It’s Sunday, 9am. I crawl out of bed and switch on the TV in search of the snowboarding on TV. Not there. I switch on Sarah’s laptop and find that the BBC is broadcasting the boarding on broadband (brilliant!). Sarah comes to help and we fight with her laptop, 17 cables and our TV to find a way to watch the men’s snowboarding from the comfort of our sofa on our TV. It worked, and it was worth it. There were ally oops, McTwists, frontsides and backsides, switches and air to fakies. The dudes were stomping it. Ahem.
Watching snowboarding pros in a half pipe really does put in context the small achievements of getting down a red run without falling more than twice.
It’s Monday, 9.30 am and I’m at my desk at work. I know the women are boarding right now. I know it’s on broadband. I make a cup of tea and go to my meeting. God, I’m dedicated. That evening I get a paltry 10 minutes of the women in the highlights, but they’re 10 amazing minutes of awe-inspiring boarding.
The British contenders failed to get to the finals in both the men’s and the women’s. In the men’s, the commentator actually said “What was he thinking?!” at the trick that made it all go wrong. The woman fell flat on her face and never really got her confidence back. A real shame, but at least there’s a chance for me and Sarah for the next Olympics. No?