In Sochi, they’re defying gravity, breaking sound barriers and twisting themselves into pretzels. All of which they can do because they have 0.5 percent body fat. That, plus their average age is 13. Or so it would seem.
And that’s why we will never be Olympians. Most of us are far past 13, and our percent body fat will never be confessed, not upon pain of death (thanks to that blasted cheese dip). All of this had me pondering the other day, which is when I took it to my friends.
“If you could add any event to the Olympics,” I said, “what would it be?”
“Jumping,” said one. “As in, jumping to conclusions. My husband’s a winner.”
I cringed. I hadn’t meant to stir up marital strife. On the sunny side, though, such jumping could be done in a sweat suit. There was, after all, that.
“Pedaling,” someone else suggested.
“Oh?” I thought. “Tour de France Olympic style?” I looked a little closer. Aha. “Back pedaling,” it said.
Well, now. That would open the Games right up. Suddenly, politicians could enter, age and body fat notwithstanding. It was no good cause for national pride, but we did have some who were awful quick to hit reverse when the finger test switched up.
How else could you explain the flip flops, backtracking and “180s” that happened in some campaigns? To Average Joe on his La-Z-Boy, it looked like such a flopper had resorted to the aforementioned finger test, a highly scientific method of determining public opinion with one wet finger and some wind.
It would be entertaining, all right, to watch the world’s leaders out pedal each other, but there had to be a place for the moms. That’s what I was thinking. For years, I’d begged IOC Chairman Mr. Rogge to add diaper changing to the schedule. Then a friend suggested one more. “How about grocery shopping with hungry children?”