From a marketing standpoint, it was brilliant. Women of all ages, sizes and shapes could participate. Men, for that matter, could, too. Most folks had never worked a balance beam or cleared a set of hurdles, but they’d changed a diaper or two. They’d tune in, these average citizens, to watch a competition they could relate to for once. Overnight ratings would spike, and dollars would pour in to the networks.
It was a win-win-win from all directions. For one thing, preparation for this sport did not require an expensive move across the country to train for months in high-dollar facilities like American skaters did. Training was done right in one’s living room. Or nursery. Or bedroom. Or park bench. Wherever the little doobers were using their Pampers, that’s where you practiced.
Furthermore, there were no ridiculous uniforms needed, no tiny outfits that appeared to be shrink wrapped onto the contestants. Competitive diapering could be done in a roomy sweat suit, bathrobe or a favorite pair of blue jeans. For men like Mr. Schrock who abhorred spandex, this was a big deal. For not-2.5 percent-body-fat women like me, it was a really big deal.
I still hope to hear one day from the IOC. I’m nothing if not optimistic. Meanwhile, I’ll content myself with counting down to the next Summer Games. And giving thanks that I’m done with that diapering training program.