A few days after the 2024 Summer Olympics in Paris wrapped up, I went to a restaurant with my family and noticed bizarre behavior from some of the patrons. A few tables away, a guy was hopping alongside his table with his hands curled in front of him like bunny paws as the other members of his party cracked up. At another table, a woman passed her phone around to her friends to show them a video. “Oh my god, what is she doing?” I heard one of them say.

The next morning, I saw more weirdness at my local swimming pool: kids and adults bounced off of the diving board and did mid-air kangaroo poses and breakdancing leg-grabs before splashing into the water.

Yep, this was the height of , when the entire world seemed to be fixated on Australian Olympian , and her hilarious if cringe-worthy routine during Olympic breakdancing. Raygun’s marsupial-themed moves—yes, she called one of them the “Kangaroo hop”—earned zero points from the judges but became perhaps the singular moment of the entire Paris Games. If you spent any time on social media during the middle of August, you were probably inundated by a tidal wave of Raygun content: memes, spoofs, .

Dr Raygun is an Aussie legend.

We dance to our own beat.

And bring marsupial energy to every contest.

She’s a national treasure.

Give her an AO.

— Craig Foster (@Craig_Foster)

Even those who aren’t hyper-online were subject to it. British songstress to concertgoers. ran a segment about it. My 82-year-old Dad knew about Raygun and he’s never even been on Twitter.

These Raygun memes just keep going

— Dr. Scott Kelly (@drscottkelly)

And then, like all modern media sensations, Raygun was fed into the wood chipper that is the American culture war, and a predictable process played out. There was the backlash (!) and a backlash to the backlash (!). Within a few days, the Internet became choked with attacking kangaroos, Australia, breakdancing, eighties pop culture, and anything else remotely connected to Raygun’s wackadoo antics. Meanwhile Gunn, 36, who is a university professor in Sydney, went into Internet hiding. And after a few days, the whole world moved on.

Well, this week Gunn broke her silence.ÌęIn an exclusive interview with Australian TV show The Project, . Gunn also apologized to Aussie B-Boys and B-Girls for all the negative vibes her antics attracted. “It is really sad to hear those criticisms and I am very sorry for the backlash that the community has experienced, but I can’t control how people react,” she said.

As someone who has covered niche sports and Olympic competition for the better part of the last two decades, I have my own take on the Raygun ordeal: She shouldn’t apologize for anything. In fact, everyone involved in competitive breakdancing and the Olympic movement should thank Gunn. Her 60-second dance routine cut through the global news cycle and attracted millions of eyeballs. By my estimation, Gunn sparked more conversations about breakdancing than every eighties film combined.

Grabbing this much awareness during the Olympics is tougher than you might assume. When I was a reporter with The SportsBusiness Journal, I regularly spoke to officials who worked in niche Olympic sports. They viewed the Summer Games as the single golden opportunity to showcase their sport to the masses.

Every four years, these officials strategize how to market their respective sports to casual viewers. They debate which athlete, or event, or highlight, will resonate with the American public. They know that a seminal Olympic moment will have a trickle-down effect that can attract new fans and participants.

Niche sports and the athletes who participate in them face a huge challenge at the Olympics, which our contributor Aimee Berg recently chronicled. In the U.S., swimming, women’s gymnastics, basketball, and track-and-field, dominate Olympics TV coverage, and star athletes like LeBron James and Katie Ledecky grab most of the attention. The best a niche athlete can hope for is a gold-medal performance, which may or may not lead to a three-minute segment during that night’s primetime TV coverage on NBC.

Sometimes gold medals aren’t enough to make an athlete a star. Velodrome cyclist now has three gold medals, a silver, and a bronze. But Valente can walk through any shopping mall in America without being noticed.

Raygun, meanwhile, upended this pecking order, and accomplished what all of those sports marketers could never do. She elevated her sport—which was new to the Olympic program, no less—to the top of the media frenzy at the Paris Games. In restaurants across the world, millions mimicked her dance and showcased her clips. They debated her merits and argued about her routine.

And of those millions, a not insignificant portion watched clips of other breakdancers.ÌęMaybe they saw the of Canadian dancer Philip “Wizard” Kim, or watched in the women’s final round. Perhaps some of these viewers showed those clips to their kids, who watched wide-eyed and wondered if they, too, could someday spin around on the ground to hip-hop music. And maybe some of those kids begged their parents to sign them up for a breakdancing class at the local recreation center or dancing academy.

Yes, Raygun’s dance was undeniably goofy. But what she accomplished for her sport was nearly impossible, and something that future sports marketers will try, and fail, to replicate. She shouldn’t be sorry for that.

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If fans were craving more heart-pounding tension after yesterday’s nail-biting , they got it this morning as the women’s of the Combined discipline funneled into the Lead climax. Slovenia’s Janja Garnbret was leading the field, but just barely
 some struggles from Garnbret on the last boulder (and, worrisomely, a potential finger injury) meant that other competitors were within striking distance on the scorecards. Team USA’s Brooke Raboutou, for example, was only trailing Garnbret by 0.4 points after the Boulder portion; the quartet of Australia’s Oceana Mackenzie, France’s Oriane Bertone, Great Britain’s Erin McNeice, and Austria’s Jessica Pilz were all hovering around 59 points apiece and still in the mix too. Such close scores set a story in motion for a that will be remembered and revered for years to come.

Here are the highlights.

Chaehyun Seo Sets an Early High Point

Someone had to set the early standard on the lead route of black boomerangs, white hexagons, and blue half-sphere volumes, and South Korea’s Chaehyun Seo did so with aplomb. In fact, even before she set the high point, she confidently cut feet several times to cheers from the crowd. She eventually cruised onto the headwall and fell with a route score of 76.1 (out of 100); it would stand as the mark to beat on the wall for several subsequent competitors’ attempts.

The Combined Scores Come into Play

Great Britain’s Erin McNeice was not able to reach Seo’s robust high point—McNeice fell significantly lower on the wall while attempting a right-hand cross-move. But McNeice’s attempt, even if inferior to Seo’s, gave everyone a reality check, of sorts; it reminded us all of the unique scoring of the Combined event, since McNeice surged to first place on the scorecards when her 68.1 Lead mark was added to her Boulder points (59.5). It’s unlikely we will see this unique Boulder and Lead Combined format ever again, but McNeice’s performance throughout the finals was a perfect example of why it’s an exhilarating way to structure a competition.

The Crowd Provided a Big Home-Court Advantage

It’s worth acknowledging how much the crowd of 6,000 spectators added to the vibe, which was also evident in the men’s final yesterday. Take, for example, the way the crowd clapped rhythmically in support of Oceana Mackenzie, or the way they chanted in unison for Oriane Bertone—“Or-i-ane! Or-i-ane! Or-i-ane!” Sure, both Mackenzie and Bertone probably would have liked to crank a little higher on the lead route (each fell below the headwall), but a highlight for each of their performances was the vociferous support from the audience. It’s not something normally heard at World Cups—at least not to such a loud and unified degree—perhaps because the Olympic crowd was comprised of just as many “casual” climbing fans as hardcore fans. Whatever the reason and impetus for such enthusiastic crowd noise, it was really cool.

