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.

The post Raygun Got Us to Care About Breakdancing. She Shouldn’t be Sorry for That. appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

A whirlwind of emotion—that’s the best way to describe the last two weeks for American surfer Caroline Marks.ÌęOn August 5, Marks, 22, won the Olympic gold medal on Tahiti’s formidable Teahupo’o wave. Six days later, Marks was in Paris for the Games’ closing ceremony. Then, she made a quick trip to New York City for a 24-hour media blitz, before flying back to the South Pacific for the Fiji Pro, the final round of the World Surf League’s regular season.

Poor waves in Fiji earlier this week gave Marks and the other surfers at the competition 24 hours of rest. “I’m appreciating the chance to regroup,” she told me on a recent phone call. “I’ve just accomplished one of my biggest dreams but it’s time to refocus and carry the crazy momentum into Fiji. There’s still work to be done. I’ll have time to celebrate in the off-season.”

The ability to tune out distractions—even the excitement of winning an Olympic gold medal—and to focus on the upcoming competition has helped Marks surge to the pinnacle of competitive surfing. During the Olympics, she attacked Teahupo’o, one of the world’s most dangerous waves, with seamless flow. Marks reezed through the early rounds and easily qualified for the quarterfinals, where the competition stiffened. She defeated multi-time World Champion Tyler Wright of Australia and eventual bronze medalist Johanne Defay of France, before facing off against Tatiana Weston-Webb of Brazil in the finals.

Both surfers were patient in the finals, waiting ten minutes to find a set they liked. Marks rode a barrel. Weston-Webb answered with a stunning ride of her own. Competitive surfing is judged by a panel of experts who analyze each ride and award a score. The gold-medal round came down to the wire, and in the end Marks won with a score of 10.5 to Weston-Webb’s 10.33.

I called Oahu-based surf guru Doug Silva, who coaches athletes like Kai Lenny and Seth Moniz, to get his analysis of the finals. Silva said Marks’ combination of rhythm, speed, and flare helped her eke out the win. “She draws certain lines on most waves consistently and they are speed lines that have pizazz,” he said. “She’ll do a turn on the top that has a bit of ooh, aah. Tatiana is really good. She has that flare and sparkle 90 percent of the time but Caroline has it 95 percent.”

Marks burst into tears when the final score was announced. She’s women’s surfing’s second Olympic champion, behind American Carissa Moore who won the inaugural gold medal in 2021 in Tokyo.

Marks said her recent success sprung from her ability to manage pressure—specifically, she learned to channel it in her favor. “As an athlete, you face a lot of pressure and high-intensity moments,” she said. “I’ve learned we all have doubts and fears but if you want to win titles you have to get over those mental blocks and believe in yourself.”

Mastering the psychological side of competitive surfing did not come overnight. Marks actually stepped away from the sport for four months in an attempt to build her confidence. In 2022, she went on hiatus, publicly citing mental and physical health struggles, and missed the first half of the 2022 women’s championship tour.

“I got to a place where I just wasn’t really having that much fun anymore,” Marks last September. “I just wasn’t that happy. And I just put so much pressure on myself that it just kind of spun me out. When you become super good and super successful at a young age and the expectations are very high, it feels like if you don’t live up to that expectation, anything less than that is a failure in a way, which is so crazy to say.”

The third of six children, Marks grew up in Melbourne Beach, Florida, chasing her brothers around the waves. As a child, she raced horses in a competitive event called barrel racing, where riders navigate metal barrels. But as a teenager she traded horse barrels for ones in the ocean, and thrived. At 15, Marks became the youngest surfer to reach the Championship Tour, and pundits predicted that she would someday win the world title. She won major events in 2019, and the results boosted her confidence as she prepared for surfing’s Olympic debut.

But in Tokyo in 2021 she came up just short of a medal and said it took her taking a break from the sport to get over theÌędisappointment.

“I needed time to focus on myself,” she said. “I didn’t surf for a few months and then I went on a boat trip to the Mentawais. For ten days I had no cell service. I was with friends doing the thing I loved just for me without any pressure. And that’s how I want to feel when I’m competing. Just feel that pure love of surfing.”

Marks said she’s also found comfort in reflecting in a journal. “I write down what I’m grateful for every day,” she said. “And I remind myself of the hard work I’ve put in.” She said she’s also learned to focus on what she can control: Her nutrition, sleep, training, and the people she surrounds herself with. It helps Marks to not stress over what she can’t control, like the wave conditions or social media comments.

