Watching the Olympics is a multi-emotional event. There's the intensity you feel as you hold your breath watching runners, swimmers, row teams race toward the finish line. There's the pain you feel as cyclists fall from their bikes, volleyball players crash into the sand and gymnasts miss their landings. There's the pride you feel as teams and individuals capture new world records.
It's a roller coaster, it's exhilarating, it's motivating ... and let's be honest, a little depressing. It sort of makes me say, why didn't my parents pressure me to finesse my (non-existent) athletic ability and encourage me to chase my dreams. Maybe if my parents had made me watch the Olympics as a child, I would have aspired to super human feats of the athletic ability. And then reality hits, and I must be honest with myself, that my parents did encourage me to participate in sports ... and my natural athletic ability ... well, frankly, it was nonexistent.
Now, tomorrow, when I run my short little 30-minute jog, I will reflect back on the amazing runners I watched tonight ... and maybe, just maybe, my speed will increase just a bit.
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