On Your Mark…
It’s here! It’s here! It’s finally time for the Winter Olympics!!!!
(I’m in competition for the most egregious use of exclamation points!)
The Olympics leave me torn. I grew up really loving the Olympics and totally getting into the competition and the personal stories and the glossy souvenir guides. I even dreamed that one day, I could be there on the medal stand. Of course, I was religiously opposed to any sort of organized team sport or, you know, physical exertion, but I HAD A DREAM!
I loved to watch the girl’s gymnastics and the ice skating. Then, I got old enough to start realizing that those girls not only worked hard to get where they are, but they also often starved themselves into delaying puberty. They put up with demeaning coaches. They put up with the pressure that mom and dad put a third mortgage on the house and both worked two jobs just to afford the trainers and the competitions. I began to see it as being kinda twisted.
Then I watched the uber-hyped and oh so melodramatic bullshit of white trash skaters with lead pipes and shady boyfriends.
And so my attention travelled to other Olympic sports. And I found doping and jack ass athletes that might win a gold medal but all I wanted to do was slap them.
My disillusion makes me sad. I know that there are loads of athletes that work their butts off and get the biggest thrill of their lives at the Olympics. I will no doubt slip in and out of Olympic consciousness over the course of the games, watching until I start to get annoyed by learning whatever heart wrenching story each athlete has to tell (did you know that Brumhilda Bonnheimer had a poodle when she was a kid that actually got old and died a night before she participated in national competition? Heartbroken, she managed to go onto compete and held her gold medal for six months before she was disqualified for doping?)
And I know it’s a product of wall to wall media but it’s sad nonetheless.
So to try to get into the spirit of it all, I will spend this evening hanging with the REAL Olympians. The people that I know and respect and whom I have never seen involved in any kneecap busting or doping (except maybe on Nyquil during a bout with a bad cold.)
I’m talking about the Knitting Olympics.
If you’re not a knitter, I’d advise you to wipe the coffee off your keyboard right now. You do not know the training, the chutzpah, and the mind numbing talent that it takes to make the leap and put a steek in a sweater. (Decoding: Take a sweater that you have spent twenty nine hundred hours knitting and that cost approximately $300 in yarn and cut it. With scissors. Yes. I’m serious.)
The Knitting Olympics involves casting on at the Opening Ceremonies and finishing by the closing ceremonies. Four years ago I dyed the fleece, spun the wool, and knit the hat for my Olympic project. This year? I will be in the stands waving my circular needles like a lasso and rooting on my peeps. (My goal for the Olympics will be to finish a ten page paper for school and pass a math test without bursting into flames.)
I will be knitting on one of the three sweaters that I am involved with. (I am what is known as a fiber whore. Hey, maybe I’m a fiber addict???? Maybe I have a diagnosable problem that the Hazelden Foundation will put into a self-help book. Perhaps, just perhaps, I spend waaaaaay to much time alone, coddling my skeins of yarn and ignoring my family.)
Yeah…perhaps, just perhaps, I am just totally full of crap.
But I will be at Yarn Harbor tonight (5-9 pm) for the Opening Ceremonies. I will be knitting and cheering, and huffing yarn vapors for kicks. Hey, I don’t have to pass a drug test!