Tuesday, 9 August 2016
Why I am not an Olympic athlete
Just imagine doing this: spending your life - and in particular, the last four years - practising (for example) long jump. Every day consisting of run-run-run-run-run....and JUMP....and land in a sandpit. And that's it. Again, and again, and again. It makes my brain hurt just thinking about it. The sheer monotony of it. And the effect on normal life:
'Cup of tea, dear?'
' I'll just do one more jump first.'
'Glass of wine?'
'I can't, because of my diet.'
'Oh, of course, silly me. Then I'll just have one myself, shall I?'
And so on, and so on. For four years.
I'm sure they have to do the whole keep fit thing, as well (which presumably makes a change). But still.
Then there are the really weird ones, like putting the shot (what exactly is that for?. And you don't just put it; you have to throw it. A long way.
Running I just about get because running can be useful (think wild bears and missed buses), but most of it just leaves me bewildered.
But never mind. Good luck to them all, bless them. They certainly deserve it.