Ordinary Mortals

The world will soon be watching as athletes, the highest of the high performers from all around the world, gather in Paris for the Olympics.  The competition will be mesmerizing and the stories moving and compelling.  I will probably watch more television in the next few weeks than I will in the next four years. The Olympics are at once modern and high tech and ancient and archaic, steeped in tradition. The lighting of the cauldron calls forth the ancient Greek philosophers who believed that a wholly flourishing human life requires the lessons that are learned through athletics.  One of my favorite quotes attributed to Plato is “A man is not learned until he can read, write and swim.”  I wholeheartedly agree.  Aristotle saw athletics as a matter of ethical duty and Epictetus and Socrates believed that lessons in resilience, in determination and a willingness to engage in continual effort to improve were the gifts of the athletic life.  They all believed in athletic competition as “a way of communicating that brings a great sense of connection between people.”  Even our modern-day running philosopher, George Sheehan, was known to ask questions worthy of the Greeks.  “Did I win?”  “How can I live a heroic life?”  “What is the meaning to be found in the miles?” His writings are full of the ways, when we run, that we answer these ancient questions.  The answers that can be found nowhere but in our own hearts with our bodies in motion.

We are going to see some true heroes over the coming weeks at the Olympic Games.  Stories of triumph over tragedy, courage over conformity, the embrace of pain and suffering folded into the meaning of things.  The networks are already filming the athlete stories that will scaffold the coverage of the competition.  The stories are sometimes the best part of the Games, but they are only part of the story of what it means to be an athlete. There are these, these Olympians, these immortal beings operating at levels that seem superhuman.  And then there is the rest of us, the ordinary mortals. The ordinary mortals whose shirts will never don the Olympic rings or the designation “Team USA”.  Our shirts are made for local logos and catchy event names that call attention to the purpose of our gathering.   Endorsement deals are not coming, and we are not giving up our day jobs.  Our stories will never be told on national television, nor set to inspiring music with a narration sure to make you cry. Our stories are for each other and for ourselves, stories about the hill we suffered, the heat, the cold, the way we look forward to gathering at every race, who has how many points.  The athlete’s story of effort and trying is ours, and as Dr. Sheehan put it, “beyond all this fitness is the discovery of who you are.”  We are ordinary mortals, and we are athletes.  And there is nothing ordinary about that.

It matters that we see ourselves as athletes.  The research shows that when individuals self-identify as athletes, they are more likely to start and maintain an exercise regimen. They pay more attention to nutrition, to sleep, and to their overall well-being.  How we see ourselves matters.  There may not be Olympic medals on the line for the athletes who gather at a local road race, triathlon or swim meet, but there are medals to be had and they are hard-won too, and to we ordinary mortals, they often mean just as much.  Ordinary athletes train around work, family and community life, around schedules and dance recitals, soccer games, and cleaning the litter box.  They are busy creating opportunities for their kids to learn what it means to be athletes and modeling what an active lifestyle looks like.  They coach themselves and they coach each other at the weekend road run.  They give and ask for advice and no one gets a paycheck for their wisdom.  Every one of you is an athlete, full stop.  The same mixture of agony and pain, joy and relief we are going to see in the Olympics, I see on your faces at every finish line.  The same pride is there for you when a medal is draped around your neck by the local race director. The Olympic runners will run 5K and 10K, just like you.  They will be nervous, they may struggle, they may feel invincible, just like you.  They will run the same number of miles you do.  They’ll just get to their finish line a little faster.

I admire our Olympians for the Olympic effort it takes to make the Games and I can hardly wait to be thrilled by them.  They are remarkable examples of the human machine functioning at its best and they have lived with an extreme kind of sacrifice.  They will make our Greek forebearers proud.  And so do you.  Being an athlete, an athlete in the truest sense of the word, is not just about performance, placing or world records.  It is a way of living. It is about personal bests and besting that part of us that wants to retreat from hard things to take an easier road. It is about mastery.  Moreover, it is about self-mastery.  It is about the mastery we show when we understand why we run.  One more time from George Sheehan, “He runs because he has to.  Because being a runner, in moving through pain and fatigue and suffering, in imposing stress upon stress, in eliminating all but the necessities of life, he is fulfilling himself and becoming the person he is.”

I really hate the word “just” as in “I am just a walker.”  “I am just doing the 5K.”  There is no “just” when it comes to being an athlete. So as we all enjoy the Olympic Games, I want you to remind yourself every day, “I am an athlete.”  The Olympic flame will be gone from the cauldron at the end of the Games, but the fire in each and every one of you, the fire I see at every finish line, is eternal.  If you listen well, the cheers of those ancient Greek Olympians are for you, too. Plato, Aristotle, and Socrates are proud of you.