I can spend four years showing about as much interest in sport as I do in tree pruning, but when the Olympics start, I am up until midnight watching qualifying rounds in the women’s BMX freestyle championship.
The last time I did any freestyle on a bike was when I let go of the handlebars on a Triumph Speed Triple on a bumpy stretch of a Strathbogie Shire back road. I didn’t quite make the nose pick, but it was a damn fine foot jam tailwhip.
See? I’m already speaking a different language. This is what three hours of BMX qualifying rounds can do. By the end of the competition, I’ll be fluent in street rat speak.
I fell through this wormhole into an alternative culture by accident as I watched the women’s kayak slalom while slurping steaming hot vegetable soup. Looking back, it was badly planned.
I sat open-mouthed as Australia’s Jess Fox won gold by plunging through a series of whitewater rapids straight out of a Niagara Falls horror movie. I still have no idea how on earth Fox stayed upright as she crashed through wave after wave of pounding water. It was like watching a ballerina perform Swan Lake on a water slide while being chased by a grizzly bear.
I thought this woman must have the upper body strength of a ripped kangaroo and the muscular grace of a dancer as she flicked and spun around a series of poles suspended over the frothing waves without losing her balance. She became an angel over water.
The whole thing was over in a few seconds, but it was long enough to make me marvel at the exhilarating madness of the whole exercise.
It also made me want more. So, I delved into the world of BMX ballet and caught my breath at mid-air 360-degree turns and triple handlebar flips. These people were defying the Icarus warning and flying very close to the sun.
For my part, I had learned not to watch frantic sporting moments while slurping hot vegetable soup.
Now I’m searching for more weird Olympic events. I’m looking forward to trampoline, ribbon-twirling/rhythmic gymnastics, sport climbing and the modern pentathlon, which combines showjumping on an unfamiliar horse, fencing and a 200m freestyle swim. For me, that earns gold in the wacky events stakes. It seemed utter madness until I learned the modern pentathlon was devised by one Baron Pierre de Coubertin to give cavalry riders survival skills behind enemy lines. Then it all made silly French sense. No wonder Napoleon lost at Waterloo. The Baron should have included a brutal wine and cheese taste-off to make it more authentic.
Of course, the main event for me is going to be breakdancing. I competed in several breakdance events in pub car parks after pub closing time in England in the 1980s. It was a friendly affair fuelled by Theakston’s Old Peculier, but my wrists and glutes have never really recovered.
All this niche magic makes the traditional running, jumping and swimming pursuits just a bit prosaic by comparison.
Nevertheless, the Olympic dream must be alive in all of them. The urge to be the best, to reach the top of the pyramid and push yourself past the pain and madness barrier must be there whether you flip a bike bar or swim like a dolphin. Each takes ten thousand repetitive actions day after day, year after year, until you do it in your sleep. Quite why some people make it their life goal to get a gold medal for this, I don’t know. To me, it often seems pointless when compared to other life pursuits.
But then, in those moments of suspended gravity or time-stopping finish lines before the air punches and the screaming begins — I get it. In those moments, we are all angels.
John Lewis is a former journalist at The News.
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