I ran track and field for Ruth Musser Middle School
After a while, I felt like the coach was counting on me to win: he would pull me out of class to practice, stand up for me when I got into trouble and he even bought my gym clothes when my mom could not afford them. Although I’d never lost a race, one day I just became terribly afraid of losing and then track and field ceased to be fun for me. I saw that people became friends with me just because I was on the team; others would brag about how fast I ran and I was terrified of disappointing them. It was no longer about me, but how I pleased others.
I gave up running and became one of the crowd members. Even though I had never lost a race I became petrified of losing, so I didn’t want to do it anymore. Just imagine going through life so afraid of failure that you won’t even try. I was only in middle school and already I felt too much pressure, so just imagine what Marian Jones went through.
From childhood we are always told by our parents, teachers or coaches “Don’t worry it is only a game.” For years our mind transitions us to brush it off, get back on the saddle and ride again. So when does it become so much more than “Just a game?”
The sports industry is one of the most profitable in the world, so many people are counting on you to win. Unlike basketball, baseball, or hockey, track and field is not really a team sport. Sure, they have Team USA , but when the medals are tallied up and you don’t have any, then it is more like “Team U.
When you have your knee pressed in the dirt, your fingers pressed against the gravel, your heart pounding, your only thought is: “What if I don’t win?” Well, for you and me it is simple to reply, “You win some and you lose some, that’s just life.” However, for someone whose career is riding on each medal, when each victory is for him, his family, his fans, his sponsors and his country, that line is meaningless. It is more like, “You win, or else.” That thought alone can make a person go to an extreme just to win. Winning no longer becomes a personal victory, but a victory for everyone else except the person who’s actually running the race.
Sports can be just as cutthroat as the music industry. When your HOT, your HOT, and when your not…well, you know the rest. Look at poor Milli Vanilli: people were singing “Blaming it on the Rain” along with them until they found out that the two were lip syncing – and then you never heard from them again. Until the end of time those two poor souls will be known as the guys who lip-sang their way to the top and fell right back down, faster than a punctured hot air balloon. Forget about the single that we loved, or the fact that they were just trying to make it in the game. But back to the subject at hand, because, Lord knows I could go on and on about it for hours – but you catch my drift.
For Marian Jones and other athletes, it is not just a race; it is their livelihood, their fans, their children and everything else that is precious that you can imagine. The crazy thing about people/fans is that they love you when you win, but can’t remember your name when you start losing - and who wants to be forgotten? Or known as that person who was good, who had momentum, but then lost it?
The emotional pressure these athletes experience is amazing and overwhelming; the stress and strain on their bodies is worse than the wear and tear you put on your car. Yeah, I know what’s going through your mind: “That’s why they’re paid the big bucks.” I use to think so too, but then I asked myself: Could someone pay me enough to run so much that I lost cartilage in my knees, or to take so many hits that I am in server pain, surviving on pain killers by the time my career is over? Which for an athlete is usually the 30s, yet to most of us seems too early for serious health problems. Being an athlete involves enough pressure to make anyone crazy, or determined to win or stay in the game at any cost.
Now…am I defending the use of steroids, or other performance enhancers? No, I am not.
What I am saying is: let’s look at ourselves as fans, how judgmental we can be, how tough Nike can be if runners don’t hit that yellow line a millisecond faster than their opponents - and for a second sympathize with them for feeling like they can’t afford too lose; then ask ourselves, “If that was me what would I do?”
By: A Woods
