The London Philharmonic is recording 205 different national anthems for the 2012 Olympic Games. Known globally as an ass-kicking 100 piece orchestra, made famous by their transcendent Led Zeppelin covers and masterful film soundtracks (Lord of the Rings), the London Philharmonic's work will viscerally punch Olympians in the gut on the awards podium.
Ever wonder why athletes breakdown and bawl like babies on the Olympic podium? Sure, it's the culmination of a lifetime of work and sacrifice...but it is so much more than that and can't be summed up in simple platitudes.
THE OLYMPIC PODIUM BREAKDOWN: Your body hums, still vibrating from all the spent fuel. Your event is over, the physical and emotional pain is over, and you're entering that sweet-spot of all-encompassing ahhh, a.k.a. endorphin-adled relief. Colors saturate, voices and cheers and congratulations fade to a monotone. It's all out there, outside a firming protective bubble, cocooning you in numbing comfort.
You dress, or are dressed, in your country's colors...noticing the tightness or looseness in odd areas. The Olympic parade attire is only worn when you parade, an outfit you only wear in this window of time. It sticks to your body and/or scrapes your skin; over your shoulders, around your waist. You merely note the feeling. It's not pain. There is no pain. You are now on the post-event conveyer-belt, rolling through a Willy Wonka-esque factory of sensations.
Passing by you is the crowd you're so appreciative of. They came. They saw the event. They cheered, your mind reels. Olympic audiences are more than mere crowds, a massive collection of strangers. They are spider-webbed with family and friends and athletic peers and officials--officials who have known you your entire life, who hold your history in their heads, who probably disqualified you at some adolescent point, maybe even put an arm around your shoulder and said, "It's ok. You made a small mistake. You won't do it again."
You see the awards podium, coming at you, turning now at a weird angle, almost pulling you toward it. Instinctively you start to step up--
STOP!
Was that said or gestured animatedly? By the official? You don't know, and won't know, but you'll wonder about it for years on end.
Announcements are made. You try to follow along, listening intently, trying to find a discernible thread. You can't. It's just noise.
Finally an official signals you, smiling, and you do step onto the podium, but you could be anywhere, at any event. That's been your experience for so many years; looking out at the same crowd, the faces you know, and you wonder, Am I really at the Olympics?
Medals are presented...you see them being presented. You feel the weight of your medal around your neck, the smooth edges, the grooves and dips that create the image on its face. Then the anthem starts, sudden, almost jarring. It is jarring. You never noticed it starting off so loudly.
Music is the worst, calling up emotions before you have the power to fight them back down, and the anthem does focus your mind. You stare at the flag. Maybe that helps. Maybe the music and the flag give meaning to dream you dreamed when you were a little kid--the fantasy games you played in your head that got you through so many hours of training.
You remember things. You remember the people who told you, "The Olympics is a long shot. The odds aren't in your favor. Anything can happen; sickness, an injury. Nobody's that great. Nobody knows they're going to win. Don't be so sure of yourself. Have some humility. Save yourself the disappointment."
And...you were unsure of yourself. You doubted it more times then you ever let on. You remember the moments when you wanted to quit, and did quit, and came back, only to quit again. You remember the years when you just floated along, not doing the real work, not paying the real price to even give you at shot at being in the medal hunt.
Then the wave of emotions turn, and you want your coach with you, and your mom and dad, and your mentor...you want them all with you on the podium. You want them to feel what you're feeling, the gratitude for what they did on your behalf, because it worked. It happened. It's happening...
Then you realize where you are. Oh, that's bad...or good. I think it hurts for a lot of Olympians. The hurt comes up and is released, and it has to come out in tears.
Many Olympians don't bawl on the awards podium. I didn't...entirely. My face quaked with tremors, and my eyes got blood-red. Tears escaped, but I kept most of the flood in.
I think 90% cry at some point, off somewhere alone. Some don't cry for years. I've talked with many Olympic medalists about it. They've shared that it did happen that night lying in bed. Others, older Olympians, ones who went to Rome or Mexico City or Montreal, confessed that the tears came watching their children or grandchildren compete in sports. The experience called up memories, and then the awards podium moment, and the utter feeling of gratitude that they were apart of it all. Mostly, the tears come from that overwhelming feeling of relief--even years after their careers have ended--realizing that they made it, somehow, through the marathon of training and finished.
I think a lot more Olympians will cry on the awards podium in London because of the London Philharmonic's contribution. I'd like to see the stats. Somewhere someone has to have stats on the different Olympics and which were the most tearful. It's part of the whole experience, as much as the opening and closing ceremonies, the TV network's Up Close and Personals, and the races and the events. Bawling on the awards podium, for me, it's the best part of the Olympics.
If you're an Olympic hopeful, and you are blessed enough to make onto the awards podium in London, please don't hold back. You'll have that moment, that jerk in your gut that you instinctively fight. Don't do it. Please give into it. Let the emotions flood out. We want to see every moment of your life--the hope, the hurt, and the happiness--etched on your ugly, red, contorted crying face. And you want it too. You just don't know it yet...
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(I swam, I swim, and as a swimmer I love swimming.)
