Friday Five: Running sounds

On Sunday I shall be running my first 10km race since rupturing my calf muscle nearly two years ago. It has been a long and sometimes painful recovery, but I have trained sensibly for once – the things you have to do when you’re over forty…

I know that many people run to music, and create dedicated soundtracks to motivate themselves. A friend even told me she had an app on her phone that made it sound like zombies were chasing her and would catch her if she slowed down. This sounds pretty traumatic to me, although each to their own, of course.

I never run with headphones. I can understand why you might want to at the gym, as it is incredibly tedious in there and some of the tracks they pump out are just awful. But when I’m running in the ‘great outdoors’, I actually like running and don't wish to be distracted from it. I want all my senses on full alert, and I like to listen to the world around me.

5 Things I Listen to when Running:

1. My breathing – the rhythm of your breath, your heel strike and your heartbeat are very important to running, (and to breathing). As a person prone to anxiety attacks I was encouraged to be aware of my breathing and control it through running, swimming and yoga.
2. Possible danger – I don’t just mean cars and out-of-control dogs, but having lived in Manchester, there is no way I would ever run down an alleyway without being able to hear exactly what or who is behind me. Wearing headphones tends to make you disconnected from your circumstances, thus compromising your own safety and that of those around you, and there’s a very good reason why they’re banned from many races.
3. Wildlife – With approximately 250 species, Canberra has the richest bird life of any city in Australia. From screeching and squawking to twittering and even laughing, they sound great and I wouldn’t want to miss that. Rustlings in the undergrowth alert me to lizards, possums and even snakes. I’ve yet to encounter a wombat while out running but Him Outdoors has and my time will surely come.
4. The elements – Whether it’s the wind in the wind in the trees, the trickling of a stream, or the lapping of the waves, nature doesn’t just look beautiful; it sounds it too. Running is a relaxant and a way to avoid the over-saturated stimuli of a media-concentrated world. An hour of peace and relative quiet is essential for my mental health.
5. Other people – it’s just sociable to reply when someone says hello to you as they run past.

Friday Five: Living Essentials

As we are moving to Australia, we have hired a container and have to pack our belongings into it. They will then be shipped and we shall see them on the other side, as it were, in about a month. So we have to keep certain items with us that we cannot do without and that we think we will need for the next several weeks until our home comforts arrive.

I am not including our cat in this list - he is being flown separately and at great expense, and beside, he is not a possession. If there is any possessing in our relationship, he is certainly not the object.

5 Things I Can't Leave Behind:

1. A good book - yes, of course I can buy more when I get there, but I have so many in my 'to be read' collection that it would be ludicrous not to keep a few with me
2. Running kit - if you had told me when I was younger that I wouldn't be able to travel without it, I would laughed in your face (from the comfort of the sofa) but as I've grown older, if not wiser, a good jog can make me feel better most days - and now that I am recovering from a crippling injury I don't want to waste any more time
3. Oil of Olay - I am not paid for this, I promise, but it is the only moisturiser I use, and it has SPF15 which provides some protection form the sun
4. Slippers - I just need my own sheepskin snuggle feet to feel comfortable - nana, I know
5. Trench coat - the most versatile coat I've ever owned; it's lightweight, stylish (I like to think so, anyway), and packs down into a rucksack really well

72 Hours in Christchurch

Saturday

2pm - Today was going to be the first time I had flown with Jetstar. Problems with checking in our bags proved to be problems with checking in at all – the flight was cancelled because ‘your plane is broken; it can’t fly’. Not terribly reassuring, but the staff at the desk (and at the Air New Zealand desk, where we booked a flight later in the day) were very helpful and pleasant. That can’t be easy when everyone is moaning at you.

3pm – After checking our bags onto the Air New Zealand flight, we went to a café over the road and had coffee and cake – carbo-loading for the race tomorrow. Or maybe just an excuse to pass the time with coffee and cake.

5pm – We arrived in the new bit of Christchurch Airport to be met by Wide Boy Steve. We had less than an hour to find the Horticultural Society (‘somewhere on Riccarton Ave’ according to Him Outdoors) and collect our race packs. WBS drove us in laps round Hagley Park – his attempts to ‘dive down this side road’ being thwarted by the fact that said side road was closed due to piles of earthquake rubble and unsound buildings. We got there with seconds to spare and collected our race packs containing our number and packets of goo.

