What it Meant to be the "Lightning Rod" of U.S. Speedskating:
When I first started this blog, I thought it would be funny to give myself the "jock name" of Lightning Rod (from the first 3 letters of my last name and because, to me, it represented "getting struck" more than it represented going fast.) In the end, this image of the lightning rod turned out to be even more appropriate than I could ever have imagined.
It's funny because the highest level I ever reached in this sport was B-Group champion at the World Cup Final, making me only "sort-of lightning fast." But I continued to be "struck" by U.S. Speedskating right up until the very end.
The interesting thing was that I began to see the term "lightning rod" used in the media, to describe a politician or an athlete who was a controversial figure. I saw that the person who was called a "lightning rod" was someone who was willing to bring attention to difficult issues or problems, possibly at the expense of their own career, or at least at the risk of damaging the way they are perceived by others.
As I prepare to re-enter the real world of working people (I had my first interview at the Human Genetics Institute yesterday) I've been thinking about my leave of absence from graduate school and what I've accomplished throughout the last 5 years of devoting myself to competing internationally in speedskating...especially in terms of my eventual failure to make an Olympic Team before calling it quits.
As I talk to people I meet, I realize that it will be impossible to explain to most people what happened to me in speedskating. Even some of my closest friends in the sport can't seem to understand why I don't want to watch the Olympics!!! The only thing I can say to explain to people why I left the sport on such negative terms is, "It's complicated."
Even though I didn't make the Olympic Team, I still don't think the last 5 years have been a total waste, either in my enjoyment of what I was doing, or in what I've accomplished.
When I was in graduate school at a cancer research institute, all of my time was devoted to research and studying. Though I liked my career direction better than any other I could have chosen, I kind of resented the idea that I had to sacrifice my entire life to it, because I was "trying to cure cancer and save other people's lives."
To make matters worse, I was a total "endorphin junkie," and needed a great deal of physical exercise to stay sane. For example, I'd set up a polymerase chain reaction, and while it was running, I'd go skate laps around the parking lot on my inlines. Then I was told, "You know, you could be reading the literature while your PCR is running."
As I look back on my decision to come back to speedskating, I'd be satisfied to see the Olympics as nothing more than an excuse for working out 4-6 hours a day; something I could hold out to society as an acceptable goal that made it OK for me to leave cancer research for a while. It's not like I didn't have a chance in hell of making the team. I only missed it by 0.08 in the 1000 meters, after all.
I've mentioned before that having positive role models who defied society's expectations made it easier for me to pursue the life I wanted. What I haven't yet talked about is the person whose negative assessment of me turned out to be the final straw that sealed my decision to go on leave of absence to pursue speedskating.
When I was feeling depressed in grad school, I was referred to a psychologist through the school's health plan. I told this lady that I was depressed with my life and sad that I couldn't pursue speedskating because I had been blackballed. But, from somewhere way out in left field, she pulled her own interpretation of what was going on in my head. She told me, "Girls like you belong in the lab, because no man would ever want you."
I started to laugh, thinking she was telling a joke because I couldn't believe anyone would be serious about something like that. But then she went on, saying, "And if there ever was a panel of women scientists on TV, they wouldn't choose you, because no little girl would ever want to be like you, either."
After that appointment, I called to cancel any further sessions, telling her I was "cured" and didn't need her help any more. The bitch was so proud of herself.
That interaction made me very angry, but in the end it turned out to be exactly what I needed to finalize my decision to leave the lab for a while. I thought, "What she just put into words was this society's view of People Like Me. So, screw everybody else -- I'm going to go do WHAT I WANT for a while!"
Within a few months, I was training in Salt Lake City.
From the beginning of my comeback to the sport, I knew that U.S. Speedskating was a small world that had been hostile to me before. But in my first few years back, I acted as though my goals lined up with what supposedly were their goals: To help people skate fast and to send the best possible team to competitions.
As the years went on and I had some really bad experiences with the federation, I realized that it would not be possible for me to maintain the illusion that this sport was pure. My goals in the sport split in two: Either I would succeed despite every obstacle they intentionally put in my path, or I would tell the whole world the truth about how U.S. Speedskating operates. Or, of course, some combination of the two.
I began to study the culture of U.S. Speedskating as if it were a culture of bacteria in a Petri dish. The problem is that I got too involved with my subject matter. Even as I healed some of my old wounds in this sport, I made new ones along the way. I bought into the illusion of the Olympic Dream. I have to admit that the only time in my life that I've been truly happy is when I lived as if I believed it were possible for me to be a speedskating champion.
Even though I often resented my role as the "Lightning Rod;" the one who brings up the tough issues; the one who stirs up discontent; the one who tries hard and fails; I believe that my writing has done some good. I think I've put some ideas into people's heads, and some words into their mouths; words that were needed to describe problems that were either too vague or too disturbing for people to want to face.
In the world of medicine, anti-cancer chemotherapy drugs kill some healthy cells along with the malignant ones. From my perspective, the "immune system" of U.S. Speedskating has broken down, and as a result, the organization has become riddled with malignancies. If change is to come about, then the whole body has to feel a little bit sick in the process. The cure doesn't come easy, but there comes a point where the tumors can no longer be ignored.
As I return to the world of REAL cancer research, I don't think I'll want to be involved in sports politics at all. Other people can do it better - you know, the ones who don't feel so much hatred towards people who've destroyed their favorite dream! But maybe someday, (from a distance, of course) I'll hear that the first cancer I helped to cure was the cancer within U.S. Speedskating.