Japan’s Ai Mori Proved Her Lead-Climbing Prowess

It’s hard to pick a single highlight for Japan’s Ai Mori. At a pure entertainment level, she fell while launching for the top hold—the closest that any finalist would come to sending the route. But by the numbers, such a jaw-dropping performance (a) established a new high point on the route by a significant margin and (b) gave Mori the lead on the Combined scorecards. It’s probably best to package all of that together and say that Mori’s attempt on the lead route was one of the most memorable parts of the women’s final. And it’s worth noting that if Lead was it’s own medal event—which it may well be soon—she would have taken Gold.

The Final Showdown

One could make an argument that the last 20 minutes of the final—with the successive attempts of Brooke Raboutou, Jessica Pilz, and Janja Garnbret—were among the most thrilling and intense moments in the history of the sport. That’s not a statement that should be made lightly, but consider how everything transpired:

First, Brooke Raboutou took a commanding lead on the Combined scores, her attempt on the lead route only coming to an end when she tried to stabilize and match on a hold in order to clip on the headwall.

Second, Jessica Pilz, in electrifying comparison, was able to make that tricky clip on the headwall, but was not able to overtake Raboutou in the Combined’s arithmetic of points.

Finally, Janja Garnbret came out and climbed masterfully—her finger, perhaps tweaked, seemed fine, and her nerves, perhaps rattled by some bouldering woes, seemed as calm as ever. She did not quite send the route; she fell when her fingertips sloughed off the edge of a hold a few moves shy of the top. But her Combined score resulted in a gold medal—making Garnbret the sport’s first back-to-back Olympic gold medalist. Raboutou and Pilz earned silver and bronze, respectively.

It felt like a storybook ending after a long week of toil and drama, highs and lows, happiness and heartbreak for so many competitors. And for the three women atop the podium at the end, it was a surefire passage into comp climbing’s storied history.

Women’s Combined Boulder & Lead Sport Climbing final results

1. Janja Garnbret (SLO): 168.5 (Boulder: 84.4, Lead: 84.1)
2. Brooke Raboutou (USA) 156.0 (Boulder: 84.0, Lead 72.0)
3. Jessica Pilz (AUT) 147.4 (Boulder 59.3, Lead 88.1)
4. Ai Mori (JPN) 135.1 (Boulder 39.0, Lead 96.1)
5. Erin McNeice (GBR) 127.6 (Boulder 59.5, Lead 68.1)
6. Chaehyun Seo (KOR) 105.0 (Boulder 28.9, Lead 76.1)
7. Oceana Mackenzie (AUS) 104.8 (Boulder 59.7, Lead 45.1)
8. Oriane Bertone (FRA) 104.5 (Boulder 59.5, Lead 45.0)

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As a young girl, Marisa Howard dreamed about becoming an Olympian one day. But her focus was on another Olympic sport, gymnastics. She had no idea what the 3,000-meter steeplechase even was.

She also had no idea she’d be a mom when the dream actually came true.

Over the last two decades, Marisa, 31, has gone through numerous highs and lows, near-misses, injuries, a lack of sponsor support, and joyful life changes—most notably giving birth to son, Kai, in 2022. But the steeplechaser from Boise, Idaho, never let go of the dream. Relying on her faith, a strong family support system, and the frugal but full life she shares with her husband, Jeff, the dream came true on June 27 with a third-place finish in the steeplechase at the U.S. Olympic Trials in Eugene, Oregon.

After chipping away at her craft for three Olympic cycles,  Marisa ran the race of her life—finishing with a 15-second personal best of 9 minutes and 7.14 seconds—to earn a spot on Team USA.

Her dream of running for Team USA in the Olympics officially materialized on August 4 when she lined up to race in the prelims of the 3,000-meter steeplechase in Paris. She ran with the lead pack in her heat as long as she could, but with two laps to go she slid to seventh and finished in that position in 9:24.78, missing the chance to advance to the August 6 final by two places and about seven seconds.

“I think it just becomes a lot more real when you see people that have been kind of knocking on the door for years and finally break through. It’s like, ‘Wow, we’re human and we can do it.’ Dreams do come true,” Marisa said. “I was six or seven or eight years old when this Olympic dream was born, and I plan on competing until he’s that age, hopefully, to show him what it’s like to do hard things and chase your dreams. I think it’ll be cool in 10 years when I show Kai these videos and be able to tell him, “Look at what Mommy did when you were two.”

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In between making the team in late June and arriving in Paris in late July, Marisa’s life returned to normal—as if being a mom with a 2-year-old is ever normal, or at least consistent, on a day-to-day basis. That month included rough bouts of stomach flu for her and her son, the continued day-to-day management of Kai with Jeff, juggling workouts with childcare help from family and friends, reestablishing normal sleep patterns for everyone, and of course, finalizing travel plans to get the family to Paris.

It all came with a humbling reminder of the perspective that has been the bedrock of Marisa’s postpartum revival as an athlete.

“The day after I qualified, we were driving back home to Idaho and we were all tired. Kai was exhausted and screaming in the car, and I told my husband, ‘He doesn’t care that I’m an Olympian, he just wants food and sleep and, really, I’m just mom,’” she said. “It’s humbling—there’s nothing more humbling than taking care of your sick baby—and I think as a parent, we’re humbled every single day, and we come up short sometimes despite doing the best we can, but I’m thankful that there’s grace and forgiveness. I think it makes those high moments so much sweeter.”

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Don’t Call it a Comeback

Marisa is part of a new wave of elite runners that aren’t putting their family plans on hold due to their career, and one of several moms who competed at the U.S. Olympic Trials. Stephanie Bruce raced the 10,000 meters just nine months postpartum after giving birth to her daughter, Sophia, in September 2023, while Kate Grace ran strong preliminary and semifinal 800-meter races to advance to the final of that event just 15 months after giving birth to son, River, in March 2023.

Elle St. Pierre gave birth to her son, Ivan, at about the same time, and returned to racing six months postpartum, finishing seventh in a speedy 4:24 at the Fifth Avenue Mile in New York City. That was just the beginning for St. Pierre, who broke the American indoor record in the mile (4:16.41) in January then won the gold medal in the 3,000 meters at the indoor world championships in Glasgow in March. At the Olympic Trials, Pierre won the 5,000 meters and placed third in the 1500, qualifying for Team USA in both events, even though she declined the Olympic entry for the 5,000.

