Olympiad....1950's Style

The Old Man has been caught up in the Olympic competition. I have been captivated by some of the sights and performances from Beijing. Such style, such grace, such polish. And that's just the commentators. The athletes themselves have proven over and over what dedication, diligence, and raw talent can accomplish. My thoughts have rambled back to my limited exposure to track and field as a "Bedford Otter".

It was a less complex time. Here are some differences:

• The track. Athletes ran and sometimes fell on the track at the Bird's Nest on a composite material that seemed to be a rubber-like substance. Those who fell, appeared to have no road rash, cuts and scrapes, or other injuries. We ran on cinders. That's right, cinders. They were finely ground and provided a great base for running. Fine as long as you remained vertical. Fall on them and your knees, thighs, and if you were really unlucky, your nose, looked much like you'd been keel-hauled behind a John Deere.
• The track shoes. At Beijing, the runners wore high-tech shoes with ridges, grooves, pads,and imprints. My shoes were little light weight leather "slippers" with sharp steel spikes on the bottom. They complimented the cinders. Make a mis-step and your ankles could end up looking like grated Parmesan cheese mixed with ketchup.
• High jump. Modern jumpers sail over with a backwards technique and land on soft balloons of fabric. Us old guys went over the bar face down and landed in a pit of coarse sawdust. Wonderful on a really hot day.
• Pole Vault. Today's vaulters use poles with enough spring in them to send a small child into the jet stream. Bedford pole vaulters found a bamboo patch and cut their own pole. With the right tape pattern to grip, you could hope to achieve a vault of, maybe, 10 feet. Here again, you landed in a sawdust pit. Of course the increased height of the fall made the sawdust even more appealing.
• High & Low hurdles. These were made of heavy wood. Miss one and tangle in it and you added blunt force trauma to the cinders and the steel spikes.

We had no uneven parallel bars, no pommel horse, and no floor exercises. We did have discus and shot put. I'm firmly convinced that the shot was a cannon ball left over from the War of Northern Aggression.

Do not misunderstand my comments. I'm in no way diminishing the accomplishments of these gifted young people. They are, in most cases, my heroes. They are the best of the bunch and I yield to their talents. Perhaps because I've experienced the feeling of being in a starting block, "set" and holding for the gun, I am attached to them remotely. I know their thoughts, I feel their heart pounding. I know the taste of blood in my throat when I've run a 220 yard dash all out and won. I know the agony of getting back into shape after an off season. My hat's tipped.

At the risk of immodesty, but for the benefit of those who follow me, I still hold two records at that old high school. I set records of 10 sec. flat in the 100 yard dash, and 22 sec. flat in the 220 yard dash. Forgive me the self-administered "attaboy", but I need to add this for the benefit of my children and grandchildren. The Old Man hasn't always been the old man. To put it into perspective lest I be thought self-aggrandizing, they closed the school 3 years after my historic performance, thus insuring my standing. I had a little help in being the fastest kid on the block.