A Blogger's Indecision:
Whenever I come to visit my parents, I lose a little bit of my Blogging courage. This is a shame because these visits also tend to inspire some pretty good writing. A couple of days ago I finished a piece that is sitting in my Draft folder right now, waiting to be posted.
In previous posts, I've covered the events leading up to my being blackballed from speedskating back in 1995. I have even mentioned that the years following my banishment from the sport were the worst years of my life. But what I haven't talked about is what actually went on during those years of exile. I want to share this story, but at the same time, I hesitate.
I'm reluctant to tell this story because admitting just how bad things got for me is a little bit embarrassing. I also hesitate because my parents are such private people, and Mom has already mentioned that she wished I were recording this in some notebook that sits in my room, rather than sharing it with the whole world on the internet.
On the other hand, I feel that this is an important part of my story, and it should be told. During my most difficult days, I was inspired by someone's words, and these words helped me to figure out my own life. Carl Cepuran, who encourages me to keep on writing, believes that my writing can be this kind of inspiration to someone else.
I guess the people I'm trying to reach are those who have been the collateral damage of the Olympic dream; the kids who have been chewed up and spat out by the American sports machine as it grinds on and on in search of the next cute Olympic Disney-movie fairy tale.
So, in the interest of what I believe to be the greater good, I will swallow my embarrassment and family pride, and at some point within the next couple of days, I will post the story of my Blackball Days. It's coming up next, guaranteed.
Whenever I come to visit my parents, I lose a little bit of my Blogging courage. This is a shame because these visits also tend to inspire some pretty good writing. A couple of days ago I finished a piece that is sitting in my Draft folder right now, waiting to be posted.
In previous posts, I've covered the events leading up to my being blackballed from speedskating back in 1995. I have even mentioned that the years following my banishment from the sport were the worst years of my life. But what I haven't talked about is what actually went on during those years of exile. I want to share this story, but at the same time, I hesitate.
I'm reluctant to tell this story because admitting just how bad things got for me is a little bit embarrassing. I also hesitate because my parents are such private people, and Mom has already mentioned that she wished I were recording this in some notebook that sits in my room, rather than sharing it with the whole world on the internet.
On the other hand, I feel that this is an important part of my story, and it should be told. During my most difficult days, I was inspired by someone's words, and these words helped me to figure out my own life. Carl Cepuran, who encourages me to keep on writing, believes that my writing can be this kind of inspiration to someone else.
I guess the people I'm trying to reach are those who have been the collateral damage of the Olympic dream; the kids who have been chewed up and spat out by the American sports machine as it grinds on and on in search of the next cute Olympic Disney-movie fairy tale.
So, in the interest of what I believe to be the greater good, I will swallow my embarrassment and family pride, and at some point within the next couple of days, I will post the story of my Blackball Days. It's coming up next, guaranteed.
posted by Eva at 1:42 PM
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