After Howard gave birth to Kai in late May 2022, she began doing pelvic floor therapy along with general strength training and some easy jogging. By the time she started running in earnest that fall, she was surprised at how quickly her aerobic fitness came back to her.

“What’s really surprised me is that I’m able to run paces that I never hit before pregnancy with the same amount or less effort,” she says. “My aerobic engine has just gotten so strong. You do see women come back stronger, but it’s a wide range of how long it takes them to come back. ”

When she returned to the track, she was aiming for a top-three finish at the 2023 U.S. championships to qualify for the world championships in Budapest. She made it to the final and was in third place with two laps to go, but just didn’t have the closing speed. However, she did get the Olympic Trials standard by clocking a near-PR of 9:22.73, demonstrating she was just as fast as her pre-pregnancy self despite limited training and two years away from racing.

By late 2023 and early 2024, Pat McCurry, Marisa’s coach since college, was able to add more volume and intensity to her training, setting up what he thought would be her best season yet. And while Marisa admittedly didn’t race as well as hoped in her races before the Olympic Trials, McCurry knew she was capable of great things.

“She was on a different level once we got back to that base fitness post-pregnancy, and I think that’s what’s paid off in massive fitness dividends,” said McCurry, who has coached Marisa on Idaho Afoot training group since 2015. “The racing didn’t look amazing from the outside. The training was spectacular. We were doing things in training since January that we’ve never done before—just the level of intensity and volume we were sustaining was stellar.”

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Bootstrapping It

Marisa picked up running at Pasco High School in Washington, and carried on with the dream at Boise State University. There, she also met Jeff Howard, a Boise State runner who held the school record in the 10,000 meters. But more important than their common athletic passion, they shared the same Christian values that were the foundation of her life. They married in the summer of 2013 just after he graduated. He eventually took a job as a high school teacher at a nearby school, while she blossomed into a three-time NCAA Division I All-American for the Broncos, notching a runner-up finish at the 2014 NCAA championships and fourth-place finish the following year as a senior.

After she graduated, she picked up a small sponsorship deal with women’s apparel brand Oiselle and set her sights on the 2016 U.S. Olympic Trials . She got injured and missed the trials that year. But Howard and her husband bought a house in Boise and started their family life in earnest. That added stability, along with the guidance of McCurry, who she began working with in 2016, allowed her to dig deeper into training and continue to make progress in the steeplechase, lowering her personal best to 9:30.92 at a race in Lapinlahti, Finland.

The Oiselle sponsorship evaporated after about three years but that didn’t seem to matter. She and Jeff were living frugally and loving life, especially because, by then, most of their family had moved to Boise. Marisa had two aunts who had lived in the area before she went to college, and Jeff’s parents moved to town shortly after they were married. Marisa’s parents, and later her best friend, Marianne Green, also picked up their roots and relocated to town.

The ensuing years brought a variety of highs and lows—several near-miss fifth place finishes at U.S. championships, a silver medal at the 2019 Pan American Games, a few injuries that delayed her progress, a  breakthrough eight-second PR in the semifinals of the 2020 Olympic Trials, and, of course, welcoming Kai into the world in 2022.

What makes Marisa’s situation especially challenging is that she’s run competitively without a traditional sponsor since 2017, more or less collectively bootstrapping the dream on her husband’s high school teacher’s salary and working part-time as a schol nurse and as a coach. (She will officially join the Boise State staff as an assistant coach after the Olympics.) She often stays with friends when she travels to races and says she’s grateful to the meet directors who have flown her out to race, put her up in hotels, and also paid her to pace races.

She also earned USATF Foundation grants and in 2022 was the recipient of a $10,000 grant to offset child care expenses from a program sprinting legend Allyson Felix organized through Athleta’s Power of She Fund and the . Marisa competed at the 2024 Olympic Trials as part of the , which provides a small quarterly stipend, running apparel, and shoes to about 40 athletes in all disciplines of track and field.

“We’ve found ways to make it work. We drive used cars, and we refinanced in 2020, so thankfully our mortgage is very low,” she says. “So really a lot of my expenses are just shoes, a little bit of travel, coaching fees, gym fees, and things like that. But it does add up. But thankfully we live well within our means and are able to do it. As I’ve said before, the Lord always provides.”

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Getting It Done

But even with that support and her continued progress, Marisa entered the Olympic Trials as a dark horse contender to make Team USA. And that’s despite knowing that Emma Coburn and Courtney Frerichs, the top stars of the event for the past 10 years, were sidelined with injuries. She hadn’t run great in her races leading up to the trials, and her confidence was waning, McCurry says.

“I felt like not having a full contract [from a shoe sponsorship] had kind of eroded away at some of her confidence, and she was starting to have a little bit of imposter syndrome at races,” says McCurry. “We just had a really firm talk where I was like, damn it, you’re better than this,” he says. “Not we, not the training, you, Marissa Howard, are better than this.”

That pep talk was just what she needed. It helped remind Marisa about her bigger purpose, just as much as packing diapers, toys, and pajamas for Kai did before she and Jeff made the eight-hour drive to Eugene for the Olympic Trials.

In her semi-final heat at the trials on June 24, Marisa ran aggressively and finished second behind Gabbi Jennings in 9:26.38. After the race, she said she was looking forward to the final, but, for the moment, was most interested in making sure Kai got to bed on time.

Running with purpose and caring for her son emboldened her for the final, where she ran with conviction among the top five before moving into the lead briefly with a lap to go. In what was a thrilling final lap, Val Constien retook the lead and sprinted to victory down the homestretch in an Olympic Trials-record 9:03.22, followed by a surging Courtney Wayment (9:06.50) and a determined Marisa (9:07.14) as the top nine finishers all set new personal bests.

 

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“My husband and I talk about competitive greatness: You want to rise to the occasion when everyone else is at their best. So it’s like, gosh, I was able to do it! I think a lot of it for me has always been about having my priorities in place. I’m a Christian first, and then a wife, and then a mom, and then a runner. And I think if I keep those in that line, that’s where I see success,” Marisa says.

“I’ve sat next to gold medalists and other high-level athletes in chapels before U.S. championship races and they’ve told me, ‘I’ve won that gold medal and it doesn’t fill that void in my heart.’ And just knowing that a medal or success isn’t going to change you, ultimately, you have to be secure in who you are. So just remembering where my priorities lie helps to kind of keep me grounded.”

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Leo Neugebauer had a grueling schedule at the Paris Olympic Games. As a decathlete, the German multisport athlete , who was a three-time NCAA champion for the University of Texas, competed in the 100-meter dash, long jump, shot put, high jump, 400 meters, 110-meter hurdles, discus throw, pole vault, javelin throw, and 1500 meters over the course of just two days.

But as a Nike athlete, Neugebauer also had a leg up on the competition.

