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Earth and Water Chapter Four the Atheletes |
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The athletes, of course, moved
above all of this. We could see them
periodically through the throng, gliding by in their fine-spun tunics, grasping
their strigils, olive oil bottles, and sponges, and slipping into the changing
areas temporarily erected near the rear of the stadium. They would emerge later, their naked bodies
glistening, newly oiled and dusted, and they would stretch, bounce, and preen,
focused only on the contest to come. I
remember seeing the legions of admirers crowding outside the changing area,
some come to catch a closer glimpse of a particular hero, some to admire every
aspect of their naked forms, others to seek eagerly the strigil-scraped
detritus sometimes hawked by the athletes' trainers.
Menilus, our Kynosarges pedagogue,
shoved us away from the fawning crowd and hustled us towards the finish area of
the running races, near where the Hellanodikai, the judges for the games, sat
in their high-backed chairs behind their wood and stone rail fence, separated
by authority and position from the pressing horde. We were perched a plethron or so behind them,
straining to catch a glimpse through the masses that lined the grassy bowl of the
stadium.
We had arrived early for the heats
of the stade, and I remembered watching the runners sprinting by in their
warm-up routines, preparing themselves yet still showing breathtaking
speed. A horn blared and an official of
the Hellanodikai stood and, raising a red flag, ordered the runners to the
start. They immediately responded,
moving to the far end of the stadium 200 paces or so away and lining up along
the balbis. They swung their arms and
sprinted in place until ordered to take their positions by an official who
waved another flag on the near side of the balbis. When they gripped the stone with their toes
and leaned with eyes and heads forward,
they were focused totally on the finish.
Then, after a moment of silence, came the shrill blast of the horn,
the bark of the starting command,
and the drop of the flag. Immediately,
the runners fired from the start, hurling themselves down their lanes. The crowd had risen as one, willing their
favorites to victory, the noise of their encouragement had been deafening.
Yes, I remembered that, and
remembered also the thoughts that filled my own head: the fervent desire to be one of them, to be a
runner on that line attuned to the hope of victory and the adoration of the
crowd. But I wasn't. I was a spectator, and a boy, far away from
that Olympic dream.
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