What we all thought upon seeing Marcell Jacobs win the gold medal in the 100 m at the Tokyo Olympics was a mixture of disbelief, amazement, and irrepressible joy. I can say with some confidence that almost no one of my generation and perhaps beyond ever thought they would see a gold won in a specialty that seemed firmly (and forever) in the hands of the Americans and Jamaicans. Instead, the unthinkable happened.
I don’t want to relive those nearly 10 perfect seconds now consigned to history: we have all seen them dozens if not hundreds of times already and will see them thousands more times in the future (and rightfully so).
Instead, I wanted to reflect on a piece that Jacobs himself wrote some time ago (he writes well too, take note). He wrote this for The Owl Post, a beautiful sports blog.
It is a memoir in which he recounts his change from a very promising athlete to a winner. He himself acknowledges how he was considered (and was, in fact) an athlete to whom something always happened before he could express himself. He would prepare, train, break his back, and then something would always happen on the starting blocks that would prevent him from competing: an intestinal discomfort, a muscle problem. Instead of causing him anger, these fatalities relieved him of the responsibility of competing: defeat, he says, almost seemed sweeter because after all, it was not up to him (one could always blame someone else or something else).
Finding something that prevented me from doing the time-that-I-could-have-done made the disappointment less bitter, because, after all, it was never entirely my fault. Defeat can also taste good. Even the best flavor you have tasted up to that day.
Until something made defeat unbearable for him:
By the time you figure out how to win, defeat begins to taste like mud, and the last thing you want is to have to swallow a few more spoonfuls.
Jacobs says that during the lockdown something clicked in his head: seeing everything stop made him realize by contrast that it was time to move, that going down that cursed straight depended only on him, certainly not on his physique. Suddenly he realized that victory was in his legs but that he demanded only one condition: the responsibility was his alone, no defeat was acceptable, and one could lose only against those who were stronger, not against the fate that had already tested him because of his father’s abandonment and life in a country where he still remained different (what a happy day it will be when we will no longer have to have such talks).
Then the champion inside him who was afraid to come out exploded. He felt light on his feet and was no longer afraid: the best European time trial and the third world time trial in Torun, Poland, gave him back a razor-sharp picture of his condition and the confidence that he has something to say at the next Olympics.
I felt like running fast, having fun and doing something big.
There is one word among his that struck me more than others and that is “fun.” We do not normally associate it with athletic effort because every champion or champion often seems to be facing the most important test of life and is dead serious. They are actually focused but, lo and behold, they do not seem to be having fun while competing. Instead, Marcell focused attention on that aspect as well.
I could not help but notice and remember that amused and playful feeling that the victorious Italian national team at the Europeans also expressed. I told myself (personal note) that the greatest gift these new generations are giving us is that you can smile and have fun. And winning.
That you don’t cross a finish line by staying serious and especially that smiling doesn’t slow you down or ruin your concentration.
Maybe it’s an extraordinary summer, who knows: Italy wins the European Championships and golds at the Olympics and we think there’s a beautiful design deciding these coincidences and maybe it’s just a fluke but let me think about it. In fact: let’s think about it, because it is beautiful.
A country accustomed to thinking that everything was done, everything was decided, that nothing would ever change, and that there was nothing left to have fun with unexpectedly has a generation of young athletes who have not been listening to the old and thought that things could be done differently, having fun.
I don’t know if there is a higher design in this: maybe it’s just a fluke. Yet I can’t help but notice that this new Italy is doing things we didn’t think possible, giving us joys, teaching us how it should be done: putting one’s problems in a box and not thinking they define you, not giving responsibility to anyone other than oneself, and winning, with a smile.
It can always be changed. Sometimes, in doing so, you also happen to become the best in the world. As Marcell Jacobs did.
(Photo credits: Instagram profile of Marcell Jacobs)