The new approach worked, and Marks has enjoyed a winning streak over the past season. Last September, she captured her first world title on the World Surf League Championship Tour at Lower Trestles in her new hometown of San Clemente, California. To follow that up with Olympic gold is a triumph worthy of a fairytale.

The surfing world has taken note of Marks and her rapid rise. “Her journey is pretty inspiring,” says legendary waterman Kai Lenny. Lenny spoke to Marks when she was struggling, and said she doubted herself.

“Before winning the world title last year she was not in a place where she thought she could win anything,” he added. “When I spoke to her she wasn’t even sure she was going to make it back on tour let alone win a gold medal. To go from your darkest point to your highest moment in one-and-a-half years is truly a testament to perseverance. She’s definitely secured herself as one of the greatest female surfers of all time.”

The Olympic victory has raised Marks’ profile within the surfing world and outside of it—she’s now one of the most visible female surfers on the planet. She credits female surfers including Lisa Andersen, Stephanie Gilmore, and former Olympic gold medalist, Carissa Moore, with paving the way for women of her generation.

“I’m excited to take on that role for the next generation and push the progression of the sport,” she said. “It’s an amazing time to be a female athlete. American women took home more than half of Team U.S.A.’s medals. There are more sponsorship opportunities. Women are getting bigger and better deals.”

She believes the Olympic stage, particularly the recent venue at Teahupo’o, has finally given surfing the respect it deserves among casual audiences. “Surfers deserve professionalism,” she said. “There’s still this Spicoli image around surfers but we train, we have coaches and nutritionists. The world tunes in to watch the Olympics and it has helped people look at us as real athletes.”

In 2028, the Olympics will be held in Marks’ new backyard in Los Angeles. She hopes to have the chance to defend her medal and predicts the talent pool will be stronger than ever as women are presented with more opportunities to compete in waves of consequence, like Teahupo’o and Cloudbreak, the venue for the Fiji Pro and the 2025 World Surf League Finals.

“The skill level just keeps skyrocketing,” she said. “It’s been really exciting to watch and be part of it.”

The post How Surfer Caroline Marks Conquered Her Fears and Won Olympic Gold appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

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.

RELATED:

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.”

RELATED:

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.”

RELATED:

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.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

RELATED:

The post This Off-the-Court Oasis Gives These Olympic Athletes an Edge 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.

The post Why I’m Obsessed With Competitive Breakdancing, the Newest Olympic Sport appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

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 ParisÌęon 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.

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.

Four years ago, Brooke Raboutou became the to qualify for the discipline’s Olympic debut at the Tokyo Games.

Raboutou and 20 other women went head to head in a controversial triple-combined event, vying for a single gold medal based on an aggregate score from three different events: speed, bouldering, and lead. While bouldering and lead climbing share some characteristics—a focus on strength and the technical difficulty of climbing movement—speed climbing is a sport all its own, and requires a very different skillset. The format . Raboutou had a strong showing in bouldering, coming second behind Slovenian Janja Garnbret, who eventually won the gold medal. But she struggled in the other two disciplines and eventually finished fifth.

Now, Raboutou is back, and she hopes to grab a medal in sport climbing at the Paris Olympics. The climbing events run August 5-10.

Things are different for Raboutou and the other climbers whose sights are set on the Olympics. For starters, the International Olympic Committee has dramatically changed the format: speed climbing a stand-alone medal event in Paris. A second set of medals will be awarded based off of combined scores in the bouldering and lead competitions. We spoke with Raboutou about her ambitions in Paris, the atmosphere at the world’s biggest stage, and what the new format means for the world’s best competitive sport climbers.

OUTSIDE: What is your opinion of the new Olympic competition format?
I think it’s a great change, and I don’t know anyone who would argue it isn’t. When I competed in Tokyo, it was all three disciplines combined into one. That wasn’t only grueling physically, but the way it worked out for scoring wasn’t really fair. It was ranking-based. I think I can say none of us would have chosen to compete in all three events at once. The combined format did favor some competitors over others, but in general, Speed is a specialty that deserves its own medals.

Hopefully in the future Boulder and Lead will also be separate and then there will be a Combined event as well. But still, those are much more similar disciplines and require similar skills. A lot of us competitors do specialize in both of those, but not all three. I just think it makes a lot more sense for our sport and gives the opportunity for speed climbers to go to the Olympics and have their own medals. Some people are still annoyed that Boulder and Lead are combined. But this is only our second Games, so I’m grateful for anything we can get. That first split is incredible, and hopefully we can gain more traction and opportunities for more medal sets in the future that will allow more specialization. But I honestly do like the combined approach, so I hope we can have both individual and combined in the future. I’m just trying to take it as it comes and be grateful that we’re on this big stage.

