The Impossible Dream

The dry salty taste of microwave butter popcorn touched my tongue. I consumed the handful I gathered from the red plastic bowl in an instant. My daughter, Lydia now held the bowl in her lap. The smell of popcorn brought my older daughter into the room to investigate. “Ice skating!” she said excitedly finding a seat next to her younger sister. On the ice, the Russian pair gave a dazzling performance of spins and lifts. Judah wiggled his way between Brad and me on the black leather couch as we snuggled together under his superhero blanket.

The girls admired the matching blue and gold bedazzled costumes as the couple moved effortlessly across the ice to the sound of a classic Russian melody on strings. Suddenly the music changed to chimes and horns as Aleksandr Galliamov lifted his partner above his head. We all let out a sigh collectively, it was beautiful…until she suddenly came crashing to the ice, head first. Luckily the pair was able to regroup and finish the skate but we gawked in disbelief. The 2022 Beijing Winter Olympic Games were exciting to watch as a family. It has been a tradition to enjoy these games together.

If you want to see live examples of perseverance just watch the Olympics. It is inspirational to hear some of the stories of discipline and sacrifice the athletes endure to have the opportunity to compete. It is hard not to admire what people are capable of. In earlier years I used to dream…BIG dreams.

I dreamed maybe I could even become an Olympian.

I have never been much of an athlete it's true, but it didn’t stop me from setting a lofty goal. My first Olympic dream was to be a professional water treader. Looking back I am sure this dream first blossomed in the seventh grade during the swimming unit. We had to tread water for 10 minutes in the deep end to pass. Surprisingly, I found the task exciting and manageable. I swam around like a happy little duck while some of my other classmates looked more like half-drowned cats. When I joined the local YMCA after I married Brad the dream came alive again. There was a full-length pool that I used to tread water. Unfortunately, I found out that treading water was only the first step in becoming an Olympian. I would have to play water polo or become a synchronized swimmer to even have a chance, so I gave it up for a new opportunity.

Becoming a Speed walker.

This idea came so naturally, after all, my own mother was a speed walker back in her day. As a young girl, I remember her and my best friend’s mom decked out in sweatbands and walking shoes speeding down the sidewalk. My friend Dana and I were running just to keep up. After watching the Olympics as a young married student, I wondered if I had inherited the gift of her lightning-fast gait. I lived about a mile from the college, so I decided I would speed walk to and from school when Brad had the car. I was just getting good at it when I had a scary experience one day.

On our small bible college campus, a story circulated about a crazy man they called Evangelist John. He supposedly went to the school to become a minister but somehow lost his mind in the process. No one knew where he lived, but the poor fellow never left town. He would periodically sneak into the campus chapel and preach to the empty seats with all of his fervor until security was called to kindly asked him to leave. We all knew it was a real story because on occasion he would be spotted on campus walking aimlessly deep in conversation with himself.

One spring day I had my tennis shoes laced up for a nice speed walk home. The sun was warm on my face as I walked down the first hill past the bridge where Brad had proposed. The street was noisy with steady traffic, but something made me look to the other side. There, directly across from me, stood Evangelist John. He had on an old tan trench coat. His dirty blond hair was flapping in the breeze. As I looked over our eyes locked and to my shock, he waved at me as he started speed walking too. I didn’t want to be rude, but immediately I felt uncomfortable. He was on the other side of a busy street, but my pace quickened, and as I tried to nonchalantly look over, his pace had quickened too. His skinning arms were swinging back and forth as if mimicking me. My heart started pounding. Was he just playing a game, or was he a weirdo?

Up ahead on my side of the street was a stretch of trees we called the Maranatha Woods because it was the only thing separating our bible college from the retirement home of that name. Stealing a glance across the street he was running now and looking over at me with a crazy grin. Approaching the woods I felt the panic rising like a whistling kettle, so I took off.

