In the dirth of material being written about the Olympics, the Globe and Mail published an amusing little sidebar analyzing Michael Phelps' physique with a view to proving him the greatest natural Olympian ever born.
I'll say he's great. He'll probably single handedly win more Olympic medals than the entire Canadian team.
They touted his enhanced lung capacity and his big oars and flippers -- broad shoulders, long torso, slim hips and super-size feet, for giving him a genetic advantage over the other swimmers.
That made me wonder what my physiology makes me perfectly suited for.
My short fingers, while not well suited to the parallel bars, tend to dance across a computer keyboard quite nicely, but they're also quite useful in picking up a dishcloth and helping an over-worked friend speed through her chores, while the baby is down for a nap.
My soft lap, while not well suited to rowing, makes me the perfect receptacle of cats and other small creatures (most notably, children) who are looking for a warm and comforting abode. It also cradles the popcorn bowl quite nicely.
My flattish feet, which will never win me a medal in rhythmic gymnastics (what's with the ribbon toss, anyway), can walk long distance at moderate speeds, with a spring in my step. They've also been known to glide across a dance floor in a moderately embarrassing reaction to David Archuletta's new single.
Okay, so maybe I'm not an Olympian, but the fact is, I'm perfect just the way I am, with or without medals. As unique in my DNA as Mr. Michael Phelps is in his. Feels kind of good, actually.
1 comment:
ML, you are the Phelps of writing. In fact maybe we can coin a new term; your sooooo Phelp.
You know what Michael Phelps must feel like, sort of, except that instead of China it was Amsterdam and instead of a plethora of gold medals it was a black, cotton hoody and a few email addresses.
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