Olympia 2004: It's all about the legacy

We've all had an Olympic dream. I don't care if the heaviest thing you've ever lifted is your violin or if the fastest you've ever sprinted was that time you were late for the bus to the math team competition — if you've ever seen coverage of an American athlete standing atop a podium, weeping, while the stars and stripes are slowly raised to the rafters, you've wanted to be him, even if just for a second.

I've sampled a lot of sports in my quest to realize my Olympic dream. Gymnastics — too tall. Figure skating — couldn't land the jumps. Swimming — way too many 6 a.m. practices. And let's just admit that I wasn't going anywhere near the new Olympic sport of women's freestyle wrestling. Sadly, the competitive taproom dance-off has not yet reached the ranks of an Olympic sport, so I went to Greece in search of my own alternative Olympics over Spring Break.

I boarded a bus with my classmates from CLA/HLS 335: The Olympic Games, Ancient and Modern at noon on March 12, and we gratefully touched down in Athens 15 hours later. After a few days of sightseeing and sitting on crumbling ruins, the class got down to business, meeting with a man who is on the committee working for the revival of the Olympic truce.

The bureaucrats tried to impress us with swivel chairs and free coffee, but we weren't going to go easy on them. In the past year, ATHENS 2004 has scrapped plans to build a roof over the Olympic pool, raised questions as to whether the roof of the main stadium will be ready in time for the Games and held a trial at the crew venue which involved several boats sinking from the excessive wind and waves. What did he think of all this negative press? Was Greece really so ill-prepared to host the Games?

"Look," Bureaucrat A responded, "it's going to happen. Is it going to be a spectacularly well-organized Olympics? No. But that's not what matters. What matters is the legacy."

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

Thus finding no satisfaction with the modern Games, we decided to head to a place where a pesky little thing like a stadium roof wasn't necessary — ancient Olympia.

But Olympia was not the only place where Panhellenic Games were held. With the Indiana Jones theme song blasting, we set off like the dedicated archaeologists/athletes we were to hold our own alternative Olympics in all the ancient stadiums.

First up was Nemea. We jogged through the ancient stone tunnel as the athletes had 3000 years ago, emerging at the foot of a stadium with a dirt bottom and crumbling stone seating. Sounds like the stadium in Athens, but I digress.

We decided on the event. As in the ancient Panhellenic Games, we would race in one 600-foot sprint.

With the shot of a gun — or, our professor's countdown — we were off! My visions of alternative Olympic glory faded as two of the boys pulled out ahead. Panting into the finish line — 600 feet is a damn long way! — I vowed that I would make a better showing in the second part of our pentathlon.

My opportunity came soon, as we rode our short bus to Olympia the next day. Now this was a real stadium. Still the dirt, still the grass, but the mountains of the Peloponnese towering above us conjured the awed feeling that NBC tries to create with its theme song and human-interest stories every four years.

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With a nod to the ancients, this time we raced separated by sex. We briefly considered competing in the nude, but decided against it so as not to frighten the hundreds of Greek schoolchildren milling about.

Fully clothed, the girls lined up first. We dug our toes into the stones that had served as starting blocks for generations of Olympic athletes and crouched low, waiting for the signal to leap.

It came, and we were off like a shot. This was my chance for Olympic glory in the birthplace of the Olympics! Legs churning, heart pounding, I tried to suss out my competition from the corners of my eyes. It looked good, but we were still only halfway there. Damn the Greeks and their stamina!

Finally, the stone finishing blocks were within reach. I thrust my body across the imaginary ribbon, throwing my arms up in triumph. I had won! My Olympic moment! Bring me my laurel wreath and sacrificial cow!

Needless to say, the competition went downhill for me from there. My classmate Barnaby won the boys' race just as he had the day before, giving him a 2-1 lead in overall victories.

Our next event was an intense stone-skipping competition held on a beach somewhere between Olympia and Delphi. Despite my prowess at this sport around the age of eight, I seemed to have lost the touch — all my stones sunk straight to the bottom rather than dancing effortlessly across the top of the water. Another classmate, Michael, pulled out a victory in this event on his final skip of the day, propelling his stone over five jumps before finally surrendering it to Poseidon. We were tied with one victory apiece, with Barnaby still in the lead with two.

Next came our final competition – a test of mental acuity. We debated what this contest should be, but eventually the game revealed itself in the form of an International Herald Tribune Sunday crossword puzzle. Although this was an unannounced competition, I believe it had a clear winner. Agonizing over the puzzle for hours on the plane ride home while lesser mortals lost interest and slept, Michael pulled out his second victory of the week with the final clue — a seven-letter word for "one who participates in a group sport." What could have been more perfect for us? With the answer — leaguer — Michael had his second win of the pentathlon, earning him an overall tie with Barnaby at two apiece and leaving me in the dust with my lone victory.

So I didn't win our alternative Olympics but, really, that doesn't matter. I had my Olympic moment, one that I will always remember. And all that matters is the legacy.