I felt like Forest Gump with Jenny yelling into my head, “Run Dianne run!” I looked over, he was still running and looking at me. That was when I pushed it into high gear. Gone were the thoughts of Olympic speed walking, now I was focused on winning the 800 meters. Like a gazelle, I leaped past the woods, the retirement home, and closed in on my apartment building at last. I looked across the street, he was gone. I looked behind me, there was no sign of him.

When I finally slowed my pace I realized I was covered in sweat and my breath was labored from the intense sprint. But as I walked to my apartment I sighed in relief. I was safe, but I decided that day speed walking was for the birds. Brad could speed walk, but I was taking the car to college.

I thought I had given up on the Olympics until the summer of 2004. Michael Phelps had just become the buzzword for the Athens Olympics games by winning six gold and two bronze medals in swimming. I thought naturally my new ambition should be to become an Olympic swimmer. If Michael could do it, so could I.

By that time we had two small children. As I recall, Brad and I went on a mid-day date. With Michael Phelps on the brain, I talked Brad into going to the public pool to make a splash. I was enthusiastic in my plan to race him across the pool. I was sure, that if I was going to be a great competitor I needed to start by beating my husband. So off we swam through the 3-foot pool splashing past 6 year-olds and groups of tweens. It might have been unconventional, but to be honest I didn’t care. Swim or bust was my motto that day. The first match didn’t go as planned, he beat me, but only by a narrow margin. I challenged him to a second match. Getting more serious, we moved down past the ropes to the four-foot. To our delight, they had just announced over the loudspeaker, “Adult swim.”
 

This was the time in the afternoon when all the kids under 18 had to get out of the pool for fifteen minutes so the old ladies in worn-out one-piece bathing suits, nose plugs, and swimmer caps could do laps. The hot sun beat down on the miserable kids as we each stretched our arms and popped our necks for the swimming showdown in the four-foot. Standing side by side we took our places. With my arms up over my head, I said “go” as quickly as I could and dove into the water splashing and freestyling my way to the other side.

This time I won!

I cheered for myself as Brad just rolled his eyes. “Do-over,” he said. 

“What?” I asked in defiance, “I won fair and square.”

He looked at me for a moment, “You cheated Dianne, you said “go” before I was even ready.”

Now puffed up with confidence I truly believed I had proved to myself that I would beat him again so I said, “Fine, let’s have a rematch.”

Brad said, “I’ll say Go, this time.” In a huff, I agreed. With my arms out ready to plunge into the water he said, “go.”

I went for it. I splashed and kicked. My heart beating fast as I pumped my arms and legs. And then a stabbing pain blinded me for a moment. On the right side of my head, the pain felt like my ear had been cut off. I stopped racing and just held my ear. Brad finished and started cheering for himself before he looked back to see me just standing in the water looking shocked. 

He swam back to my side, “Are you okay?” he asked. I realized then that Olympians had to pay a price to get to the top of their sport. Taking my hand away from my ear I thought for sure there would be blood but there wasn’t.

“Brad, you karate chopped my ear in that race.”

It turned out that I had been swimming too close to him and as he lifted his arm out of the water in mid-stride he caught me on the side of the head. He felt bad, and about that time the intercom announced the adult swim was over. Splashing children soon filled our racing lanes, but it was okay because I was over the Olympics. I was ready to get a Jumbo Mr. Freeze popsicle and sit out in the hot sun on my towel with it pressed against my ear.

A few days later I noticed a hard bump appear behind my ear. Alarmed I went to the doctor fearing the worst. But as the doctor examined the painful bump he said it wasn’t a tumor but a simple bruise that must have formed after the swimming incident. 

After that, I let go of the impossible dream. I gave up thinking the Olympic games were in my future. I realized I lacked the gumption to keep on going when the going got tough. I laugh now as I think back to those silly aspirations, but watching the Olympic games can do that to you.

This is what I have learned: Though I am not cut out to be the world’s fastest swimmer I can be as tenacious as an Olympian about things I know I am called to do. In fact, I think we all can live a life of focus, passion, and determination even if we are never in the running for the gold medal.