I love the Olympic Games. Rippling muscles glisten as human bodies honed to perfection display and defeat the limits of human capacity. My own body starts to feel fit and muscular and ready to burst into perfectly coordinated action, as I watch them.
Somewhere inside me is an athlete, the one that a major childhood injury has kept in embryonic state. I know I have what it takes to be an athlete, except for the physical capability. That one little factor. I can feel it in my psyche. Watching the athletes brings all that longing and drive and enthusiasm to the surface. I’m ready to soar, leap, fly! I’m half Greek, so it should be possible.
While the Olympics are on, I get to imagine the grand, supreme version of me that I might have become, if everything in my life had been totally different. It feels good to try on an athlete’s body, even if only mentally.
I could have been among the Olympians,
if everything had been different.
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