The other day I was thinking about how much I prefer the winter Olympic games to those held in summer. My thoughts were plain: the winter events are infinitely more dangerous, challenging and extreme. Besides, there is -- of course -- the whole nordic and alpine romance of the games; the whiff of old European elegance, of Scandinavia, Austria and Switzerland. I've an intuitive, even visceral, understanding of the enchantment of mountains, snow, adventure; of open flame, and long nights by a cozy hearth. Such things attract me, and I cannot resist.
As you know, in the winter games, there are ice and blade, skis and guns. There is the vertiginous height, the dizzying speed. Nearly every event, even every motion, is literally lived on an edge, one honed in steel and carved with bone and sinew. Everything feels precarious, only a millimeter away from unleashing lethal forces, unexpected and immeasurable. And deadly.
But the games have lost some of their romance and mystique, at least for me, with the tragic death of a young man. I watched the video; I saw the dramatic and mysterious physical forces take control, lifting him off the course. I saw his body pass a few inches beyond the shiny veneer. A steel pole; a sudden stop. There is nothing elegant in death.
However, memory is short. I will watch the games; I will hide from my mind things unpleasant. I will remind myself about the "indomitable human spirit." I will think on lovely things, and meditate on the heights of human achievement, of human aspiration. I will marvel. I will gaze in awe. But I will know, deep down, there will be something I have chosen to forget.
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Perhaps as an antidote to grief and second-guessing, last night's opening ceremonies to the winter games were a stunning gift. Of course, as I've aged I've become absolutely weak-kneed about ceremonies of all kinds. I don't care if it's F-15s flying over a NASCAR track or Ronan Tynan singing "God Bless America" in Yankee Stadium, I get all choked up, ready to genuflect in an instant before such displays. Last night's presentation did indeed lift me; I was on the edge of tears throughout. Yes, I could see the flaws (sadly, I too often do), but those just charmed me all the more.
Peace.
(K.D. Lang singing Leonard Cohen? There really is a God. And when Canadian opera singer Measha Brueggergosman sang the "Olympic Anthem," I was certain the flags were waving because of her unbelievable exhalations. Words like transportive and transcendent easily came to mind. And her hair! Whoa!)
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1 comment:
I became a fan of the Winter Games because of my German in-laws who would spend three or four hours watching Eurocup skiing on TV. Where we in America see the top ten Alpine skiers in any event plus all of our country's participants, in Europe, they watch the whole thing--close to a hundred skiers, jumpers, and the like.
I cannot think of Nordic skiing without thinking of my father-in-law who taught me how to do it during my first trip to Germany in 1985. He was a licensed instructor and coach and my wife--then fiance--was a former member of the German Alpine team. (Giant Slalom and Slalom, if you must know.) 'Twas quite the experience, recounted here.
(Sorry for the self-link which is, as you know, merely blogger-onanism.)
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