The Olympics, part 3

It was a Friday night, and I was on my way to see Apolo. I had taken in USA’s slaughtering of Finland in men’s hockey earlier in the day, but wanted to try and catch some short track before I reported to work. There was a palpable feeling around Vancouver that night, a latent understanding that the Games were coming to an end. One more Olympic weekend. The skaters were warming up as I took my seat in the Pacific Colloseum’s upper deck. I would only be able to catch a few heats, but with two of the most exciting and star-studded events being held, the men’s 500m and the women’s 1000m, I was ok with that. To call the men’s 500 a race is a stretch. It’s more of a scramble. Skaters skate five laps around an incredibly small rink, barely long enough for one to open up their stride before having to dip into the curve. No lead is safe and the constant desperation in each skater as the finish line nears leads to numerous bumps and crashes. It’s NASCAR with blades. The night sped by, figuratively and literally, with Ohno and Canadian Charles Hamelin stealing the show. The races were thrilling for spectators. Each turn threatened to bring a crash or a strategic move in front of an opponent, and the moment the top two finishers crossed the finish line after each heat, the building roared. I had just enough time to see Ohno tip his skate over the finish line to send him into the finals before I had to bolt to the busses.
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The Richmond Olympic Oval is a vast structure with high, wooden ceilings, low slung seating and bright fluorescent lights. Unlike the closer quarters of the Pacific Coloseeum or Canada Hockey Place, the Oval had an almost light, airy quality to it. Team pursuits were on tap for Saturday afternoon. One of the more unusual speed skating competitions, team pursuits are comprised of two teams of three skaters each. The teams start on opposing sides of the oval, and the team with all three skaters across the finish line and the fastest time wins. Synchronicity is key in the early stage of the race, with all three skaters moving as one entity. But as the finish line approaches skaters can fall behind, costing teams valuable seconds and making finishes even more dramatic. I arrived at the Oval just in time to catch the end of the women’s semifinal race between the USA and Germany. The Germans held a slim lead over the US until Germany’s last skater suffered a broken skate blade and began to fall behind her teammates. She stumbled mightily at the home stretch and desperately threw herself across the finish line, sliding to a stop with her head buried in her arms, crushed by the fact that she caused her team to lose. Except, they didn’t lose. Still swimming in grief, she peeked her eyes at the scoreboard and threw her hands up. Germany had edged out the U.S. by .23 seconds.

Soon after was the men’s final between the U.S. and Canada. Led by Chad Hedrick, the U.S. team was the underdog against Denny Morrison’s Canadian squad. Hedrick, who had transformed since Torino from brash and cocky to devoutly religious and humble was skating in his last Olympics. The Canadians grabbed the lead from the starting gun, and didn’t let go. The entirety of the race was like an audio version of “the wave”, the section that the Canadians were skating in front of growing louder. Hedrick’s team didn’t roll over though. They kept the race close, but each instance that a split time was displayed on screen, a roar of Canadian approval rose from the crowd. After the race, Hamilton and his squad skated a victory lap, acknowledging the crowd and soaking in the moment. But in the midst of that, Chad Hedrick was skating a farewell lap, soaking in his last moments as an Olympian. Someone handed him an American flag that he proudly carried as he waved to fans and he stopped in front of my section, acknowledging a contingent of friends and supporters. And he just stood there, holding an American flag, flashing that bright grin, his entire career whittled down to this one moment of victory, contentment, joy. And I got to watch. I got a close up view to one of those moments in life where you realize who you are and what your life is all about. One of those little moments where everything makes sense. Fifteen days earlier I had never felt more Canadian. But at that moment, watching Chad Hedrick close a chapter of his life, I never felt more American.
But the Oval had one more treat for fans that day. After barely sliding head first into the finals, Germany would take on Japan in the women’s final. Japan led from the start. Germany skating swiftly, but at each split time, Japan pulled further and further away. Then, with one lap left, Germany visibly kicked it into overdrive. The split time dropped to below 1 second. Then below .30. The volume of the crowd rose. No. This was impossible. There was no way Germany would take this. Adding to the speculation, the announcer pointed out that the German team had the ability to finish strong so that no lead was insurmountable. The split was down to .18 coming down the home stretch. The skaters broke from their aerodynamic formation to skate in a horizontal line. The noise was deafening. Both teams reached the finish line at the same time. Necks twisted from the finish line to the scoreboard, and a unified “whoa!” came from the crowd. Germany has the gold medal by .02 seconds.