Just a five-minute drive from Stade de France you’ll find the Nike Athlete House. Walk in, past two towering orange statues of Lebron James and Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce, and guests are instantly transported into a luxurious, two-floor oasis, complete with swoosh-laden rugs and plush furniture, bright lighting and calm tones reminiscent of your favorite spa, and everything an athlete could need to look and perform their best.

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At least that’s the goal, says Tanya Hvizdak, Vice President of Global Women’s Sports Marketing at Nike. Complete with everything from specialty stations for barber, nail, makeup, and tooth gem appointments, to physical therapy and recovery services, plus spaces to unwind with family, and even a nursery—the hospitality locale is on a whole new level from any other Olympic activation the brand has done before.

“What we provide has certainly evolved from this mode of sponsorship to partnership,” Hvizdak says, noting that some athletes stop by the house more than once a day. “We’re listening to the voice of the athlete around what their expectations are and what their needs are.”

“It’s kind of a sanctuary,” adds Tobie Hatfield, Senior Director of Athlete Innovation at Nike. “We want this to be the place where athletes come to get ready for their competition.”

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Just Doing It

Nike’s not the only brand to go to great lengths to make their athletes comfortable. Varying in size and offerings, other major players including Puma, Asics, On, New Balance, and Oakley have full-service locations dedicated to their athletes, plus their entourages. Where Nike comes out on top, though, is their proximity to the competition.

Set in the Parisian suburb of Saint-Denis, about a mile and a half north of city limits and five miles north of the Louvre, Stade de France sits quite a ways away from much of the Olympic action at the heart of the city. The Athlete Village is relatively close by, but still a 15- to 20-minute bus ride—assuming bus drivers don’t take any wrong turns, as athletes stand for up to an hour on cramped buses during the Games.

Relaxing pre-race and recovering immediately after are critical to success on the world stage, something Nike officials readily understand.

“The planning of this space began over three years ago when we were looking at the city, having an understanding of where things like the Athlete Village and track and field were going to be taking place,” says Hvizdak. “The number one priority for us was being in a location that was going to be in close proximity to the athletes.”

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The Royal Treatment

While I wasn’t able to time my trip to the house so that I could sit in the Nike x Hyperice boots and vests next to medalists like Jordan Chiles, Sha’Carri Richardson, or Fred Kerley—all whom shared their trips to the space on social media—it’s certainly getting a lot of foot traffic.

The space also offers catering for breakfast and lunch. With reports that the food and conditions in the Athlete Village leave something to be desired, Nike’s culinary staff took it upon themselves to ensure that they had the food game on lock, including tantalizing yet nutritious options like (on the day I visited) grilled salmon and pepper tartlets, vegetable pie, beef moelleux, and noodle salad.

“Something that was requested shortly after we opened was to-go boxes of food,” says Hvizdak, who adds that the meals are definitely a highlight for the folks who come through. “So, we’re now offering takeaway options. Plus, we even changed the hours to stay open later per the athletes’ request.”

And of course—in the true extravagant nature of the space, what’s a good time without a parting gift? Athletes have the option of shopping through the Jacquemus x Nike collection, other new offerings, and to design a hoodie using a new proprietary AI tool on digital tablets—set to potentially launch in-store at a later date.

Neugebauer walked into the Nike House before his competition just to sniff it out. But he was sold after snagging some of the recovery tools to use during his downtime before his daunting 10-event competition.

“I took the Hyperice boots to my hotel room and used them before, during, and after my decathlon,” he says. “The second time I went through the house, I got to do all the fun stuff like customize my own Nike hoodie, it was amazing. And when I heard they had a barber, I was like oh my god, I got a fresh cut., I looked good. I think that’s important. I looked good, and I did good.”

The royal treatment apparently paid off. On August 3, Neugebauer earned the silver medal.

 

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My main memory of the Olympic Sport Climbing event in is that it was (a) confusing, and (b) a shambling mess. I came away feeling that the organizers’ incomprehensible decision to jam two totally different sports together—speed climbing, with its emphasis on moving quickly up an easy route, and lead and bouldering, with their emphasis on —ended up creating an event that was unfair to just about every athlete participating in it.

Luckily, there are two major differences between the Olympic Sport Climbing event (singular) that debuted in Tokyo three years ago and the Sport Climbing events (plural) that we’re watching in Paris this week.

Speed Is Now Its Own Event

Paris 2024 has two Sport Climbing events, with speed athletes competing for one gold medal while Boulder & Lead athletes vie for another. Is this a big deal? Emphatically yes. In a 2021 article I wrote that to ask a speed athlete to compete in Boulder & Lead is less like asking a 100-meter runner to compete in the marathon than asking a short track speed skater to compete in figure skating—two radically different sports that happen to involve ice. I still believe that. And, as evidence, I point to the fact that no athlete in Paris is competing in both the Speed and the Boulder & Lead Combined events.

Someday, perhaps, the Olympics will emulate the IFSC World Championships and give Sport Climbing four medals (Speed, Boulder, Lead, and Boulder & Lead Combined). But for now, simply carving Speed off makes sense. Many athletes excel at both Boulder and Lead. Janja Garnbret, Adam Ondra, Jakob Schubert, Colin Duffy, Toby Roberts, and Anraku Sorato have all won World Cups in both events—and a majority of the climbers in the Olympics have podiumed in both at the World Cup level.

The Combined Format Has a New Scoring Structure

Because Speed is no longer part of the Combined event, the Combined event’s scoring in Paris relies—intuitively—on athletes accumulating points based upon how far they climb up the boulders and lead walls.

In Tokyo, where Speed was included, this cumulative scoring structure couldn’t work, since nearly everyone gets to the top of the speed wall. Instead, Olympic organizers devised a ridiculously confusing system in which, at the end of each discipline, climbers were given points correlating to their finishing rank. The combined score was then reached by multiplying the results from each of the disciplines—with the lowest three scores earning medals. (For example, Adam Ondra placed fourth in Speed, sixth in Boulder, and second in Lead in the Tokyo Olympic final, so his combined score was 48 (4 x 6 x 2). Alberto GinĂ©s LĂłpez won gold with a score of 28, having placed first in Speed, seventh in Boulder, and fourth in Lead.) The frustrating—but also sort of fascinating—thing about the multiplication structure was that scores changed drastically with slight variations in finishing order. Whenever a climber passed another climber’s high point on the lead wall, for instance, everyone else’s scores changed too, which made following the event intensely anxiety provoking. Reporting on it for Climbing, I watched with a notepad and a calculator at hand, always half convinced that I’d made an error and was entirely misunderstanding the state of the competition.