What did your training look like in the lead up to Paris?
I’ll give you the basics. I climb five days a week, usually two days on, one day off, sometimes three days on, one or two days off. My training is planned, but it’s also adaptable. I train with a coach here who I’ve worked with for four years, Chris Danielson, who’s a big part of my growth. He’s a huge mentor to me. A lot of the training is on the wall, climbing, but I do strength training as well, weights for power and maintenance. And then I do a lot of mental work.

Mental work, like visualization or medication?
Both. Meditation just for my own well-being, and then visualization—working with sports psychologists and practicing imagery tactics to use throughout training and competition. That’s both visualization of the climbs, but also different cues to help get me in the present moment, focused on myself, and in a good mental place.

How does the atmosphere of the Olympics differ from that at major climbing events like the World Cup?
I remember having a moment of realization at the Games because it did feel so different in some ways. Like This is crazy. This is climbing’s first Olympics, and there are only 20 of us on the mat.ÌęSo I had that realization, but still, we’re just climbing. This is the same game that we get to do every day, at all the other competitions.

It’s more a perception change than an actual change, which to me is helpful. I like to look at it that way. It’s an exciting opportunity, how big this is, but at the end of the day, nothing has changed. We’re still doing what we love out there on the mats. So I don’t know. I would say yes and no. It is different for sure, but a lot of that is just perception as well, and attention toward our sport, less real internal change or physical change.

What draws you to competitive climbing?
I love climbing just for itself, for the movement. That’s something that drives me and I’m impassioned by, and I find that both indoors and outdoors. But I’ve really fallen in love with competition for the mental growth that it takes. Learning about myself through competition, through challenges, through success, it’s been really eye-opening and purposeful for me.

To be a high-level competitor and get to experience this world and those extremes, and have that time for myself to reflect on how I show up. I’ve learned so much through competition climbing about my own development. That’s something I’m really grateful for and love on a bigger picture perspective. Internally, I love the movement of climbing, and I love the feelings it gives me and the confidence it gives me in the way I’m able to express myself.

This interview was edited for space and clarity.Ìę

The post American Climber Brooke Raboutou Is Stoked on Olympic Climbing’s New Format appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Have you ever heard of ? The two-time world champion in canoe sprint wonÌęOlympic gold at 19 in Tokyo. Now 22, Harrison is again a medal favorite in Paris. She’s taken a break from her other job, tending bar near San Diego, to train five hours a day for her 45-second Olympic race.

Does the name Daniela Moroz mean anything to you? She’s the fastest female kiteboarder in the world, and she won her first of six world championships when she was just 15 years old. Now 23, Moroz will be the sole American woman ripping through mistral winds off the coast of Marseille when kiteboarding makes its Olympic debut on August 4.

Familiar with Evy Leibfarth? America’s best female whitewater paddler, who is just 20, is competing in three events in Paris: kayak slalom, KayakCross, and canoe slalom. On Wednesday, July 31, she won bronze in the latter event.

These three American Olympians have the international victories and charisma to attain rock-star status in Hungary or France—nations where sports like kayaking and canoe sprint attain mainstream attention—or in countries with fewer Olympic medalists. Yet in the United States, they are largely invisible—even during the Games. This summer they will join 589 other U.S. athletes at the Paris Olympics. No matter if they win or simply compete, they will likely be overshadowed by heavily-marketed stars on the track, basketball court, and in the pool.

Stars of lesser-known Olympic sports face challenges that mainstream heroes such as swimmers Katie Ledecky and Caleb Dressel do not. In addition to training and competing, they must run their lives like businesses, managing their own costs and logistics for travel. They must constantly seek out sponsorship and financial backing. Many grapple with the psychological burden of asking friends and family for cash, and of winning with little fanfare. This lifestyle comes without a playbook, and managing it requires creativity, hustle, and plenty of luck. Moroz, Leibfarth, and Harrison have offered a rare look at how it’s done.

I Thought It Would Be a Full-Time Job

Victory came quickly and unexpectedly for Harrison, a Seattle native. Six years after learning to paddle at summer camp, she shocked herself by winning a world championship in the 200-meter canoe sprint at age 17. “What do I do now?” Harrison toldÌęșÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű about the eye-popping result. Two years later, she became the first American ever to win Olympic gold in the discipline.

Canoe sprint has been on the Olympic program for men since 1936, but the International Olympic Committee only added women’s events in 2020. It takes most athletes years to perfect an efficient paddle stroke through the water. With no collegiate pipeline for up-and-coming athletes—and scant funding—the discipline attracts few athletes in the United States.

