Olympic Running About.

My only success in athletics was at primary school when I came third because I was desperate for a pee. In a parents race many years on I was way behind our neighbour, a 5’6” woman, when my legs just couldn’t move any faster. Apparently some of us have fast reacting muscles and some slow so my inability is genetic. My other is lethargic hence my leaning towards motorised sport. Flying for example is not an Olympic sport though most of us can do it with the aid of a jet engine. But how many Olympic sports are there? There appears to be millions. It seems like any physical movement either unaided or with any lumpen object is now a sport. Where bicycles are carbon fibre and as light as possible weights are as heavy as possible. I mean with a little high tech ingenuity a shot-put could weigh grams and be aerodynamic and go much further, and you wouldn’t have to be built like a giant meat pie to throw them. And synchronised swimming. Elegant but you don’t see many ballerinas smiling like they’ve just seen John the Baptist with a nose clip. It’s all quite arbitrary. But rather like Swedish Spirit camp that’s not the point. Codify some arbitrary activity until everyone knows what’s required then work your balls off to achieve your best and your “I’m so important” lower self will be occupied in what it’s good at; the arbitrary, whilst somewhere else some unfathomable progress occurs. It’s been suggested we have three brains, reptilian, mammalian and human due to our long evolutionary ancestry. The first is pure emotion, the second instinctual reality and the third a constructional, imaginative unreality. I spent last evening in the company of three lovely cob ponies and if they were saying anything it was, “Get real guys, run about.” So maybe that’s the Olympics in a nutshell.