In Paris, the scoring is far less convoluted—but it’s still got complexity. The TLDR version is that scoring is based on how far you get up each of the four boulders and the lead route in each round. How logical! But in reality it’s not quite so simple, so if you’re not familiar with that yet, read our article

All this is very cool (and good for the sport) for three reasons:

Speed Climbers Don’t Get Shafted

Before 2016, when Sport Climbing’s inclusion in the Olympics was first announced, Speed walls were quite rare in commercial climbing gyms in the United States—and speed climbing was generally considered some weird aberration popular only in Iran and Indonesia and various post-Soviet nations. As a result, U.S. viewers tended to interpret Speed’s inclusion in the Tokyo Combined event based on how it might pollute the results generated by the Boulder and Lead events that we actually cared about. We tended to forget, in other words, that for the speed specialists and their fans, Tokyo was a total disaster. Since their discipline did not prepare them to do well in Lead or Boulder, the math was against them, which meant that only three speed climbers made the finals—two by winning semis outright, the third (France’s Anouck Jaubert) by also topping two boulders in the bouldering round. In finals, Aleksandra MirosƂaw easily won Speed, but—as she and everyone else understood would happen—was trounced in the other two rounds and therefore, despite setting a new world record, did not medal.

This year, that’s not the case. Aleksandra MirosƂaw is back, and she’s still the best speed climber in the world, and if she performs in quarter finals and finals like she did in Monday’s semis (where she broke her own world record twice and is pushing the time down toward the 6 second mark), she’ll certainly have a medal to hang on her wall.

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The Combined Event Gains Credibility

In Tokyo, only one male speed specialist, France’s Bassa Mawem, qualified for finals—but after winning the early Speed rounds and ensuring his final slot, he ruptured his bicep on the semifinal lead route. As a result, Mawem wasn’t able to take place in finals, which basically meant that the remaining seven men, all of whom were specialized boulderers and/or lead climbers, suddenly found that their speed skills actually mattered, which threw a ton of randomness into the event. Ultimately, it was by winning Speed that Alberto Gines Lopez—who finished fourth in Lead and seventh in Boulder—took Olympic gold, and it was by doing surprisingly well in Speed (he placed fourth) that Adam Ondra was, , in gold medal contention.

Because of the important role that Speed ended up playing in the men’s field, viewers were left feeling like there was a real disconnect between the event’s ostensible purpose (identifying the best climber on that particular day) and the tests to which climbers were submitted. If you’d subtracted the Speed event, for instance, you’d have gotten very different results, and would have needed a different way of identifying victors. (Nathaniel Coleman won Boulder and came in fifth in Lead; Jakob Schubert came in fifth in Boulder and won Lead; Colin Duffy came in fourth and third respectively; who would have won?)

Retroactively removing Speed from the competition isn’t particularly fair, of course, since Speed was part of the competition whether people like me like it or not, and since randomness (sometimes in the form of injury) is actually one of the more interesting elements of competitions. Without it we’d get bored. But the event’s structure did lead a lot of people to essentially dismiss the results as the fluke byproduct of an Olympic bureaucracy that categorically misunderstood what climbing was about and therefore structured a competition such that it was impossible for the results to actually reflect who the best climber was. “Cool,” they thought. “Now let’s go back to valuing World Cups.”

Such critics should note, however, that, in the Olympic bureaucracy’s defense, things went far better in the women’s field, where two speed specialists—Aleksandra MirosƂaw and Anouck Jaubert—managed to qualify for finals and then took first and second place in Speed. This, as organizers no doubt intended, left the Bouldering and Lead rounds to operate more or less as their own competition. We turned a blind eye while the speed climbers pretended to try on boulders and routes far harder than they’ll ever climb, and then we watched Janja Garnbret crush absolutely everything as expected.

The Competition Is Easier to Watch—and Understand

One of the great problems with Tokyo, as noted above, was that it was incredibly hard to understand the state of the overall competition while watching it—which was annoying for climbers like me, but potentially off-putting to non-climbers, who had to endure watching a strange (to them) sport described via a and scored via an incomprehensible (to everyone) scoring system. Now, thanks to the new scoring format, it’s pretty easy to follow the state of the competition. Sure, if you’re an English major like me, you may still want to keep your calculator handy—but for the rest of you, it’s just addition. How hard can it get?

Note: If you’re interested in an in-depth analysis of why the Tokyo Olympics kinda sucked in a fascinating way, check out my 2021 story,   It describes how Adam Ondra went from probably winning gold to taking sixth  place when, thanks to some brilliant climbing by Jakob Schubert, he came in second rather than first in Lead. It also, as the title suggests, demonstrates how the speed specialists were even more disadvantaged by the combined structure than the lead climbers.

The post Why Paris 2024 Is Way Cooler (for Climbers) than Tokyo 2021  appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

No one expected breakdancing—the street dancing style that incorporates head spins and freeze moves—to ever become an Olympic sport. Even members of the World DanceSport Federation, the governing body of competitive dancing, were surprised to learn in 2020 that “breaking,” as it is called, had been added to the lineup for the 2024 Games in Paris.

“It was a shock to everybody,” says Martin Gilian, a member of the World DanceSport Federation, and one of nine judges who will score the Olympic breaking competition on August 9 and 10. “We had no idea how we got into the Youth Olympics in 2018 and suddenly we were finding out we’d be in Paris.”

The truth is that breaking has resonated with younger audiences since it was born on the streets of New York City’s South Bronx more than 50 years ago. In fact, as an original element of hip-hop—alongside deejaying, emceeing, and graffiti—breaking has never stopped pushing boundaries. Is it an art form or a sport? Debate it all you want, but to me, it’s clear that breaking is both.

Breaking’s inclusion in the 2024 Summer Games is nod to the graffiti we see in Europe’s first collection of modern and contemporary art at Centre Pompidou in Paris; and to the rap of this year’s Olympic hype men Snoop Dogg and MC Solaar of France. I’m pretty much obsessed with breaking’s Olympic debut. Drawn to its combination of history, physical strength, and creative expression, I’ll be in the stands at the Paris Olympics on August 9, cheering on the athletes, which fans call “B-Girls” and “B-Boys.” On La Concorde in the heart of Paris, next to BMX freestyle, skateboarding, and 3X3 basketball, in one big “hip hop celebration” breaking will take place outdoors in an urban park. Here’s what to know about the newest Olympic event:

How the Competition Works

Breaking’s top athletes draw from thousands of tricks, and they improvise signature moves never performed by anyone in competition until the Olympics. Athletes will be judged on their technique, dance vocabulary, execution, musicality, and originality, with each category counting for 20 percent of overall score.

On August 9, 17 B-Girls will face off in one-on-one 60-second dance battles. Among them will be 35-year-old American Grace Sun “Sunny” Choi, who graduated from the University of Pennsylvania’s business school. Also in the lineup is 21-year-old Manizha “Jawad” Talash, a refugee and Afghanistan’s first female breaker who fled the Taliban, as well as Italian Antilai Sandrini, who goes by the name “B-Girl Anti,” and is an artistic gymnast and cheerleader-turned breaker who is also a competitive Kung Fu athlete.

