The Super Humans

Each time I’ve sat down to write about the Paralympics I’ve struggled. Struggled to find the right words that convey the respect, admiration and awe I feel towards every person involved, from the competitors to volunteers. Impossible to sum up how inspired I feel. If the Olympics propelled me to start swimming and running then the Paralympics have rocketed me to show more commitment and push that little bit harder, and not just in the pool but in all areas of my life. It’s also made me feel more positive as a person, maybe I’m caught up in the hysteria of it all. I was lucky enough to get tickets for a few events, the support and roar in the venues is deafening. If I could replace the drone of my Tinnitus with it I’d be the most motivated person in the world. Still, none of these words seem like a fitting tribute to what London 2012 means to me.

Then I overheard a conversation on the train and I wanted to tell people about it.

Six typically teenage boys were on my carriage. All of them were clutching KFC bags, the grease seeping through the brown paper. All of them using words I am clueless about. All dressed as if they’d ran through JD Sports like an episode of Supermarket Sweep and finished the ensemble by taking a forward roll through New Era.

All of them discussing Oscar Pistorius and how fast he can run, all of them questioning whether Jonnie Peacock can beat him. Talking about the blades, whether the runners feel the impact on their limbs, if they feel sensation, if technology gives advantage. A conversation that is taking place only because of this great event and these super humans. A conversation that sparked debate and got them all wondering the hows, whys, whats.

During the opening ceremony for the Paralympics Stephen Hawking  told us to “be curious”. Conversations like this prove the message was received. Their questioning was done with respect and wide-eyed wonder.  This small moment during my Paralympics experience made me smile and warmed my cockles. ♥

When I Grow Up I Want To Be Steve Redgrave

The 2012 Olympics are frequently producing utterly inspiring images that I believe will be burned into my memory for the rest of my days. Gemma Gibbon’s mouthing “I love you Mum” to the skies as she defeated Audrey Tcheumeo to take her into the Judo final. Andy Murray’s leap in the air as he became the first “Brit” to win the Tennis singles gold in 104 years. Peter Wilson sinking to his knees as he wins the Double Trap, a long way to reach the ground given his 6ft 6″ stature. Katherine Copeland’s face of sheer disbelief as they won the lightweight double sculls, mouthing “We won the olympics” to partner Sophie Hosking. I could go on and on and on and on… Jessica Ennis, Mo Farah, our wonderful gymnastics boys, Bradley Wiggins, Victoria Pendleton, Big Ben. You get the point.

In amongst all these brilliant athletes that are making Britain so very, very Great again there is Sir Steve Redgrave, Patron Saint of Rowers. The enduring images of him being at the riverside, helping the emotionally and physically exhausted Alan Campbell, Zac Purchase and Mark Hunter from their boats, bearing the weight, have moved me as much as those competing for Team GB. These moments, this man who has lived and experienced what they have been through helps to shoulder the burden with a quiet kindness. Katherine Grainger being interviewed on Sunday spoke of how generous he is with his time and knowledge, how much he means to them all. He truly seems to be the nicest person in the universe.

Granted the closest I will ever get to climbing out of a boat is getting out of the bath, so the chances of this calm and strong man being there to gently encourage me and nudge me along in the right direction are non-existent. But that’s not to say he hasn’t inspired me. When I nearly bailed out halfway through a run on Saturday it was Steve Redgrave and all our rowers that popped into my head, that made me put one foot in front of the other.

The tagline of the games is, quite rightly, Inspire A Generation. I blogged last week mentioning all these golden role models the younger generation will gain from London 2012. But I have also found a voice to drown out the annoying swarm of bee’s sound of my Tinnitus. Without pausing for a breath this new voice tells me “Have you found a swimming club you want to join yet? Are you going for a run today? *Lets not drink for a whole month, see what a difference it makes!“

Yes, a hundred million times yes to inspiring a generation. But don’t forget the difference it can make to us older farts too. ♥

*I haven’t quite agreed with the part abstaining from alcohol. In fact as I type this I have a bloody awful hangover, caused by some very boozy watermelons at Ruby’s pop up Chariots of Fire.

The Ready Brek Glow

Friends, Londoners, Countrymen…

It has been a week since Danny Boyle sparked a Ready Brek glow in the pits of our stomachs.

Everyone, and I truly mean every single soul, that I have come into contact with over the past week seems to be holding onto this rare, unheard of level of loveliness. I haven’t once tutted, wagged my finger or rolled my eyes. Instead, I have laughed in the face of the well taught stranger danger and chatted away to people (especially those beloved purple and red volunteers that have popped up like very human wombles, laminated labels swung round their necks). I even had fun in the Post Office yesterday, that usual pit of hell we suffer. Staff and the usually mardy customers all chatting excitedly about Bradley Wiggins. And I can’t even ride a bike.

I know it’s exhausting, it’s not our natural state of being, especially as London dwellers. But my days, we are doing enthusiasm really bloody well. It’s almost like the Olympics have unlocked something dormant in us. At some point we all started grumbling and found it hard to snap out of it. We lost faith in this little Island of Cheddar Cheese, Real Ales, Mods, Rockers, Cockles soaked in vinegar, rain and Shakespeare.

Danny Boyle gave us an utterly bat shit and bonkers reminder of all that is Great about Britain. Our beloved NHS, Branagh as Brunel, our rich and diverse music history, the suffragettes, this green and pleasant land we have all been so cynical of. Then the games started, and these super human, brilliant sportsmen and women have fuelled that glow further than I ever anticipated. I am watching ALL the sports. I don’t know the rules and regulations, sometimes I am confused, but I am always proud and hugely excited to be part of this.

As I type this we have won fourteen medals in Cycling, Canoe Slalom, Shooting, Equestrian, Gymnastics, Rowing, Swimming and Judo. These superb new role models who are surely inspiring the young generation watching them. I have high hopes that children will put down the games consuls and want to swim like they have gills, row like there’s a pot of gold at the end, swing up onto bars like they were born a creature of the trees and cycle like they’re powering the national grid.

As for all of us. Keep it up, this loveliness. At the end of the Olympics, when your cheeks are aching from being pushed up to your eyes from the smiling, no one will begrudge you for slipping back to your old ways. I will probably revert back to taking down the number plates of people who run zebra crossings (and do absolutely nothing with the information). Or maybe we won’t.

Maybe.

Maybe things will just remain better than they were before. ♥

**Follow me on Twitter @fromdesktildawn**