So, apparently the athletes’ village at Turin is a little below the standards of some of the higher profile athletes. As my comment on SportsFilter suggests, I’m not a huge fan of how “soft” we (I say we ’cause I’m pretty much talkin’ about society-at-large) have become in the last few decades.
I think about the many times I’ve had to “perform” at my best and some of the conditions I’ve endured the night(s) before. Here are some that come to mind:
1. PR in Olympic distance triathlon. I set my own PR by a whopping four minutes the week before. The night before the Carma Performance Triathlon in Calgary, I go out and get absolutely hammered. Nonetheless, I was able to get up early, get my “game on”, and race to a new PR (albeit only seconds faster than the week before). The 3 hour drive home after wasn’t even that bad 
2. CABO Camp - Montreal. Thirteen games in three days in 30+ degree heat and unbelievable humidity. Four guys sharing a room. Sleepin’ on single bunkbeds. Did I mention bein’ out drinkin’ every night? Keeping the fluids up was hard enough, let alone trying to find something good to eat, and the time to do it between games.
3. Try being on tour with a rock band! The job description for a road manager reads something like: last one to bed at night, first one up in the morning; babysit a group of grown men all day and night; drive long hard hours between gigs; set up and tear down; run for beer and smokes on a moment’s notice; have a cell phone glued to your ear; oh yeah … and try to have some fun out there … it is rock’n'roll! Did I mention the pullout or the cot conditions of most hotels?
That’s just three off the top of my head. Did I win any gold medals? No, I did not. So maybe it’s just me? Maybe I have no place to criticize the high calibre athletes who need comfortable conditions in order to perform at their best? However, when I think about how hard life used to be for so many for so long, I think perspective needs to be provided for this situation. I’m only one generation removed from having to be up in the middle of the night to stoke the fire or freeze–from having to piss and shit in a “honey pot” or brave the cold and the dark to get to the outhouse–from having to do far more than stop at Sobey’s for groceries.
In the end, I guess my only motivation for this entry is that I often find myself griping or complaining about how hard my life has become. Fuck, I don’t work “that” hard. I’m a softy myself. So … to anyone who may read this and feel offended that I’ve dared to criticize world-class athletes for seeking comfort in the pursuit of excellence … maybe I’m not criticizing you. Maybe I’m envious of you. Maybe I’m saying, “good on ya” for having your cake and eating it too.
Anyway … I gotta go make myself somethin’ to eat now … see what lies inside that electric root cellar in my kitchen