When I first started this blog, I thought it would be funny to give myself the "jock name" of Lightning Rod (from the first 3 letters of my last name and because, to me, it represented "getting struck" more than it represented going fast.) In the end, this image of the lightning rod turned out to be even more appropriate than I could ever have imagined.
It's funny because the highest level I ever reached in this sport was B-Group champion at the World Cup Final, making me only "sort-of lightning fast." But I continued to be "struck" by U.S. Speedskating right up until the very end.
The interesting thing was that I began to see the term "lightning rod" used in the media, to describe a politician or an athlete who was a controversial figure. I saw that the person who was called a "lightning rod" was someone who was willing to bring attention to difficult issues or problems, possibly at the expense of their own career, or at least at the risk of damaging the way they are perceived by others.
As I prepare to re-enter the real world of working people (I had my first interview at the Human Genetics Institute yesterday) I've been thinking about my leave of absence from graduate school and what I've accomplished throughout the last 5 years of devoting myself to competing internationally in speedskating...especially in terms of my eventual failure to make an Olympic Team before calling it quits.
As I talk to people I meet, I realize that it will be impossible to explain to most people what happened to me in speedskating. Even some of my closest friends in the sport can't seem to understand why I don't want to watch the Olympics!!! The only thing I can say to explain to people why I left the sport on such negative terms is, "It's complicated."
Even though I didn't make the Olympic Team, I still don't think the last 5 years have been a total waste, either in my enjoyment of what I was doing, or in what I've accomplished.
When I was in graduate school at a cancer research institute, all of my time was devoted to research and studying. Though I liked my career direction better than any other I could have chosen, I kind of resented the idea that I had to sacrifice my entire life to it, because I was "trying to cure cancer and save other people's lives."
To make matters worse, I was a total "endorphin junkie," and needed a great deal of physical exercise to stay sane. For example, I'd set up a polymerase chain reaction, and while it was running, I'd go skate laps around the parking lot on my inlines. Then I was told, "You know, you could be reading the literature while your PCR is running."
As I look back on my decision to come back to speedskating, I'd be satisfied to see the Olympics as nothing more than an excuse for working out 4-6 hours a day; something I could hold out to society as an acceptable goal that made it OK for me to leave cancer research for a while. It's not like I didn't have a chance in hell of making the team. I only missed it by 0.08 in the 1000 meters, after all.
I've mentioned before that having positive role models who defied society's expectations made it easier for me to pursue the life I wanted. What I haven't yet talked about is the person whose negative assessment of me turned out to be the final straw that sealed my decision to go on leave of absence to pursue speedskating.
When I was feeling depressed in grad school, I was referred to a psychologist through the school's health plan. I told this lady that I was depressed with my life and sad that I couldn't pursue speedskating because I had been blackballed. But, from somewhere way out in left field, she pulled her own interpretation of what was going on in my head. She told me, "Girls like you belong in the lab, because no man would ever want you."
I started to laugh, thinking she was telling a joke because I couldn't believe anyone would be serious about something like that. But then she went on, saying, "And if there ever was a panel of women scientists on TV, they wouldn't choose you, because no little girl would ever want to be like you, either."
After that appointment, I called to cancel any further sessions, telling her I was "cured" and didn't need her help any more. The bitch was so proud of herself.
That interaction made me very angry, but in the end it turned out to be exactly what I needed to finalize my decision to leave the lab for a while. I thought, "What she just put into words was this society's view of People Like Me. So, screw everybody else -- I'm going to go do WHAT I WANT for a while!"
Within a few months, I was training in Salt Lake City.
From the beginning of my comeback to the sport, I knew that U.S. Speedskating was a small world that had been hostile to me before. But in my first few years back, I acted as though my goals lined up with what supposedly were their goals: To help people skate fast and to send the best possible team to competitions.
As the years went on and I had some really bad experiences with the federation, I realized that it would not be possible for me to maintain the illusion that this sport was pure. My goals in the sport split in two: Either I would succeed despite every obstacle they intentionally put in my path, or I would tell the whole world the truth about how U.S. Speedskating operates. Or, of course, some combination of the two.
I began to study the culture of U.S. Speedskating as if it were a culture of bacteria in a Petri dish. The problem is that I got too involved with my subject matter. Even as I healed some of my old wounds in this sport, I made new ones along the way. I bought into the illusion of the Olympic Dream. I have to admit that the only time in my life that I've been truly happy is when I lived as if I believed it were possible for me to be a speedskating champion.
Even though I often resented my role as the "Lightning Rod;" the one who brings up the tough issues; the one who stirs up discontent; the one who tries hard and fails; I believe that my writing has done some good. I think I've put some ideas into people's heads, and some words into their mouths; words that were needed to describe problems that were either too vague or too disturbing for people to want to face.
In the world of medicine, anti-cancer chemotherapy drugs kill some healthy cells along with the malignant ones. From my perspective, the "immune system" of U.S. Speedskating has broken down, and as a result, the organization has become riddled with malignancies. If change is to come about, then the whole body has to feel a little bit sick in the process. The cure doesn't come easy, but there comes a point where the tumors can no longer be ignored.
As I return to the world of REAL cancer research, I don't think I'll want to be involved in sports politics at all. Other people can do it better - you know, the ones who don't feel so much hatred towards people who've destroyed their favorite dream! But maybe someday, (from a distance, of course) I'll hear that the first cancer I helped to cure was the cancer within U.S. Speedskating.
posted by Eva at 7:26 AM
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