Olympic fever

Every two years, Olympic fever hits the Van Wyk-Zimmerman household.  OK, it mostly strikes the Van Wyk part of the house, but still, it’s pretty contagious.  Quite quickly we are both overcome by what the human body is capable of – in the winter, shocked and amazed by the cross country skiers and the fact that the Dutch don’t win every distance skating medal (“You’re all just legs and a head – how can you not win everything on skates?!”); in the summer, mesmerized by the swimmers (“If I swam every day would I look like a jellyfish too?”) and the sheer beauty of the track and field events. 

This year has been no exception.  In spite of the time zone and Opening Ceremonies – we can’t decide if it felt so small and parochial, like a long, three hour over-reach, because of the camera work, comparisons to Beijing, the fact that at a time when both the US and India are suffocating in drought and heat the Industrial Revolution does not feel like something to be celebrating, or that the show climaxed with a performance by a musician who changed the world more than 50 years ago – watching the games here has been so much fun.  Did you know that whitewater rafting is an Olympic sport?  I know, neither did we.  But it is, and they show a lot of it here.  In the first week ESPN Asia also dedicated a lot of time to field hockey, team handball, rowing, cycling (can someone explain track cycling to me?  I am mesmerized by the seemingly controlled chaos and the shocking displays of power, but I have no idea what is going on; one minute everyone is just cruising around the track jostling for position, the next they are sprinting full speed on a tiny track in a cluster and blur of carbon fiber, legs and oversized helmets with buggy goggles, and then just as quickly the race is over), ping pong table tennis, badminton, all the while showing as much action as possible, without any attempt to glorify the athletes beyond their athletic achievement.  It is really nice to simply be asked to revel in our embodied potential, celebrating what these kids can do.

The greatest discovery from this new found Olympic breadth is archery, especially archery as watched on TV.  One the one hand, it is the most intimate and precise event at the Olympics.  The level of physical, mental, and emotional control on display is hard to fathom.  In its performance, it is a sport of miniscule calculations and adjustments, requiring, as its foundation, a repetition of exacting sameness.  The camera work of the Olympic feed exaggerates this precision, offering a closely cropped tight focus on the archer’s shoulder-arms-head, magnifying the tiniest finger twitch, elbow adjustment, and realignment of the cheeks and mouth.  Watching, you are left to marvel at a single individual settling into peace and stillnesss. 

And then the arrow is released, and the real magic begins.  First, the production instantly switches to the target camera, showing another 9 or 10 score (at this level, it seems like an 8 is a horrifically low score), as there is a bewildering transposition of that still, quiet, stored energy into the precision of flight.  But then the real trick comes as they show a replay of the arrow actually in flight, and you realize that they are shooting at a target 70 meters away (which, for you Americas, is a REALLY LONG WAY!!), through a nasty British wind.  Now it just doesn’t make sense anymore; this sport of absolute precision, taking place at a ridiculous level of intimacy has suddenly been overwhelmed by an equally ridiculous distance and scope.  Watching the arrow move through its too-long and wind-swept arc to land, once again, dead center is beyond comprehension.

If this isn’t enough to keep you watching, the format of Olympic archery is painful in its pressure.  At the end of every round Andi and I found ourselves breathless, even if we had no idea who was competing.  Since archery was one of India’s few medal hopeful events, we were even more tense whenever an Indian was up!  So the format is simple: alternating shots, three arrows per round, for five rounds.  Which means that everyone knows exactly what is necessary to win.  Quite literally, the measure of success gets smaller and smaller with each arrow so that the tension builds, and by the last arrow, the target has become a tiny, suffocating circle 70 meters away.

 Update: Apparently, our love of archery has nothing to do with the skill itself.