The discipline requires explosive strength. Harrison kneels in a lunge position in a shallow boat and propels the craft with a single blade across a 200-meter body of water. She takes 90 to 100 strokes per minute, and the boat boat is so narrow and unstable that it feels like she is balancing on a tightrope. In Eastern Europe, the sport is beloved and taught in schools, but not in the United States. Harrison knew that her sport wasn’t popular, but she also assumed an Olympic gold would bring more attention back home.

After Tokyo, Harrison pursued what she called “a real life.” She moved to Southern California, bought a motorcycle, made friends, and pursued a biology degree at San Diego State University. She debated whether or not to continue competing—ultimately decided to stay in the sport. She declined to disclose how much she earned from her sport.

“I was expecting it would be like a paid full-time job if I were to win in Tokyo,” she said. “I thought there would be more financial opportunities.”

She did ink several deals with sponsors Deloitte, Oakley sunglasses, and Plastex boats, and she earns a monthly stipend from the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee. She supplements that with revenue from public speaking and from tending a bar near San Diego. She described her total income as “not super impressive numbers, but together it’s OK.”

The Paris Olympics could have a major impact on her financial standing. Canoe sprint athletes target just four major international events a year, and sponsors often offer cash incentives at major races like the Olympics and the world championships, which she won again in 2022.

“First versus fourth place determines what apartment I live in next year,” she said. “It’s extra pressure. It’s like: do I pay my bills or not? A medal will mean tens of thousands—if not over $100,000Ìęin direct money you’re going to get versus not get—primarily based on your sponsors and what’s in your contract.”

This summer in Paris, the USOPC will also award $37,500 for each Olympic gold; $22,500 for silver, and $15,000 for bronze. But the difference between placing third and fourth can be 0.3 seconds, as it was at the 2023 world championships, Harrison’s first major loss.

Now that she’s a gold medalist and has experienced competition overseas, Harrison has recalculated her desire for mainstream attention and fame. In Germany or Hungary, for example, she’s mobbed by fans. That’s not the case in California.

“That’s what made me realize I don’t want that level of attention in my life,” she said. “I like the every-four-years you get your time to shine, then you canÌęgo back to being a human being. I have a new level of gratitude for America not caring about my sport.”

CEO of Her Own Show

Moroz sometimes hits 45 miles per hour on her kiteboard, which is elevated about three feet off the water on a hydrofoil. She harnesses the power of the wind with a kite, and during a race, she must dodge other competitors and navigate buoys on the course.

When she’s not in the water, Moroz faces different challenges. She must do her own fundraising, and she manages six figures worth of expenses for competition and training. She books her own travel to competition in Spain and Oman, and also to training camps at coastal destinations where the wind is favorable. When she flies from her home in California’s Bay Area to competitions and camps, she must pack and transport a massive array of equipment: 25 kites, three boards, and five hydrofoils.

“I’m essentially the CEO,” she said. “It’s super hard, but you can learn so much.”

She’s been managing this lifestyle since she was 15 years old.

Moroz does have some help. Kiteboarding’s national governing body, U.S. Sailing, pays for her coach. Her family also chips in. During her recent training camp for the Olympics, Moroz’s mother, Linda, who is a judge for the city of Oakland, flew to France and helped cook meals and do grocery shopping for her. The meal preparation was necessary, so that Moroz could gain crucial weight during her preparation period.

But Moroz pays other costs—in 2023 she hired an equipment manager to help her oversee her gear, and she still pays him an annual salary. In 2022 she brought on an agent, who helped her attain a sponsorship with fashion brand Ralph Lauren. To help her stay sharp for kiteboarding’s Olympic debut, she hired a male kiteboarder as her training partner, and paid his travel and living costs in Marseille, where they spent more than a month preparing.

In total, Moroz said the year leading up to Paris cost her about $150,000—triple what she spent in 2021.

“You tend to spend more and more because you’re getting more coaching, more experts, more equipment, or you’re traveling more,” she said.

The international governing body, World Sailing, contributes no funding to top athletes, and the events operated by the governing body do not pay prize money. Instead, Moroz finds other ways to generate steady income. She negotiates performance bonuses in her sponsorship contracts and relies heavily on sailing foundations to help her mitigate expenses through grants or donations. She temporarily operated a GoFundMe donation page, and also sells merchandise on her personal website.

Over the years, Moroz has learned to ask people for money—a skill that she still finds challenging.

“I really struggle with asking donors for money,” Moroz admitted. “It’s so weird. They’re getting nothing in return other than being part of your journey, kind of. It’s super-awkward to be like, ‘Hey, I’m in this Olympic campaign. I need $150,000. You want to give me $20,000?’”

