How I was inspired by...the olympics
As a self-confessed cynic, I generally don’t buy into things with the words “brings people together” or “inspires” in them. But if there’s anything I’ve learned in my fourteen short years on this earth, the only force stronger than gravity is peer pressure. Everyone was doing Olympics-this, Olympics-that, and quite frankly, it was rather annoying. However, I determined that when so many people were involved, they must be on to something, and one saturday night I gave in to my family. It was, of course the “super saturday” when Mo Farah did his country proud, putting Britain on the map for long-distance running for the the first time in decades.
After watching this, suffice to say, I was inspired by such a display of sporting prowess and self-discipline. I then began to think: If they can do it, why not me? After all, Mo Farah, and many of the athletes who were to become icons, came from disadvantaged backgrounds. Born in Somalia, he was forced to leave for Britain aged only eight, leaving behind all his friends and much of his family. I imagine he would have found it acutely difficult at first; an immigrant in a new country, speaking no English and having absolutely nothing in common with the other children, who would have seemed so at home. But he found his niche on the track, discovering solace in the next-foot-forward rhythm of long distance running.
The more I read, the more I was persuaded to get out there and do something different. One day, I put on my running shoes (A Chanukah present meant for someone with more self-discipline) and jogged out the door. Admittedly, I only made it down to the local park before getting out of breath and walking home, but that wasn’t the point. The routine had been established, and I was slowly but surely working my way out of the chthonic depths of procrastination.
Fast forward six months, and I’m running the 10k race at the Maccabi fun run. I’m nervous, and although it’s not a race, I’ve been training for this for a while. Not wanting to lose face in front of self-confessed “experts” who would’ve been professional athletes, but, y’know, priorities. To the surprise of many (most of all myself) I finish the race in a semi-respectable time of about an hour (still more than double Farah’s 26 minutes, but I wan’t exactly at the Olympics)
The sense of relief was incredible, as was the knowledge that through doing something that was actually fun, I had raised money for charity. What’s more, it gave me a greater insight into how sport can be used to change people’s lives for the better, make them stop arguing, and, for once, gather together in support of the nation’s finest sportsmen and women.
So next time people get excited about The Olympics, I’ll gladly join them, safe in the knowledge that sport can be a force for good.