Then, on August 10, 16 B-Boys will follow the same format, laying down flips and flares. According to Gilian, the event borrows some DNA from martial arts and gymnastics. “Breakers are always trying to evolve and make their own signature moves,” he says. In this evolving and improvisational sport, breakers introduce personalized moves from the main elements of standing moves, called “top rock,” floor moves, called “down rock,” and freeze, which is holding a pose in an unusual position.

“It’s about improvisational storytelling, following a concept throughout the entire round. For example, a dancer could hold his chin the entire round, even while going down on the floor in a power move (a twist and spin)” says Gilian. “Or he might hear the sound of a bird that inspires him to express the sound throughout the dance. It’s as creative as possible.”

In a round robin, the top two from each of the four men’s and women’s groups will advance to the quarterfinals, then semis, and a best-of-three final for the medals, putting on a show for the Olympic audience while they can. Sadly, breaking is expected to be left off the 2028 Los Angeles Olympic Games.

Getting fired up is necessary at this new Olympic sport that relies more on audience participation than other Olympic events.“One of the most important things to the sport is creating an atmosphere so the dancers can interact with the audience,” says Gilian “We don’t want you to just come and watch. You really need to be involved if you’re there and make some noise because the better the atmosphere, the better the performance.”

Breaking is also the only Olympic event where the judges get to perform. “We’re paying a tribute to hip-hop culture, so at the end we’ll dance to a live rapper, while the DJ spins the music,” says Gilian, who goes by the breaking name B-Boy MG—all the judges double as breakers and Gilian, who used to compete, is also a rapper.

The Hip-Hop History

Gilian first witnessed breaking in 2004 in a Run DMC MTV music video as a student at Florida International University (Florida, a breaking hub, is also home of Olympic medal hopeful B-Boy “Victor” Montalvo). But of course breaking dates back to the 1969 gang activity in the South Bronx, when instead of taking a swing at each other, each side would pretend to fight in a dance battle.

As the story goes, on August 11, 1973, a Jamaican immigrant who went by DJ Kool Herc—the godfather of hip hop culture—was performing at an apartment and invited party goers to dance during percussive “breaks’ in his music. From the Black and Latino neighborhood street culture in New York City in the 1980s, the term “breaking” evolved in the media into “breakdancing” after the popular Rock Steady B-Boys and the B-Girls rose up in pop culture while touring the world stage. And as breaking faded from urban America in the 1990s, it was picking up in its first organized competitive world circuit heavily centered around Europe—with the first major global “Battle of the Year” in Germany in 1990, followed by the first Red Bull breaking competition in 2001.

An Olympic Underdog

In 2016, the World DanceSport Federation proposed several competitive dancing styles to organizers of the 2018 Summer Youth Olympics in Buenos Aires, Argentina. The federation hoped that one would be chosen, and Gilian and others believed that Latin dancing might be singled out. When the International Olympics Committee, which oversaw the event, chose breaking “it came as a surprise, but was extremely popular for some reason,” Gilian remembers.

In 2020, when breaking was officially added to the 2024 Paris Games, the decision drew some pushback. Critics argued that dancing wasn’t a sport. It wasn’t the first time the Olympics had to consider art as competition. Between 1912 and 1948, the Olympics included competitive events in the artistic categories of architecture, literature, music, painting, and sculpture.

Officials with the IOC and World DanceSport Federation faced plenty of hurdles to get breaking ready for the Olympics: standardizing rules and judging while maintaining the sport’s artistic side. Rules require DJs to pick the same song at random for both dancers. The hosts, who narrate the competition on the mic, maintain a central role as physically close to the breakers on the dance floor as possible.

“We made sure that the audience could get as close as possible, so they could feed off the energy of the crowd and maintain the true essence of breaking. The IOC really came through and we’ve accomplished that,” says Gilian. He says that breaking has experienced a resurgence in popularity since it was announced as an Olympic sport.

“We’re seeing all around the world that parents are more motivated to get their kids into the breaking—and nine and 10 year olds are learning basic moves in as little as two days that took me 10 or 11 months to master,” says Gilian. “There’s been a huge growth in the last few years all around the world, especially in Asia, Europe, and Latin America.”

Breakers to Watch in Paris

The B-Girls

B-Girl Sunny: Grace Sunny Choi is a former gymnast who picked up breaking as a student at the prestigious University of Pennsylvania Wharton School. After graduating, she began battling in world-wide competitions, going on to win silver at the 2022 World Games.

B-Girl Ayumi: With a recent win at the Olympic Qualifier in Shanghai, 2021 world champion Fukushima Ayumi of Japan is one to watch out for. At age 41, this veteran has the dynamics (transitions between down and up rock) and the experience to go far.

B-Girl Ami: Ami Yuasa, of Japan, was introduced to hip-hop at age six. Today, the 25 year old is known for her footwork and flow (the art of combining moves in a creative and rhythmic way), after taking world championship titles in 2019 and 2022 and making the Red Bull BBC One World Final in 2023.

B-Girl India: India Sardjoe, of the Netherlands, has been breaking since age 7—while also playing football as the only girl on an all-boys’ team. Today, she’s fearlessly competing at age 16 as one of the youngest Olympic Athletes, after winning gold in the 2023 European Games.

B-Girl Nicka: This Lithuanian breakdancer is only 17 years old yet she’s the current world champion. Dominika Banevic has it all–vocabulary, dynamics, flavor, and form and could take the win.

The B-Boys

B-Boy Victor: Victor Montalvo, 30, is living the dream of his father Victor Bermudez and his uncle Hector Bermudez—twin-brother breaking pioneers who helped popularize the sport in Mexico in the 1980s. After growing up in Florida, he’s the current world champion. Expect traditional style with loads of signature moves.

B-Boy Hong 10: Born and raised in Seoul, South Korea, Kim Hong-Yul, 40, is a three-time Red Bull BC One champion with experience on his side. Loaded with an arsenal of innovative moves—arguably the most original in the game—he’s one to watch.

B-Boy Shigekix: This Olympic flag carrier from Japan is a Red Bull BC One All Star and the 2020 Red Bull BC One champion. Shigeyuki Nakarai is a former freestyle dancer known for his control and fast power moves (using the whole body in a rotational move while balancing on the hands, elbows, head, or shoulders).

B-Boy Phil Wizard: Canada’s Philip Kim was once a kid watching breaking in the street shows of downtown Vancouver. He took up the sport and went on to win gold at the 2022 World Championships and the 2023 Pan American Breaking Championships, also taking silver in the 2023 World Championships.

B-Boy Lithe-ing: China’s Qi Xiangyu, 19, is the new kid on the block coming up quickly after becoming runner up at the Olympic Qualifier Series in Shanghai and taking fourth at the 2023 World Championships.

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Even before Tuesday’s speed climbing seeding heats at the Paris Olympics, the sport regularly produced jaw-dropping video clips.