Fundraising of this nature has helped keep Moroz financially stable for several years, but it also nearly sank her career. In 2023, during the qualification process for the Paris Olympics, Moroz began to struggle with burnout. For the first time in her career, she didn’t feel like training.

“When people are giving you hundreds of thousands of dollars of their money to check these boxes, it gets really hard to justify not training,” Moroz said. “If you’re not training, then what are you doing?”

Eventually, she talked to a sports psychologist to figure out when to take a break.

“Even now, I’m not making any money,” she said. “I’m happily breaking even—because any time you’re making money, everything’s just funneling back into the campaign.”

Life-Changing Sponsorship

Of the three, Leibfarth seems to be the most financially secure. She turned pro at age 12 and signed a sponsorship deal with Red Bull energy drink at 17, a few months before she competed in the Tokyo Olympics. Leibfarth said brand representatives began speaking with her two years before they made an offer.

The deal has reshaped her position in the sport. Red Bull pays her to endorse the brand, and also gives her access to a sports psychologist and a nutritionist. She’s also made connections with other Red Bull-sponsored athletes, from video gamers to snowboarders. She said a conversation with a Swiss BMX athlete reshaped her attitude toward the Olympics and the increased media attention that comes during the games.

“She told me to say yes to everything,” Leibfarth said.

“It’s the reason I do what I do,” she said.

In addition to training for three disciplines and attending college online, Leibfarth is training to be an emergency medical technician. Fortunately, her Red Bull contract takes care of her expenses—there’s no time to squeeze in another job.

Leibfarth is coached by her father, Lee, and grew up near North Carolina’s famous Nantahala Outdoor Center, a paddling school and guiding company. The facility is now one of her sponsors.

In Paris, Leibfarth will be the first American woman to compete in three whitewater events in the same Olympics. First, she will paddle a kayak through a series of gates on a whitewater slalom course. Days later, she will do the same thing in canoe slalom—using a different boat and a single-bladed paddle to navigate a similar course. And finally, she will race in the newest whitewater event, KayakCross, in which four paddlers race each other down the rapids simultaneously .

It’s an arduous schedule, but competition isn’t Leibfarth’s only focus in Paris.

“There is, of course, so much media,” she says. “I love doing social media. I’ve had Instagram since I was 11. I’m on all platforms, and trying to get into YouTube.”

The Quest for Growth

LeibfarthÌęhopes to win a medal, and she’s excited by the prospect of bringing more attention to her sport. But she knows that winning won’t overhaul the American kayaking scene.

“I don’t think the sport will explode overnight,” she said. “So many kids don’t know it exists. No matter how I do, all it’s going to take is people seeing it and getting inspired. This is the first step.”

It’s a sentiment echoed by other athletes in other sports that operate outside the mainstream. But this type of exposure alone won’t change their situation.

Harrison, who already has one Olympic gold medal, knows that growth in her sport will require more than victory, attention, exposure, and time. “I’m only one person, one athlete. There’s only so much I can do,” she said. “It’s hard to completely change the game.” But if she does claim gold again, she said, “I’m excited to help people try to get this sport in a better place.”

For Moroz to win her sport’s inaugural gold medal after grinding so hard on the business and athletic side, she would be steeped in gratitude.

“It would mean everything to me,” she said. “But also to so many people who helped and, like, let me stay at their house or let me park my van in their driveway when I was training. I want to do it for them as well.”

The post șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Sport Athletes Pay a High Price for Olympic Glory appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

By now you’ve probably seen the image of Brazilian surfer Gabriel Medina suspended in midair like a superhero, his surfboard floating behind him instead of a cape. The viral photo, which was snapped on Monday at Teahupo’o, the Olympic surfing venue in Tahiti, is already being called the defining image of the 2024 Summer Games.

Whether you surf or not, it’s hard to look away from this photograph. The composition of the shot is freakishly perfect. Medina and his board hover in the air, both vertical and nearly parallel. The leash that connects them is suspended across the diamond blue ocean, and the backdrop of fluffy white clouds makes the surfer and his board stand out almost like they were in a painting. Medina’s finger raised in the air is so symbolic that you don’t need to have seen his ride to know that he was victorious.

But I did want to see the wave. Don’t get me wrong, the gravity-defying shot is unreal. But so was Medina’s ride prior to the shot. The three-time world champion dropped into a ten-foot wave at Teahupo’o, got deep into the barrel, and then skyrocketed into the air, his index finger raised, declaring himself number one.

