The Exalted Olympic Games

I am one of the infatuated spectators whose hopes, fears and delights are stimulated to a 9.9 while witnessing my favorite events. My heart breaks when a little girl from an oppressed nation misses her landing or some muscular rocket reared in an obscure village with no conveniences knocks over every hurdle on the track and shows up last. A clear-eyed woman born in the "wrong" hemisphere accelerates in the home stretch to set a record and I marvel. The underdog steps to his mark and I will him to win with all my might as if my will mattered. Arrogant are brought low and the humble rise, sometimes, and it feels good. How does one literally contain in abundance all that is required to perform magnificently in split-second moments under the immeasurable pressure of the entire, exaggerated world?

The list of internal strengths is exhausting: courage, instinct, emotional energy, endurance and control, determination and will, hope and trust, commitment, patience and steadfastness, discipline, talent, desire and heart. The physical requirements are no less impressive: muscular strength, energy and endurance, quickness and reflex and timing, intelligence and alertness and focus, skill, grace, balance and grit. They have all this and much, much more.

Who can watch the games and not be stirred? How many of us and for how long are inspired to improve ourselves in someway-anyway-by the breadth and width of the spectacle known as The Olympic Games? I love to focus when I train. I notice a renewed attention toward this vital quality in my workouts these past days. I'm disappointed when I complain. There'll be less of that nonsense as well. As for form, I will imitate the athletes of all ages and adjust my form according to my injuries and apply Olympic Grit to the deed. I stand more erect and contemplate excellence.

Email has arrived at my door from lifting enthusiasts of gone-bye days whose taste buds have been aroused and appetites piqued by the spirit of the Games. This took them to the Internet on a curiosity search and they, with a lingering memory and pulsing heart, landed at dd.com and a blast from the past. The good monster is alive and steady resuscitation will restore his pallor and symmetry. Let the good times roll... protein, supersetting and all the old tricks. Let it be Purpose that leads them on.

The world is not perfect. Duh. There are those who insist on grumbling about the abundant commercials and the sparse events coverage or the dramatized close-ups. None of this has diluted the excitement and the privilege of viewing the rarified talent and heroics: the broad swath of sport and athletics, the best doing their best gloriously before our eyes. I endure it with pleasure till the next rally of exertion, the pause before the start that reveals the mettle and the finish that defines the competitor.

The winners are asked in a flash to describe their feelings as if they could feel and think at once. Out of breath and reeling, the athlete responds like a jubilant puppy pulled by its tail; the media releases its grasp. The feelings, as deep as desert wells, will be drawn upon in quiet times and quench a thirst they've yet to imagine. No words will express what only they know; an exquisite loneliness that need not cause us to fret.

I wonder. Are there those who reject watching the Games, finding them over-rated ruckus-entertaining but a waste of the world's time-a dismal reminder of their own neglect and inadequacy? Champions live forever. We need more champions. Certainly, more of us need to try...

The inertia is broken and the ball is rolling. We mustn't let it stop. We need to be an example to the deteriorating, fleshy souls around us. The time has come. Teach, encourage, perform. Let muscle and might unite. Let's fight the good fight. Your mate, dave

THE EXALTED OLYMPIC GAMES