Two climbers stand at the base of a 49-foot wall and then rocket upward like Spider Man on a sugar high. The TV camera is stationed behind the climbers, so they look as though they are galloping on all fours across flat ground. But oh no, they’re ascending a sheer man-made rock wall, and boy do they make it look easy.

The latest speed climbing video clip is even more eye-popping than the rest. During the preliminary rounds, American wunderkind Sam Watson broke the world record in the event, reaching the top in 4.75 seconds. The time was 0.04 seconds faster than the previous world record, set by Watson himself back in April. The 18-year-old looks destined to battle for a medal when speed climbing holds its finals in Paris on Thursday, August 8.

SAM WATSON IS DIFFERENT

He broke HIS OWN WORLD RECORD to advance to the quarterfinals of men’s speed climbing!

: &

— Team USA (@TeamUSA)

Watson’s time boggles the mind: 4.75 seconds is a tiny duration of time for any physical task, let alone ascending a 50-foot wall.

To add context to Watson’s feat, we at șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű grabbed our stopwatches and set out to determine which banal everyday tasks take longer to complete than this amazing ascent.

1. Texting “What u feel like 4 dinner” to your spouse
2. Putting on a climbing harness
3. Tying both sneakers one sneaker
4. Logging into Peacock
5. Watching an Olympic kayaker paddle around an upstream gate
6. Washing one dirty dinner plate by hand
7. Scraping enough snow off your boot to click into your bindings after a hot chocolate break
8. Lubing your bike chain
9. Chalking up before a climb
10. Downloading the latest Chrome update
11. Explaining the saga of and his unfortunate flop to your bewildered parent
12. Setting up a permanent “Do Not Disturb” status for your work Slack
13. Rocking out to the opening guitar riff of Live Wire by Mötley CrĂŒe
14. Scanning a sweet potato in the self-checkout aisle at Whole Foods
15. Shotgunning a Coors Light La Croix
16. Getting on a chairlift
17. Getting off a chairlift
18. Googling “Simone Biles cute kid video”
19. Uploading the video of your own basic and unimpressive rock climb to Instagram

The post 19 Things that Take Longer than Sam Watson’s Olympic Speed Climb appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

wasn’t even qualified to race the , but behind-the-scenes wrangling opened the door to start Sunday to deliver in 40 years.

A decision weeks ago to replace triathlete with Faulkner on the two-rider U.S. team put her on the start line Sunday and set into motion the dynamics to win the gold medal.

In a spectacular race Sunday, Faulkner marked favorites and then pounced late to solo to America’s first gold medal since and both won gold in road racing in Los Angeles 1984.

Knibb, who is racing in mixed triathlon late in this Olympic Games, didn’t race Sunday after giving up her

“It was an easy decision to make. She’s never raced on the road before, and we talked about the pros and cons of it,” USA Cycling’s head of performance Jim Miller told Velo.

“They have a triathlon team relay the day after the road race, so I talked to their team, and I said if I was in your shoes, I would probably want her not to race this because you can win a medal in the triathlon relay.”

The triathlete punched her ticket for the Paris Olympics after beating Faulkner by 11 seconds in the U.S. national time trial race in May, which earned her a spot in both the road race and time trial in Paris.

KRISTEN FAULKNER IS AN OLYMPIC CHAMPION!

— NBC Sports Cycling (@NBCSCycling)

While a solid performer on the cycling legs in triathlon, Knibb has no experience racing in the bunch, and everyone decided the best thing to do was to allow the more experienced Faulkner start the women’s race.

Knibb, who crashed three times during a wet and treacherous time trial race to open the Olympic Games, opted not to race the road race.

Everyone agreed, and Knibb offered up her spot to Faulkner.

The replacement was made even easier with Faulkner confirming her chops on the road with some big wins in 2024, not to mention that she was already part of the women’s team pursuit squad on the track.

“Taylor agreed, so it was a mutual decision and an easy conversation,” Miller said. “With Kristen, we know we have a very strong card to play in the road race.”

Faulkner, however, said she wasn’t convinced that she wanted to take the spot on the road race because she’s also a key member of the four-rider team pursuit team in track racing this week.

“I almost didn’t race the road race, and I had to ask myself if I would be capable of racing the road race and be ready for the team pursuit. We want to medal, that’s why we’re here,” Faulkner said.

She discussed it with her coaches and decided it was worth the risk, and she even simulated the 72-hour window from the road race to the team pursuit qualifying during her preparation for the Games.

“I decided I would only do the road race if I was confident I could medal,” she said. “I even decided if I was dropped I would pull out to prepare for team pursuit, and I would only continue in the race if I believed I could medal.”

That decision proved right on target, as Faulkner attacked up the first assault of the Montmartre climb Sunday to ride into the leading medal group.

She linked up with the leading duo with 4km to go, and didn’t even blink.

Faulkner then attacked while the others looked on, and she rode away with gold.

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The marathon is an arduous, complex physical and mental test—one that has never ceased to fascinate me even after I’ve run 26 of them. But I admit that actually watching a marathon isn’t that fun, even at the Olympics.

We see a group of runners go stride-for-stride for a little over two hours as the lead pack dwindles under the painful pace. Runners who fall off the front seem to disappear entirely. It matters little, except for personal pride, if they drop out, or hang on for 13th or 25th place.

Equally out of sight are the dozens of runners who make up the middle and back of the pack, and are never in contention to win. We see these athletes only as they straggle across the finish line during the anticlimactic half hour after the medals are settled. All of the attention is on the few athletes battling for medals.

I have a plan to make every participant in a marathon count, to make every position change significant and interesting, to make every runner a hero. It’s an idea that’s already widely used in running. My plan to fix the marathon is to transform it into a team event that employs the meets.

In cross country—that fall sport where gangly high schoolers run 3.1 miles around golf courses or rural parks—seven runners from each school represent their team. When the gun goes off, everyone starts together. Runners finishing in the top 10 or 15 (depending on the size of the meet) earn individual medals. But these awards are secondary to the team competition. To determine team placings, officials add up the finish position of the top five runners from each school, and the school with the lowest cumulative number wins.

Under this competition format, every runner matters. It’s just as important if the slowest runner on a team moves up two places from 45th to 43rd, as it is if the fastest one advances from third to first. No team can win due to the merits of its star runner. Every participant, from first to last, has to perform well for the team to succeed.

Runners back in the pack, in fact, often have the chance for much larger point swings: a top-10 finisher may get passed by three or four if she slows by 20 seconds, a mid-pack runner could easily slip back, or pass, 15 to 20 places in the same time.

Here’s my plan: we create a national team score for the Olympic marathon. Sure, we still award medals to the three individuals who cross the line at the front. But we also pay attention to how the runners behind them fare, by offering medals to the nations with the cumulative lowest score determined by each runner’s number placing.