O mega tubo que o Gabriel Medina pegou na eliminatĂłria do surf nos de

— Jeff Nascimento (@jnascim)

As a lifelong surf fanatic, I’m typically thrilled to see the sport captivate a global and mainstream audience. Wave conditions for Monday’s third round of the men’s surfing finals were all-time.Ìę In fact, photographers snapped plenty of epic images of surfers actually riding—and in some cases wiping out—on barreling waves: Local Tahitian surfer Kauli Vaast flexed as he got spit out of a super deep tube ride; Aussie Ethan Ewing went head first over the falls in terrifying fashion; and Medina sped on his tippy toes down the face of the wave he so theatrically kicked out of.

After seeing the Medina photo, one friend actually asked me if surfers are scored on their “dismounts” similarly to gymnasts. No, I told her, Medina’s 9.90 score—the highest single-wave mark awarded since surfing became an Olympic sport in Tokyo in 2020—had nothing to do with how he exited the wave at the end of his run, a maneuver called a “kickout.” Her question made me realize that the majority of people to see the photograph probably know very little about surfing, and the image certainly isn’t helping educate them on the skill and athleticism required to not just survive a wave as heavy as Teahupo’o, but to ride it with style.

I felt somewhat disappointed when I realized that this iconic photograph will forever be linked to Olympic surfing. Why? This year’s Olympic surfing competition is being held at a world-class break that was miraculously blessed with good conditions for the event. Tom Servais, a photographer who has spent decades shooting the world’s best surfers at the most exciting breaks, described the waves on MondayÌęmorning as “a gift.” In surfing, unlike most Olympic sports, the athlete isn’t the only one who has a say in the effort, risk, and difficulty of their performance. Conditions are dictated by Mother Nature. And on Monday, Teahupo’o, one of the most dangerous waves in the world, put on an awesome and unexpected display of raw power. Solid ten-foot sets unloaded deep, throaty barrels onto shallow sharp reef.

Perhaps that’s why the surf world has been quick to mock the Medina shot—I’ll admit, the is pretty hilarious. But we shouldn’t write off the significance of the mesmerizing moment snapped by JĂ©rĂŽme Brouillet, a photographer for Agence France-Presse. Servais said he wished he took that shot. “It won’t be iconic in the hardcore surfing world, but I think it is iconic,” he said. While it may not represent the immaculate conditionsÌęof Teahupo’o on that day, it does capture the competitive spirit that fuels the Olympics and the elation an athlete feels when they deliver a near flawless performance. If you were watching that round live, you would have seen Medina come out of the barrel flashing his hands wide open to communicate a perfect 10 score (two of the five judges agreed). When Medina followed that gesture with the Number 1, my initial reaction was to pass it off as cockiness. But after talking to some surfing industry veterans, I now view Medina’s reaction differently.

Servais, who has been shooting greats like Tom Curran and the late Andy Irons since the seventies, pointed out that in the early days before social media, the Brazilian surfers always made claims—colorful gestures similar to an NFL player’s end zone dance or a tennis player’s fist pump—after a great ride. “In the old days, before social media, it was uncool to claim,” he says. “But the Brazilians are super passionate and now, with social media, it’s a way to broadcast your national pride.”

If you flip through other images taken on Monday, you see a lot of athletes with their arms raised, gaze to the heavens, or hands pressed together, heads bowed in prayer. “Celebrating a good score could be interpreted not just as an athletic achievement but also, or more so, as the athlete being thankful that nature provided them with a wave that could be executed properly,” said surf photographer Matt Paul Catalano.

Ross Phillips, an Australian surf coach and founder of travel company Tropicsurf, confirmed I wasn’t alone in my initial reaction. “The photo is almost Christ-like,” he said. “A lot of people hate him because he’s so confident and cocky, but he is a competitive animal and has the best record of anyone at Teahupo’o. That gesture in the photo shows his level of self-belief and that’s really important to win a medal in those conditions.”

Former pro American surfer CJ Hobgood drove it home for me when he reminded me of Medina’s Olympic backstory. “This photo is about how Gabriel had to get to the Olympics,” he said. The Brazilian narrowly missed medaling in the inaugural men’s Olympics surfing contest in Tokyo four years ago, to Japan’s Kanoa Igarashi, who he faced off with, and defeated, in this year’s round three.

Hobgood reminded me that Medina had to work hard to even qualify for the 2024 Games. He had to travel to the ISA World Surfing Games in Puerto Rico in February—the swell was not ideal—and then win the event to earn Brazil a third men’s spot for the Olympics—the spot that he took.

“This photo shows a full manifestation of the road less traveled, the long way home, and he’s running off fuel very few are running off in the entire Paris 2024 Olympics,” Hobgood said.

