I've periodically been watching snippets of the 2012 Summer Olympics the past few weeks and have come up with the two events I would be LEAST likely to enter--especially since I'm a 63-year-old graduate of one back surgery and at least a few dozen hopeless diets.
The first sport is BMX bike racing. Big Bore and I watched this event a few nights back and we were moaning and grimacing the entire time. I even spewed forth with various expletives. Loud ones. The course is nothing but a giant, curvy washboard of spine-jarring bumps, propelling the bikers into orbit half the time. And the eight bikers per race are not staggered; they start out at the same time in a fury of speed. I didn't know bike pedals could be pedaled so fast. One little tire wiggle and--BAM! They crash and burn like a bunch of human dominoes on wheels. During one race we watched, only one contestant finished. The rest were splayed out on the course in one big heap of BMX.
The second event in which I would never compete is womens' beach volleyball, mainly because I would never subject the viewing public to seeing me in the so-called uniform--which is mainly two strips of Spandex. Any gal with a hint of breasts and a belly bulge need not apply. "How do they keep those briefs on?" I asked Big Bore. "They spend more time pulling them out of their butt cracks than they do hitting the volleyball." One of the competitors was soaking her feet in hot water during time-outs because, the announcer said, she was so cold. Well, duh! Put on some clothes, girlfriend, and maybe you'd warm up!
Give me a pair of sweats and a relay baton and I'll see you at the starting line.
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