Become an Olympian
Gosh you enjoyed Beijing 2008. Such drama! Usain Bolt! Christine Ohuruogu! That fit one from the Pentathlon! You have been inspired to try and emulate them. “I’ve been inspired to try and emulate them,” you explain to Fat Sam on your last day in the office. “Good luck!” he says. “I wish I had half of what you’ve got.” ‘You have’, you think meanly to yourself and, bypassing your own leaving drinks, jog directly home to work out your plan for London 2012.
Sitting down the next morning with a blank piece of paper in one hand and an energy drink in the other you lay out your options. “Mmm. What was I good at at school?” Your second place in the 60 yard dash at Roundwood JMI springs to mind. “I only didn’t win because the school cat ran out in front of me and threw me off my stride. That would never happen in the Olympics.” You write ‘100m’ with a question mark next to it, then add the 200 for good measure. “That might require lots of training, though,” you muse. “Which sports look like a doddle? Shooting perhaps? I was always good with a spud gun. Or archery? I once grazed a rabbit’s ear from 30 yards with my homemade bow and arrow. I could do that. It’s not even a proper sport. Proper sport makes you sweat. Archery isn’t proper. Nor is yngling. I could get a grant to study yngling. Anyway, I like the idea of a sport with a missing vowel…” Just then your phone rings. It’s your sister. “Hi Sue!”, you say. “I’ve been so inspired by Beijing that I’ve retired from city life and am getting on the road to London 2012.” “You should get there by then,” she replies, sarcastically. “I take it you realise you’ll be 42 in four years time?” What an almighty cock-up. You’d never factored this in before. You thought you’d be the same age as you are now. “I have to go” you say, and hang up.