Matching Tracksuits

“The Olympics are always something of a marker in my life, as I’m sure they are for everyone.” Thus I began yesterday, aware of a potential little twist: “Tomorrow,” I thought, “the Olympics might become the marker in K’s cousin’s life.”

I first heard about K’s cousin, Kamil, as a ski jumper one day in the early 2000s when K and I were in Zakopane and she mentioned offhandedly that her uncle was probably there too, coming to take Kamil to ski jump practice. He was just a teen, and I found it terribly impressive, remembering how utterly terrifyingly steep the jump and hill under it seemed when I’d gone to a ski jump competition at the same slope some years before.

“He’s been jumping on the big hill since he was about twelve,” K clarified. At twelve, I thought it was impressive that I dared to ride my skateboard down a slightly steep street. I was utterly impressed.

But in a sense, it was a natural progression for Kamil. He started jumping in his backyard at age give when he cobbled together his own ramp. K and I were there during the spring of 2004 when it was under a blanket of crocus blossoms.

Just months later, he attended our wedding. By then, he was an up-and-coming national ski jumper. It was clear to everyone he was going to be competing on the international level shortly, but that day, he stole the show by reaching down and casually swiping the garter just from the grasp of my best friend, J, who literally dove for it.

During our family visit in 2010, we’d hoped to see Kamil. By then, he’d had some limited success on the world circuit, proving correct the initial speculation about his potential. We sat in his family’s living room, his father, an audiophile extraordinaire, putting on record after record for us as we downed cup after cup of tea. Babcia reminisced about how Kamil used to jump off this old table, the chair that used to be in that corner.

Since then, he’s gone from being a new-comer on the international scene to the reigning world champion and current World Cup points, entering today’s ski jumping competition in Sochi as an odds-on favorite.

When he won, though, the excitement that rippled through the country and through our house as well.

Congratulations, Kamil!

You’re supposed to pull unreservedly for your home team. It’s a form of loyalty, perhaps. But sometimes, it’s just hard. Sometimes, you’re glad for every single point the opposition scores. When a game starts with an enormous lead, and all the breaks seem to be going to the home team, and the visitors just seem completely outclassed, it only seems the sensible thing to pull for the visitors.

When the coach pulls out the starters (mostly eighth graders) and allows players from lower grades to play and the lead only grows, the game becomes almost painful to watch, especially when the visitors make so many unforced errors, to mix sports terminology. The frustration on their faces, the despondency on the bench. It hurts just to watch.

Or does it? As the point difference climbs, the visiting team seems to be more heroic. They don’t give up. They don’t slow their pace. They continue fighting even though it’s clear to everyone in the gymnasium that they’re outgunned.

When I was a coach, my one season as a volleyball coach, we faced game after game like this. I admired the girls for going out every time and giving it their best, and I told them as much. “What you did requires more character than the other team exhibited by winning,” I said. For middle schoolers, though, character isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

As I walked out of the gym tonight with most of the final quarter remaining, I glanced back up at the scoreboard and saw how dismal things had become. Part of me wanted to stick around and tell the visitors what courage they’d shown; part of me thought that might be taken as some sort of gloating. In the end, I left hoping their coach had the sense to say those words.