Runners who fell off the lead would need to gut it out all the way to the finish—they wouldn’t dare abandon the race and jeopardize a team medal. Team scores—which would be displayed as current standings throughout the race as runners pass checkpoints—would become more competitive as the race went along, bringing the importance of slower runners into focus.

I’d love to see the field expand to seven from each country, or at least five; currently there are just three. But even with three runners per country you could organize a dramatic team competition. I recently re-watched the 2020Tokyo Olympics women’s race and applied my competition concept to the event. Only five points separated the top-three nations: Germany, Australia, and Japan.

Kenya, meanwhile, did not reach the podium.Sure, Kenya’s runners placed first and second, respectively, but its third runner dropped out, eliminating the country from contention. Alas, it was the same fate for the U.S. team—our runners were third, 17th, and DNF.

The Tokyo Olympic Marathon would have produced an edge-of-your-seat team competition. Germany’s first runner placed sixth, Japan’s eighth, Australia’s tenth. Each nation’s second runners were similarly close: Germany’s 18th, Japan’s 19th, Australia’s 23rd. With team totals standing at Germany 24, Japan 27, and Australia 33, the third runner from Australia crossed in 26th for a total score of 59.

As I tallied the score, I realized that a really compelling battle was brewing between each nation’s final runner. This was going on long after the Kenyans had finished first and second. Germany and Japan’s third runners were running two places apart in 31st and 33rd, respectively. Germany, in the lead after the first two runners, just needed to hang on to get gold with 55 points. If Japan’s runner could have passed one competitor, the team would have tied with Australia for silver. If she could have passed four runners, including the German, Japan would have won gold. In the end, the gold medals would have been decided by who finished in 30th place.

In a normal Olympic marathon, whomever finishes 30th is totally inconsequential, just a blurry face in the background as TV cameras focus on the winner. But with my Olympic marathon concept, running fans would need to cheer on every runner and fixate on every position change. We’d yell and scream during each dramatic moment when a runner crossed the line and hugged his or her teammates.

Just imagine this scenario. In my opinion, this would make the Olympic marathon as exciting as a high school cross country meet, which if you’ve ever attended one, you know is an edge-of-your-seat affair. And it might transform the Olympic marathon into a race you need to follow, from the first finisher to the last.

The post How I’d Get Runners and Viewers More Excited About the Olympic Marathon appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

The Olympic Games is far from a set menu when it comes to the lineup of events. While the 100-meter dash, gymnastics, and swim events are expected courses each four-year installment features new flavors, while others are taken off the table. and takes a few off the table as well. Breakdancing called “Breaking” in Olympic parlance, will make its debut at the Paris Games, while karate, baseball, and softball have departed. But if you ask me, the most impactful Olympic losses happened long ago. Chariot racing, which never really made the jump from the Ancient Olympic Games, might look pretty neat with a drone follow cam. I think Pankration, a grappling event believed to be invented by Theseus when he defeated the minotaur in the labyrinth, is ready for its renaissance.

A century ago, when the Olympics last time landed in Paris, the lineup of sports looked dramatically different. We wanted to see just how much that menu has changed over the last century. Let’s face it, we’ve outgrown the telegram, the icebox, and the silent film. Our sports look a little different, too. Here’s a look at five competitions from the 1924 Paris Games that won’t be served up in 2024.

Art

Yes, you read that right. For nearly 40 years, art competitions were included on the Olympic program, awarding medals across five disciplines: music, architecture, literature, painting, and sculpture. Eventually these Olympic competitions were discontinued in 1954 due to concerns about amateurism versus professionalism, but not before Olympic gold medals were awarded to nearly 50 participants.

The 1924 Games were considered the apex of the Olympics’ art era with almost 200 participants over all disciplines. During these Games, Hungarian Alfred Hajos earned a silver in the architecture event, adding to his two swimming golds from the 1896 Games and becoming one of only two participants to ever win an Olympic medal in athletics and art.

Art wasn’t without its controversies. In 1924 there were no medals awarded in the music competition—judges decided that none of the musical compositions was worthy of the Olympics. Judges in architecture also did not award a gold medal that year.

Rope Climbing

A short-lived Olympic competition within gymnastics, rope climbing only made it into four Olympics (in 1896, 1904, 1924, and 1932) before getting cut down after the 1932 Games. The competition format was simple: the athlete to climb to the top in the quickest time won.ÌęClimbers could only scale the smooth, unknotted rope with their hands (no feet allowed), covering 25 feet (the 1896 Games required 41 feet of climbing and only two athletes reached the top). Rope climbing was also part of the all-around gymnastics competition.

Czech gymnast Bedrich Supcik won the 1924 gold medal in his first ever rope climbing competition, posting a time of 7.2 seconds. The event originally judged similar to gymnastics, and an athlete could be awarded a perfect 10 the rope in under 9 seconds, but after a 22-way tie for first, judges decided to award the gold medals based on time, locking Supcik’s place in Olympic history.

French Cane Fighting

Canne de combat, a French martial art using a wooden cane as a weapon, was a demonstration sport at the 1924 Games, and a nod to the host country’s history. Similar to fencing, “La Canne”, as it’s often called, features two competitors battling each other with slightly tapered, chestnut canes. It was originally considered a form of protection for upper-class citizens in large cities like Paris, but earned a large following in the sporting world.

In 1924, the sport featured a single match between a college professor and a French La Canne champion named Beauduin. The winner has been lost to the annals of history.

Tandem Cycling

And you thought your tandem ride home from the Margarita Night at your local taco joint was scary. How about pedaling a tandem bicycle on a sloped velodrome for an Olympic gold medal? No this is not a drill, tandem cycling was a real live event at the 1924 Games (and for many years after). Two-person teams once went head-to-head (and clip-to-clip) in the velodrome for Olympic glory. The event was finally removed after the 1972 Munich Games.

The 1924 edition of this psychotic pursuit involved five teams, with two semi-final heats, one bye round, and a three-man team final. The French team of Lucien Choury and Jean Cugnot prevailed in the final, with Denmark and the Netherlands taking second and third respectively. It was later reported that in between the semi final and final, Dutch rider Maurice Peeters polished off an entire bottle of cognac to quell the nerves. Bold move, Cotton.

Running Deer Shooting

Shooting is still a big part of the Summer and Winter Games, but in the early parts of the 20th Century, these competitions were a little more dramatic. One of the most celebrated was the 100-meter running deer competition. In this event, a deer target mounted to a carriage was pulled 25 yards in four seconds, and participants would have to shoot the “animal” from a distance of 100 meters. The speed at which the target moved was not uniform, as the carriages carrying them were sometimes simply rolled down hills. Different areas of the target carried different point values, and the shooter with the most points at the end of 50 deer runs won.

American John Keith Boles . The career army officer would go on to serve in World War II and would never compete in another Olympic event.

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