7pm – Back at Lyttleton for dinner with our friends. Witch 3 had previously sent me a text asking, ‘Apart from beer, do you need anything special for dinner?’ She must be under the mistaken impression that we are athletes and take these race things seriously. We said no and so we had a delicious roast followed by pear halves and ice cream. And lots of beer. The scarlet reptile (their teenage daughter) is very vocal about her dislikes – pumpkin; pears; carrots; etc – but not so forthcoming about what she does like. When (if ever) does this change?

Sunday

7am – This is not a normal time on a Sunday for me. Him Outdoors woke me up with a cup of tea and two slices of toast; then bundled me into the car and drove me to Lincoln. I tried to navigate but it wasn’t easy with half of the roads blocked off. Christchurch hasn’t got many landmarks, but the few there were and now destroyed. In the daylight you can see the scale of destruction and it’s really quite depressing.

The Christchurch Marathon, Half Marathon and 10km used to follow a pretty pleasant route along the Avon. It can’t now, of course, and has been re-routed to Lincoln. The roads are long and straight and (most crucially) unimpeded by rippling concrete, liquefaction, and other earthquake consequences that the rest of the city displays. It has been a massive task getting this event up and running, as it were, and the organizers are to be commended for continuing. Traffic management is a bit of a problem as there is limited access to the university campus where the race begins, so the start is delayed by half an hour to let everyone arrive. Damn, foiled in that plan, then!

10am – Lincoln University has some impressive buildings – we scuttled around them looking for the start. Pre-race the talk was tough (‘Christchurch is back on its feet’; ‘We are up and running’ etc.) but the queue for the toilets was tougher!

11.30am – due to the staggered start times and the fact that he ran twice as far and almost twice as fast as I, Him Outdoors and I finished at about the same time. I was really just interested in making sure my knee held up to the distance (it’s the first race I’ve done since I damaged my knee about a year ago), and was going to run without a watch because the time wasn’t important and I knew it would only depress me. I couldn’t do it, though – I had to know my time (a very slow 1:02:57 if you’re interested) – what’s that about? At least I now know that if I carry on with all this boring gym and intensive physio stuff, I can run 10km again.

12pm – While waiting for prize-giving we went off to Hillyer’s Café to read the Sunday papers. It’s a pleasant wee spot which appears to be cycle-friendly (judging by the jerseys hanging outside and the pictures on the walls) and does great pies. Moving on for a change of scenery, The Bridge in Prebbleton had a warm fire, a comfy sofa and Speight’s Distinction.

4pm – Prize-giving was full of emotional speeches (Brian Taylor, a former race director and the chairman of the Christchurch Marathon Trust Board, was killed in the February earthquake) and seriously good holidays as spot prizes. We didn’t win any, although Him Outdoors picked up a rucksack for being second old git and 24th overall.

6pm – Once more back to Lyttleton where Witch 3 fed us pumpkin soup. After that and a bath I felt warm on the inside and the outside, so we headed out into what’s left of the town to celebrate. Keeping the local economy afloat we spent money in the Loons (drinking up their selection of good bottled beers) and the only recently re-opened Wunderbar. Apparently tonight is cross-dressing Sunday. The bloke behind the bar had gone to some effort (well, he’d put lipstick on, although he hadn’t shaved his beard) and informed us, ‘I’m a lady’. But of course you are.

Monday

10am – Witch 3 and Wide Boy Steve took us for a walk with their dopey dog. They can’t walk in the hills on their usual route because boulders and liable to come tumbling down. The buildings are all skewiff with leaning porches, broken brickwork, toppled chimneys and shattered windows. It felt wrong to catalogue this misery so instead WBS pointed out the yachts on the water, loosely tethered and free to escape. My knee began to hurt a little (clambering over the rocks probably isn’t the best exercise for it) so we walked back along the road through abandoned subdivisions full of previously desirable residences where no one wants to live anymore.

2pm – Met some friends in Becks Southern Alehouse. We had been going to somewhere else but it was closed; this is how you arrange to meet people in Christchurch now. Over a couple of beers and a bowl of wedges we discussed the damage to people’s homes, their access to fresh water, and the council’s job of keeping everyone informed with the most recent information while various departments bicker over supremacy and protocol. There is no other topic of conversation up here. My friend told me she was almost as fed up with talking about it as she is with the constant aftershocks.

