeful and strong. Heroic. I might look like someone who doesn’t fall apart when the chips are down (when the truth is I eat all the chips in sight when...well you know).

So why can’t I have thighs like Sasha?