On Saturday, I was lucky enough to be present at the last night of
athletics at the Paralympics Games. After a summer spent glued to my TV and
laptop, dipping in and out of the UEFA European Football Championships,
Wimbledon, then the Olympics and Paralympics, I was pretty excited to be in the
thick of it: 80,000 people all around me, shouting, whistling, clapping, flag
waving, Mexican waving – all of us, looking forward to an evening of sporting spectacle.
There was definitely a hint of disappointment at the lack of British
interest – with every new event that flashed up on the big screen, our eyes scoured
the competitors list for those three magical letters, but instead met the likes
of RUS, AUS, CHN, BRA, MEX, TUN…. But it didn’t matter. We came in the spirit
of the Games: to celebrate and enjoy sporting excellence. Whichever nation,
whichever category, whether on foot, or blades, or wheels; whether sitting,
standing, jumping or leaping, we just wanted to see something extraordinary. And
most of all, we really wanted the athletes to do well.
A brilliant example of this, for me, was the Men’s High Jump – F46 final,
which happened to be the event closest to where I was sitting in the stadium.
Now, I don’t recall the last time I ever watched the high jump. I’m not sure I
ever have. In fact, the closest I’ve come in recent years to being a spectator
of men launching themselves over poles was in Vang
Vieng earlier this year, where the men in question were extremely drunk, and
the pole was on fire… so hardly a spectacle of sporting excellence.
I don’t know how many of the people around me happened to be high
jump enthusiasts or aficionados; I suspect that, like me, they had hitherto
taken little interest in it. But that didn’t matter. Regardless of what may
have been happening in other parts of the arena, my section of the stands were
quick to display our loyalty to what we felt was ‘our’ event. Given our
proximity to the action, I think a lot of us felt it was, firstly, only polite
to give the competitors as much of our attention as possible, and secondly, our
duty to egg them on. And so, with every competitor who limbered up and took his
place to start his running jump, we showed our support. As they stood there, some
shifting their weight from side to side, others with hands resolutely on hips,
silently surveying the pole in front of them, we put our hands together – slowly
at first, a sort of gentle nudge, a "Go ON, son!", then gradually building,
picking up pace once they started their approach, evolving into a frenzied multitude
of claps, an approximation of the kind of actual applause we desperately wanted to give them
once they cleared that bar, as if with our hands alone we could will them to
victory. It didn't always work, of course. Sometimes, our claps were woefully
mistimed – in our eagerness, we peaked before the poor man had even started
moving, almost comically out of step with his own efforts, which could only
have been off-putting. And sometimes, he just didn't quite make it – a stray
foot grazed the bar and brought it toppling down, and a collective gasp or groan
rippled across the stands.
But as more and more bars toppled, and more competitors dropped out of
the running, something became clear. We seemed to be making a difference. The
athletes could hear us down there, and they began to show us their appreciation.
One man in particular, Maciej Lepiato from Poland, seemed to relish the
attention. Every jump he made seemed effortless, cleared with inches to spare.
Soon, when he stepped up to take his next jump, he turned to us first and
raised his hands above his head, bringing them together. The gesture was clear –
a request. It said: “Now”. And willingly, we obeyed. Through my binoculars I could
see him nodding his head, jumping up and down on the spot, perhaps having a few
words with himself to get himself going, as we began our thunderous crescendo. Then,
he propelled himself once more towards the bar, and over it, to rapturous
applause.
That night, Maciej Lepiato not only jumped his way to gold, and to the
title of Paralympic champion, he also broke the world record, and we cheered
ourselves hoarse watching him do it. Even the commentators noticed. “Just
listen to that,” they said, with a warm, incredulous laugh, as the cheers
spread from one end to the rest of the stadium, “I don’t think any of these
athletes have ever done a high jump in front of 80,000 people.”
There were many special moments that night. Just being there in the
heart of the Olympic Park, on the last night of sport of what has been one of
the best Olympic and Paralympic games ever, was pretty incredible. And then,
inside the stadium, so many records and personal bests were surpassed and
remade, with the entire evening’s displays of athleticism, talent and skill coming
to a fitting end as Oscar Pistorius stormed to victory in the Men’s 400m – T44
Final. But I think cheering on Maciej Lepiato to victory was my favourite,
because I felt like, in some small way, I had contributed to his success.
Part of me thinks that’s silly, but then you only have to look at how
many athletes have thanked the crowds for their overwhelming support and
acknowledged the part that’s had to play in their own personal success to think
otherwise. When you have 80,000 people cheering you on and willing you to
succeed, how can that possibly not have
an effect?
One of the reasons sport is so addictive is because you have
big themes writ large. I think truly successful people succeed because they
have a certain level of innate talent, but even if they don’t, they make up for
that through sheer commitment, dedication and hard work. But they also need
self-belief. They have to push through
countless false starts and failures and setbacks and just keep going. They succeed where countless others simply gave up. (Just
look at Andy Murray!) And the abiding lesson I think I’m going to take from these
Games is that, when you have all of that, AND the belief of others, there’s no
limit to what you can achieve.