6pm – The boys went out to get Chinese takeaways and fish and chips while we stayed in to talk more nonsense, of which there seems to be an endless supply. We ate dinner while watching the final episode of Sherlock, which we taped last night. Benedict Cumberbatch is brilliantly self-interested as Holmes and Martin Freeman (somewhat of a favourite of mine) is a powerfully under-stated Dr Watson. I wasn’t sure about dragging this classic drama into the present with all the technical gizmos and flash filming techniques, but I have thoroughly enjoyed this miniseries – and am more than slightly disappointed that it’s over.

We had an early start in the morning (when we finally flew Jetstar after all) so we took ourselves off to bed for another shaky night. Yep, the earth moved for us, but I’m sure that ‘joke’ has worn very thin in Christchurch. We were only there for three days and although I was happy to catch up with friends, I was also glad to leave it all behind.

Levelling the playing field

Today I went for a run along the Kelvin Heights Track. I used to love this track; with its dips and twists and tricky terrain it gave me something on which to focus (other than tired legs and burning lungs). When I rode my mountain bike along it, there were three points where I had to dismount – I knew when I was getting fitter and my technical ability was improving when I could negotiate the steps, rocks and narrow hairpins with more ease.

Admittedly I once took a corner too fast and went flying over the handlebars, chipping my front teeth as I fell. It’s actually a good job I did (come off that is) as the bike itself ended up in the lake. That was part of it – it was exciting and exhilarating and you had to concentrate on what you were doing.

Now the track is practically unrecognisable. It has been widened and levelled and smoothed out. There are no more rocks, steps, streams or light corners to negotiate. Toddlers on tricycles, parents with pushchairs and women in stilettos can amble along it. They scenery is still as stunning as ever, but you might as well stick it on a video and run on a treadmill. It’s boring. I suppose the only good thing about it is that it is now accessible to people in wheelchairs. It is accessible to everyone. And that’s the problem.

These days it seems that to avoid the charge of being elitist (apparently a heinous crime), we have to make everything available to everyone. Which brings me to tertiary education. There was a time in Britain when the top 2% of students went to university. Those wanting something slightly less academic and more vocational went to polytechnic (this was approximately the next 5%). If they passed all their exams and fulfilled their course requirements, they got degrees.

There were no fees involved because the government could afford to subsidise the brightest (by which I mean most academic in this instance) 7% of the populace. Now anyone can go as long as they can afford it – no one fails but most get hefty debts with which to begin their adult life. Of course the government can no longer afford to pay everyone’s fees but never mind – it keeps folk off the unemployment figures for a few more years.

Where there used to be diplomas, certificates and apprenticeships for those wanting to pursue a career in the trades, now there are wall-to-wall degrees. We want everyone to have one because it ‘proves’ we are becoming more educated. So, you can get a degree in golf management, pet psychology, food and drink design, e-bay, and Klingon. I’m not kidding. A degree used to carry some weight; now it’s not worth the piece of paper it’s written on.

By banning elitism, we are encouraging mediocrity, and it starts at school-level, both in the classroom and in the playground. Everyone who enters the race gets a certificate and spot prizes are more valued than performance – it really is the participation and not the winning that counts. This is all well and good, but don’t expect honour and glory, or medals and awards.

In allowing everyone to achieve, have we not simply lowered the standard of achievement?

Lake Hayes Women's Triathlon

The day of the Lake Hayes Women’s Triathlon was beautiful and sunny, dammit, so I couldn’t use the weather as an excuse not to enter!

I’ve done it a couple of times before – a long time ago when I was fit (2003 & 2004). Now I’m really not and it hurts to know that I had it and then I lost it. If ever there was a supportive and encouraging way to try and get back into it, however, it is the Southern Lakes Women’s Triathlon.

This is its 18th year and also incorporates a duathlon for those without the time or inclination to add another discipline to their training regime. In the past, starts have been fierce (I have been scratched, gouged, had my goggles kicked off and received a nosebleed) so it was a welcome addition to have two starts for the swimmers. We began on either side of the big tree and there were two buoys out in the lake so those on the left could swim round one and those on the right picked out the other.

I had swum in the lake the previous week and found that it was plenty warm enough. Also, the distance is only 300m so at current fitness levels, that should take me approximately 8 – 9 minutes. It takes me about that long to wrestle myself out of my wetsuit, so I decided not to wear it. The water really was fine and although my feet went numb, they always do.

