For every person who wins a gold medal, there are athletes who don’t. They are the losers of the Olympics, the guy at the back of the field in the 100 meter dash.  Compared to the winner, he looks so slow, so, well, pathetic.

The guy who loses in the Olympics put in 10,000 hours of practice.  His family spent a small fortune on his training, his coaching, his equipment and his care.  He passed up going to the movies, or maybe a dance, and probably didn’t have time to perfect his technique in Mortal Kombat.  He may not even have a lot of friends on Facebook.

The guy who finished last in the Olympics was a hometown hero.  He was a college star.  Many admired him. Some even adored him.  Maybe in his nation, they threw a dinner to honor him.

At home, he has a wall of trophies. Or medals. Or plaques.  Or all of these physical manifestations of his prowess.  He has know great success, and probably great failure.  He cried when he didn’t perform as well as he knows he could.  Someone held him and told him it was okay to lose.  It didn’t mean he was no good, that he was a fraud, a failure.  Everyone has a bad day, but you bounce back and make sure tomorrow is a better day.

There were times when he hated to wake up, knowing that he had to practice again.  His feet hurt.  He’s legs felt like dead weights.  Practice isn’t fun. It’s boring. It’s tiresome and tedious.  The same move, the same intricate detail, repeated over and over until it becomes a part of him so that he never has to think about it again. His body just does it that way, as if there is no other way it could possibly happen.

It was great when his friends, when people he didn’t even know, told him he was a star.  But he knew there were other stars, better stars.  He didn’t compare himself to people who couldn’t perform like he could, but to people who performed better.  Whatever he did, it was never good enough. It could always be done better.

And so he gave up going on a date.  He came home early to go to bed when his friends were out late.  He woke up early to practice when his friends slept in. 

They all thought he was a natural, that it just magically happened that his body moved so swiftly, so gracefully.  He saw his awkwardness, the fine distinctions that separate the good from the great.  He knew that a fraction of a second made the difference between the winner and the rest of the field.  He feared that if he didn’t win again, his friends would realize it too.  They would no longer see him as the natural, but as a member of the chorus, an indistinguishable voice.  He laid awake at night, scared to death he would let them down.

He practiced as his body burned, as blood flowed.  He couldn’t tell where the blood came from without looking, as there was no longer enough feeling to realize he was bleeding.  He no longer hated the pain as he had become inured to it.  It was no longer pain, but just how he felt.

There he was, on the big stage. Thousand, maybe millions, watching him.  The thousand of hours, the sacrifice, the love of his family and friends, all laid out for the world to see.  And he pushed with every ounce of his being to make this the best he ever did.  And so did the others around him.  He came up short. He watched as the others were in front of him, and he knew what that meant.  As hard as he wanted to, he couldn’t change it.  It was over.

The athletes competing in the Olympics are among the most select group of human beings that could possibly be. They have dedicated themselves beyond the imagination of almost every other person, and have achieved extraordinary success.

Behind them, there are another hundred athletes vying for their chance to be on the big stage, to prove themselves worthy.

We only think about the guy who wins the gold medal.  Every athlete there is amazing, having excelled beyond almost every one of their peers through their effort, sacrifice and dedication. Yet they are the Olympic losers.

Update: Via Ed at Blawg Review, a little known fact that Olympians who finish between fourth and eighth get a certificate.  The is a reason it’s a little known fact.  After all, what’s the big deal about the 7th best in the world at something.  How many people reading this are 7th best in the world at something.  Show of hands?