Pierre de Coubertin, considered the father of the modern Olympic movement, listened in as Henri Didion, a Dominican priest, offered some prayerful words in Latin to open a school sporting event, which de Coubertin attended in 1881. Striking de Coubertin as profound, the priest’s inspirational phrase became the motto for the first modern Olympic Games held in Athens in 1896.
Citius, Altius, Fortius
Faster, Higher, Stronger
If you’re older than me, your most indelible memories of the Olympic Games might be of the lightning-fast Bob Hayes in Tokyo in 1964 or of Bob Beamon shattering the world long jump record in Mexico City in 1968 by an astonishing foot and a half. If you came of age after me, your memories might be from 1976—of Nadia Comaneci of Romania, age 14, scoring the first perfect 10 in the gymnastic competition in Montreal, then repeating the feat six more times. Or maybe your first memories of the Olympics are of Carl Lewis, or Usain Bolt, or Michael Phelps, or Simone Biles, or Katie Ledecky.
Alternatively, perhaps what you remember most vividly from an Olympic Games past was not an incredible athletic feat but the compelling image of British sprinter, Derek Redmond, who after tearing his hamstring mid-race, was joined by his father who had come down from the stands to help his injured son limp across the finish line in Barcelona in 1992. Maybe it was Muhammad Ali lighting the torch in 1996 in Atlanta despite his struggles with Parkinson’s disease. Or Equatorial Guinea’s Eric Moussambani swimming the 100 meters alone after the two other contestants in his preliminary heat were disqualified. Moussambani had never even been in a pool bigger than the 20-meter hotel pool he had trained in back home. He barely made it down and back, yet won over a mystified, then wildly cheering Australian crowd over the two minutes it took him to swim the distance in Sydney in 2000.
I was seven when I was first inspired by the Olympic Games. The 1972 Summer Olympiad was held in Munich where American swimmer Mark Spitz, over eight days, won seven gold medals, setting a world record in each event, then Soviet teenager Olga Korbut stole the world’s heart with sparkling performances on the balance beam and floor exercise. Dave Wottle, wearing his lucky golf cap, was in last place on the track for the first 600 meters of the finals of the 800 meters before overtaking the entire field with an astonishing kick to claim gold. Lasse Virén of Finland won the 10,000 meters setting a world record—despite falling near the beginning of the race. Then there was the loss of the United States in basketball. The US appeared to have won 50–49 until the referees insisted that the last three seconds of the game be replayed and replayed and replayed—three times—until the Soviet Union won. And of course there was the searing memory of the coverage of the murder of two athletes from Israel in their rooms within the Olympic Village, followed by a botched hostage rescue attempt at the Munich airport leading to the deaths of nine other Israelis. ABC’s Jim McKay captured the ensuing shock and sorrow live on the air: “They’re all gone,” he said.
This year, as my wife Kelly and I have tuned in every night since the cauldron’s lighting at the opening ceremonies several days ago, we’ve marveled not only at the athleticism, the triumphs, and sometimes heartbreaking outcomes but even more so over the scintillating stories about the athletes—the long and winding roads which brought each of these young men and women to Paris. Stories like that of Amir Ansari, a cyclist competing as a part of the International Olympic Committee’s Refugee Team. Fleeing Afghanistan in 2015 at age 16, Ansari was smuggled by bus, train, and on foot through Iran, before making his way to Sweden where he began to train. Kelly remarked that it’s as if the life of every athlete there could be made into a full-length cinematic film even before they step into their respective arenas—arenas where the thrill of victory or agony of defeat is measured in inches or the blink of an eye.
I think what’s so magnetic and magnificent about the drama of the Olympics is that the Games prove something that resonates well beyond the wide world of sports. Something that shines a light on the whole of the human condition. A truth that’s both inspiring and universal, and it’s this: the faster we try to go, the higher we try to reach—the stronger we become.
Citius, Altius, Fortius
Faster, Higher, Stronger.
God—Thank You for the blessing of inspiration.