The run up to the bikes is the toughest part of the course – you’ve just come out of the water; you’re disorientated; you’re not breathing properly and you’re faced with a gravel hill to run up in bare (numb) feet. Because the entrance and exit point is the same, there was a flag to run around to make sure that everyone went the same distance. My transition was not too bad and I was soon on to my bike and out on the course. Here I merged with all the other disciplines – those who had paddled kayaks and those who had run 1½km as a start to their duathlon.

The bike ride begins with a gravel track that I travelled over very gingerly – I don’t want to puncture my tyres at the very beginning of the bike leg. (One girl got three punctures on this ride.) This would be the only 100 yards or so where I would have been pleased to be riding a mountain bike.

When I watched the World Triathlon Champions in 2003 (the swim was right here in this lake), a Canadian girl in mid-race mode yelled out at us, ‘Where’s the mountain lion?’ At least that’s what I thought she said – it made some sort of sense that in her adrenalin-fuelled delirium she thought she was back home and being pursued by big bobcats. It turns out she was asking the whereabouts of the ‘mount line’ – the point at which you are officially meant to get on and off your bike. I think of this every time I do a triathlon now, and it makes me smile – you find your pleasure where you can...

I like the bike ride on this course – there are no hills, which is always a positive for me. Today there was no wind and the speeds could crank up quite high. Generally drafting is illegal in triathlons so, although this event was pretty low-key in that regard and no mention was made of it in the briefing, I decided against doing it. Not so a couple of others (the only person who passed me on the bike leg did so after sitting on my wheel for a good third of the leg) but that’s up to them.

Back having racked the bike, changed shoes and run round the flag again, it was off on the run leg. Now, this does have hills. It’s on a section of the excellent track that circumnavigates Lake Hayes. By now it was hot and the gravel track was dusty, making it hard to breathe, and it felt like a bit of a struggle.

I was pleased to take on some water at the turnaround. Incidentally, there was a bottle of water in our race packs, but I would have preferred cups at the finish – when you cross the line on a hot day you want a drink immediately, not after you’ve found your vehicle and rummaged around in your bag. This is merely a minor quibble – everything else about the event was very well organised.

I walk around this lake nearly every Friday with my friend and I never think it is particularly tough. Admittedly we usually stop to throw sticks for her dopey dog, and there wasn’t a lot of that going on today. The views are still breathtakingly scenic, however, which could be another handy excuse for lack of breath.

I am not a runner and admire those who are – some of these ladies were skipping past me on the way back when I was grinding my way out. They looked fresh and shiny in their running kit while I was a heaving sweaty lump, and I was gasping by the time I thankfully saw the finishing chute.

We waited and applauded as others came in – each with their own personal achievement. That’s what I like about this event; everyone has a goal and they are all different.

Some are national triathletes down from Auckland to get in some extra training and win the race in what the papers described as a ‘blistering pace’; some are simply comparing their times with the previous year.

Some are entering with a group of friends to have fun and work on their fitness; some are hoping to win a spot-prize (the girl who won the great prize of a Giant bike generously donated by Veritgo didn’t actually own one previously).

Some see it as a perfect opportunity to try out their first ever triathlon or duathlon and they are right to choose it. Everyone there has done well, and by the smiles on the faces, they have had fun too!

Hard work doesn't pay

Last weekend we went down to Invercargill so that Him Outdoors could run the Southland Marathon. It was celebrating its one hundredth anniversary and is the oldest full distance marathon in the Southern Hemisphere.

I hobbled around the 10km on a dodgy knee, and Him Outdoors ran the marathon in a personal best time (2:52:15) – he doesn’t really ‘do’ marathons unless they are off-road and over mountains.

But this isn’t really the point. What I noticed was that he was equal 23rd overall and 14th Master (a ‘Master’ is over 35 on race day). Twelve of the top 20 males were Masters. There were 33 Open men, and 159 Masters. In the women’s category the top two women were Masters. The ratio of Open to Masters was 17:58.

In the half-marathon, Bernie Portenski ran 1:27:27, the second fastest half marathon ever by a woman over 60. She was just over a minute outside the world record. I don’t suppose you heard about it.

You probably did hear about the LG Text championships, because it was on national news. The national ‘champion’ won $10,000 and a trip to New York to represent NZ in the world championships where the winner gets USD100,000.

