The zen of gold medals

All week we’ve been watching the Olympics. I sat up till about two in the morning while the women’s marathon unfolded along the streets of Rio, remembering what it was like to be able to run easily and for a long time – so light, so fast, such a long time ago. The three fastest women were a Kenyan, a Kenyan running for Bahrain, and an Ethiopian. This morning I found myself in front of the men’s weightlifting, dominated by Uzbekistan. We followed the highs and lows of the Australian swimmers: an unheralded teenager bursting through in the final lap to take gold, heavily fancied world beaters missing out. Now we’re on to the post-mortem: public whingeing about the Australian public being let down by too many of the team. If you don’t pull out a personal best to order, you should not feel good about yourself. I won’t name the former Olympic gold medallist who was pushing this line on the radio this morning, but I will say he was not a swimmer or an athlete, but a shooter.

Earlier on, in the run up to Olympic selection we had our chef de mission setting ambitious targets for gold medals, while at the same time effectively excluding potential medallists because of their perceived attitude problems. Not only are you expected to perform like a machine; you have to behave like one as well.

As our swimmers embraced their more successful rivals, and came out of the pool to be interrogated by a Channel 7 reporter (‘How does it feel to come seventh, when you swam the fastest time in the event this year before the Olympics?’), they spoke, one after the other, about the need to run one’s own race, to do one’s best on the day as far as possible, and to move on if things don’t go as well as hoped. They were gracious and mature: no tantrums and very few tears. No excuses. This is what elite athletes are taught. Don’t pay too much attention to anyone else; do your best, identify areas for improvement, work on them, try again. Meanwhile the nation is singing a different song; they’ve let us down and they should be ashamed of themselves.

You wouldn’t think there were athletes in other parts of the world who were working their guts out and planning to peak at Rio. There seems to be a weird sense of Australian entitlement – not in relation to all sports, but in areas in which the country has been traditionally strong.

And we seem to forget that swimming is a First World sport. You need a good water supply and good swimming pools to develop elite swimmers, and that costs money. Why are our runners outclassed by Africans and West Indians? Partly because it doesn’t cost much: a decent pair of shoes and some reasonably flat lengths of road will get you going. There’s a level playing field. In twenty years time, maybe some of the more prosperous African countries will be producing their first generation of world class swimmers – and Australian journalists and ageing Australian gold medallists will be complaining about Our Boys and Girls not working hard enough.

Gold, gold, gold for Australia? That mentality doesn’t even help you win, for godsake. It stops you running your own race, it destroys your concentration. Athletes don’t need pep talks about the nation’s expectations: they need the zen of swimming.

And in that spirit, I will acknowledge the glorious work of other sewing bloggers. How could I ever achieve the heights of Rivergum of The Insouciant Stitcher? This tunic is made of silk that she dyed by hand, and she gives a generous account of the technical details on her blog. For me, this is medal-winning work.

jean genie

Carolyn of Handmade by Carolyn assembled this dress out of old jeans – her children’s plus her partner’s for the longer panels. Already I am regretting the old Levis I sent to the Brotherhood a couple of months ago. She has used the different shades of blue so beautifully – and just to rub salt into the wound, she also made her shoes out of old jeans, and has been wearing them for a couple of years. There is no point even trying to compete.

However. I have now successfully quilted the silk lining to the wool mix of my jacket. This is a first for me, along with the first handmade buttonholes and the first attempt at cutting and sewing silk. What’s next? Should I remove the braid I sewed to the cuffs, because of the little problem with the lining being shorter than the outer fabric, so I can cut them both to the same length? Maybe I’ll sew braid to the main part of the jacket – more hand work – and be careful not to place it too close to the edge. At some point I have to incorporate the shoulder pads that Bill gave me during his class, which are not part of the Vogue pattern, but which he says are absolutely necessary. At some point I have to cut the lining and turn it under and sew it to the buttonholes. So much work still to do. It will be good to have the whole thing assembled and find out if it actually fits. No point thinking about gold medals, now or ever.

On screen a woman from the Bahamas runs the 800m from the front and collapses across the line fractionally ahead of the American favourite, who was hoping for her fifth Olympic gold medal. The woman from the Bahamas wins gold, but she doesn’t get up. There are other women on the ground. They gave everything. Somebody had to lose – but how could you ask any of them to do anything more?

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