When you use that as context, you can’t help but cheer “Go Medina!”

The post Is Olympic Surfing’s Viral Photograph Overrated? appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

I attended the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing to report on the cycling events forÌęVeloNews. Days before the Games kicked off, America’s top velodrome racers .

The cyclists had departed their plane and then strolled into the Beijing airport while that became ubiquitous during the Covid-19 pandemic. I understood why. The smog in Beijing on the eve of the Games was godawful, and wearing a thin piece of cloth—or maybe a gas mask—seemed like a smart idea. But the action upset Chinese Olympics officials, who had promised to the world that the city’s air would be scrubbed of pollution for the Games. They chided American officials, who scolded the cyclists, who . Media seized on the kerfuffle, and before long, berthed backlash, then . Eventually, the imbroglio faded from memory after the competitions kicked off, and the whole ordeal became part of the long history of wacky Olympics drama.

At the Olympics, you mix thousands of athletes with tens of thousands of journalists, sprinkle in global politics, add the pressure to perform and a few cross-culture barriers, and you end up with the perfect recipe for head-scratching controversies. Some of them even snowball into global media firestorms. Who remembers swimmer Ryan Lochte and his of being mugged at the 2016 Games in Brazil?

I bring this up because the 2024 Paris Games have just kicked off, and there’s already plenty of bizarre drama: allegations of low-grade cheating, strange debates over sleeping temperature, and even some head-scratching behavior by athletes. Here’s a quick guide to the controversies making headlines in the lead-up to the Paris Games.

A Spy Drone, Eh?

One of the zaniest cheating scandals I’ve ever read about occurred on Monday, when officials from New Zealand’s Olympic Committee was circling the training facility of that country’s women’s soccer team during a practice session. They said this was actually the second drone flight to occur during training. Local cops later tracked down the drone’s Ìępilot, who just so happened to be a staff member of Team Canada, the defending Olympic champions and a key rival of New Zealand.

There was swift recourse after the revelation—an investigation by the Canadian Olympic Committee determined that the squad had, indeed spied on New Zealand, and issued a public apology. Canada’s head coach Bev Priestman just before Canada played New Zealand (Canada won, 2:1), and two team staffers were also kicked out. In addition the Canadian Olympic Committee announced that the Canada Soccer staff would undergo ethics training after the incident.

As a lifelong cycling fan, I’m accustomed to cheating scandals that involve syringes and blood transfusions. Thus, I’m utterly captivated by the Canadian team’s low-grade treachery and hope that future reporting reveals that the drone in question was borrowed from someone’s teenaged nephew. I have to assume that somewhere, former New England Patriots head coach Bill Belichick is taking notes.

The Battle Over Air-Conditioning

The debate raging across the Olympics athlete village is probably one you’ve had with your spouse—whether or not to turn on the air-conditioning. Kudos to reporter Henry Bushnell at Yahoo Sports for on this topic. Here are the CliffsNotes: In an effort to make the Paris Olympics the most eco-friendly Games ever, organizers ditched traditional A/C units in the athlete dorms and instead planted shade trees, installed fans, and built an energy-efficient geothermal cooling system, which in theory, could get rooms down to 79 degrees Fahrenheit.

That plan works for some nations, but others have protested—specifically the United States and Australia. Apparently, our athletes are just too hot and sweaty for ceiling fans. USOC officials argued that elite athletes would literally lose sleep in the sweltering dorms, and this could impact their results. After battling Paris organizers for several months, the Olympic officials relented, and agreed to allow some nations to either bring their own A/C units or rent them in Paris.

“We appreciate the concept of not having air-conditioning due to the carbon footprint,” Australian Olympic Committee CEO Matt Carroll said about the matter. “But it is a high-performance Games. We’re not going for a picnic.”

As much as I appreciate Paris organizers’ efforts to go green, I’m glad they are allowing cooling. Any American who has backpacked across Europe in the summer has had to deal with the cultural aversion to A/C in places like France, Germany, and Italy. I once had to flee the Deutsches Science and Technology Museum in Munich because the facility was just too hot. Yep, the place lacked a key piece of technology: air-conditioning.

Draconian Rules or a Cry for Help?

Japan’s Olympic gymnastic squad became the center of international intrigue this week after its star gymnast and team captain, Shoko Miyata, from the Paris Games for violating the squad’s code of conduct. The offense? Miyata drank alcohol and smoked cigarettes. The legal age for drinking and smoking in Japan is 20, and Miyata is just 19. Officials told reporters that age wasn’t that major of an issue—breaking the team’s strict rulebook was the big offense.