Despite all the talk about battling obesity and pushing play, sport is not really encouraged for young folk. Obviously the bright lights and big dollars have allure. In real sport (from which I am excluding X-games, Monopoly, poker and paintball), there isn’t any for anything other than rugby. Hopefully the fantastic All Whites victory (although they might have to change that moniker in South Africa) might change this. But I doubt it.

Apart from some nationalistic flag waving, the Olympic rowing and cycling medals had little effect on the youth psyche. Why? Because it’s hard work. It’s a hell of a lot of training for a number of years to perhaps get a medal, and you probably won’t be that good. Early morning starts, quantified nutritional intake, sacrifices of nights out drinking and partying, commitment and dedication… Why not just press a few buttons or throw a few dice instead?

Peter Snell, John Walker, Murray Halberg, Dick Quax, Arthur Lydiard, Marise Chamberlain, Alison Roe – these are legendary names and rightfully so. They earned their reputation and respect by quite literally doing the hard yards.

Times have changed and what kids want these days, according to career surveys and interviews, is money and the ‘fame’. Often they have no concept that they actually have to earn that fame.

A friend of mine who interviewed potential hosts for a radio station told me that when she asked the candidates why they wanted to be on the radio, they nearly all said because they wanted to be famous – not a good journalist, a knowledgeable presenter, a music lover, a comedian, or even (perhaps knowing that they lacked any aptitude) a personality.

With the comparable rewards that are being offered, no wonder kids would rather sit on their arses text messaging their friends than go out training for five hours a day, fitted around their ‘real’ job because they can’t get sponsorship to be an athlete. They may be lazy, but they’re not stupid.

Scorching Bay Triathlon - Workplace Challenge

As the alarm goes off at 6am on Sunday after four hours of sleep and three heavy nights (it was the Sevens after all) my thoughts are less than charitable – ‘whose stupid idea was it to enter the workplace challenge triathlon?’ I grumble. The fact that it was my suggestion doesn’t make it any more palatable.

I eat my two slices of toast and honey (which is a bit of a ritual before a race) and wait for another of my team member to arrive while blearily watching the football. Liverpool are 0-0 with Portsmouth at half-time. (They go on to a thrilling 3-2 victory away from home, so that cheers me up when I watch the second half later.)

When I start to wonder why she hasn’t arrived, I check my cell phone which bleeps jauntily that she will meet me at transition – I must have got my wires crossed, or definitely blurred!

I cram on my helmet and shoes (my feet are swollen from dancing all night in high heeled boots – well, England won the Sevens!) and leap onto my bike to pedal to the start. What a day! The wind barely ruffles the harbour, although it is steadily building, and the sun is out strong already. Today will certainly be a day to slip, slop, slap, and wrap, or whatever other non-alliterative words have been added to the slogan.

My team are there at the start as I rack my bike among the other trusty steeds waiting patiently for the long course – sorry, I get a bit carried away when talking about my bike. I love my bike. We have team photos. There are two of our workplace teams – a girl team (called ‘Don’t Give Up Your Day Job’)


and a boy team (called ‘The Fit, the Fat, and the Frog).

Our fearless swimmer is clad merely in togs. She is nuts. Or maybe, just German. Last night as I partied hard in Courtenay Place with some Morris Dancers and the Cookie Monster, a tiny voice in the back of my mind was telling me to go home and get some rest. A couple of pints of Epic silenced it without too many problems, but I knew our fearless swimmer would be safely tucked up in bed. She was.

Their fearless swimmer is not looking too keen. He too was at the Sevens, and he too thinks this is a ridiculous idea, but at least he is wearing a wetsuit. There is some nervous standing about at the water’s edge, and then they’re off, splashing about in the water and hunting down those orange buoys. The wind is picking up and things start bobbing in the water.

Our fearless swimmer does a great time and she sprints dripping up into the transition where she hands over to me and I set out on my trip around the bays. Their fearless swimmer emerges from the water a short while later so I have to try and maintain the gap between us.

Of course, the wind is strong now – particularly heading past the airport at Lyall Bay – and I know this will be even worse on my return. People come whistling past me and the medium course turn around (at 10km) looks very tempting. I briefly consider whether anyone would notice if I didn’t plough on up the hill and stopped for a coffee instead. But this would be cheating, and even if I feel terrible, I do not cheat.