“She engaged in smoking and drinking due to numerous pressures from the competitive targets that had been set,” , executive director of the Japanese Gymnastics Association

This story is incomplete, and Miyata has yet to release a statement or speak on social media. As an outside observer, I’m most interested in the amount of booze and cigarettes she had consumed—was it a puff and a sip here, or did it rise to the level of true concern? Is the decision to send her home aimed at preserving her emotional wellbeing, or is it merely because she violated a rule? I cannot image that a zero tolerance policy of this nature would ever fly in American professional sports. Perhaps it’s no surprise that online chatter about this story levies more criticism at Japan’s Olympic team than on Miyata.

“I think it was a problem, but I don’t think it was serious enough to strip her of her right to represent Japan,” Dai Tamesue, a Japanese hurdler, wrote in a post on X that was translated by The New York Times.

The story has resurfaced the debate of athlete mental health at major competitions, and the intense pressure that Olympians deal with. Some of that pressure comes from fans, television cameras, and their own expectations. In the case of Japanese gymnasts, it also seems like a lot of pressure comes from the officials who run the sporting agencies that oversee the sports.

The chairman of the Japanese Gymnastics Association, Tadashi Fujita, was pretty unforgiving of Miyata. He told CNN that “Ms. Miyata must atone for the crimes she committed, though we will do our utmost to support her, so she can take a new step toward her future.”

Be Kind to All the Pretty Horses

Full disclosure: I’ve not watched a single minute of Olympic dressage in my entire life, and equestrian represents a blind spot of my sports consumption that I have no intention of ever filling. As such, I wasn’t too interested in a story I saw earlier this week about Great Britain’s top rider, Charlotte Dujardin, . What in caught my attention, however, was the controversy swirling aroundÌęher decision.

It turns out, Dujardin dropped out after a video from several years ago surfaced showing her whipping a horse during a practice session. “There is no excuse,” the three-time Olympic champion said. “I’m deeply ashamed and should have set a better example in that moment.” She left the Games despite being on the cusp of becoming Britain’s most successful female Olympian ever.

In recent days, subsequent reports have surfaced about the video—it was leaked by a Dutch lawyer named Stephan Wensing who, The New York Times, specializes “in equine matters.” Yes—he is a horse lawyer, and apparently is representing the unnamed person who filmed Dujardin’s horse abuse.

This is not the first time that the Olympics have been rocked by equine violence—in 2021 a coach of Germany’s Modern Pentathlon team was booted from the Tokyo games after punching a misbehaving horse named Saint Boy during competition. That incident plunged the Olympic event—which comprises horse jumping, swimming, fencing, and a bizarre event called the Laser Run (competitors jog and then shoot air pistols at targets)—into complete chaos. After much handwringing, the sport decided to ditch equestrian entirely, and in 2028 athletes will do an obstacle event akin to American Ninja Warrior.

I’m all for Ninja skills to be added to the Olympics program. Perhaps they should replace equestrian events altogether.

An Olympics-Size Snub

In recent years, tiny Slovenia has become a global superpower in cycling, thanks in no small part to , the recent winner of the Tour de France. Pogacar won a bronze medal in the individual time trial at the Tokyo Games, and many cycling pundits predicted he’d win more hardware in Paris. But last week Pogacar officially withdrew from the Slovenian Olympic team. The move wasn’t a total shock: he’s likely exhausted after winning the Giro d’Italia and Tour in the same season—a feat nobody has achieved since 1998. But earlier this week, Pogacar admitted that another factor played into his decision: he’s pissed that his country’s Olympic coaches snubbed his partner.

Pogacar is one half of a Slovenian cycling power couple: his girlfriend, Urska Zigart, is the top-ranked woman on cycling’s the international circuit and the current national champion in both the road race and individual time trial. Zigard has scored some impressive results on the Women’s WorldTour, and anyone going by those results would have nominated her to Slovenia’s Olympic team as well. But the Slovenian coach, a man named Gorad Penko, chose a different racer for the country’s sole Olympic spot: Urska Pintar, who finished 11 minutes behind Zigart in the national time trial.

On Monday, Pogacar confirmed that the snub weighed into his decision to skip the Games. “It’s not the main reason, but for sure it didn’t help,” he said at a criterium race in The Netherlands. “I think she deserves her spot. She’s the double national champion in road race and time trial.”

Pogacar is perhaps the best men’s cyclist in several generations, and he’s well on his way to cementing his place in the sport’s history books. Turns out he’s an even better boyfriend.

The post Five Olympics Controversies at the Paris Games appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.