I start grinding up the hill and my mind wonders off somewhere, only to be startled and alarmed when I find I have fallen into the gutter by the side of the road and can’t get back out. Ouch. I bump to a standstill. Bumping and grinding, but it’s not that much fun and I have knocked the speed and distance counter doodacky out of kilter. I’m embarrassed more than hurt as I dust myself off and try to get going again – uphill into a headwind – and find it’s hard to get enough pressure to clip into my pedals.

I concentrate for the rest of the way round and although people hurtle past on the way down as well (I am such a womble going downhill) and the wind is buffeting me off my bike on the way back, I make it to the transition in one piece. I hand over to our fearless runner and she skips off looking fresh and sprightly and not at all as though she was sinking pints in the pub last night.

Crazy frog is right behind and his fearless runner sets off in hot (and I do mean hot – that wind is doing nothing to reduce the temperature) pursuit. Their team is the fit, the fat and the frog – and as he is French, I’m guessing that he is the latter of the trio. His first words on dismount are, ‘My bottom is sore!’ but he has done a great job.

He hands over to their fearless runner, who (as an ex-army dude) is racing in tracksters. It is so hot that he will come to regret that later. The run is two laps, so we see them both come and go out and back and out and then back again – hurrah! Our team wins so there are even more hurrahs, but we can afford to be gracious in victory.

I realise that our teams combined comprise Team Europe. Of the six people from our workplace who accepted this challenge, not a one is a Kiwi – aren’t they meant to be a healthy sporting nation? There is a coffee queue for miles at the café on the front, and not a single one of our sextet collects a spot prize, but we go back to mine where Him Outdoors has cooked a massive fry-up so we all feel like winners.

The wind is now more than a stiff breeze and the sailboats are zipping across the bay. As we stretch out on the sofas and drink cups of tea we congratulate ourselves on our efforts. We are saying nicer things about the race now than we did this morning, but everyone is still wary about committing to the next one!

If you're interested in things like results, check them out here.

Individual Olympics

The Olympics have begun, with an opening ceremony that him indoors described as, ‘Thousands of people doing synchronized running around. It’s not my sort of thing at all, but they’re very good at it.’ They also wafted about on aerial hoists and let off numerous fireworks, which must have done wonders for the smog situation in Beijing.

I’m not particularly fussed for the opening ceremony – it’s a fantastic waste of money as far as I can see (although I love the fireworks and think it is weird how the athletes all come out with their camcorders filming the crowd as though they were the celebrities), but now the games begin properly and the sporting types are out in earnest.

Certain things have always blighted the Olympics, and I’m not even going to touch upon the politics. There is no way that politics can be kept out of sport and anyone who suggests they should be (the ‘keepoos’ – KEEP Politics Out Of Sport – as Tim Shadboldt calls them) is evidently deluded.

My qualms centre on what sports are included and which are overlooked. Whether I like synchronized swimming, BMX jumping or rhythm gymnastics or not (I don’t) is not the point. Beach volleyball is also besides the point as it is simply ridiculous and not a real sport – any discipline that has regulations about how skimpy your clothing must be makes a mockery of the athleticism of the games.

I don’t think team sports should be included. I don’t believe football (which only America and New Zealand insist on calling soccer) should be included. This is not just because it would be the only time we play this game under the guise of Great Britain. Similarly, hockey, basketball, handball and waterpolo should be ousted from the tournament.

The Olympics are about the strength, speed and skill of the individual. Team games are fantastic to watch and have an entirely different dynamic from individual sporting endeavours, but they do not embody the principles of faster, higher, stronger which the Olympic Games represent.

Because I am completely arbitrary and this is my opinion, I will allow relay teams in running and swimming, and teams in cycling (pursuit and madison) and rowing (pairs, fours and eights, coxless or otherwise). I’m not entirely sure why, but these things seem right whereas baseball and softball don’t. Actually, softball never seems right (you might as well have underarm cricket), but that is another issue

I have heard the argument that no sport should be included if it has another and greater sporting stage – such as tennis or road race cycling. Does anyone who has just watched Wimbledon or the Tour de France really care who wins the medals for these competitions? I agree with this, but it is not the issue under discussion here.

I feel that these team sports remove the gloss and the prestige from the real medal winners – I mean, in a team sport you can have a stinker of a game and your team still wins. Do you deserve an Olympic Gold medal? I think not. If there is any doubt, ask Lay Down Sally.