PODIUM

Matthew Sharpe’s Olympic Reflections

WE HAD BEEN in Mooloolaba, Australia

for about three days. And before that, at a Triathlon Canada training camp in the Algarve region of Portugal. It felt like we were running away from the virus. Just managing to keep it off our shoulder. Surging away, just as it would reconnect. As borders closed in Europe, Portugal was still relatively COVID-free (although knowing what we know now, it probably wasn’t). The World Triathlon Series race in Abu Dhabi, part of our Olympic qualification, had been cancelled due to an outbreak at the hotels we were meant to stay in. We had hastily changed our flights to head straight to Mooloolaba and start our season a week later than expected. The last few days of camp were spent in an anxious haze of training, recovering and hunting for masks and hand sanitizer ahead of the cross-world journey.

The airports in Faro, Munich, Abu Dhabi and Brisbane were still fairly busy when we began our journey at the beginning of March. Usually, for me, travel is filled with an optimistic energy. There is always an exciting potential in traveling, especially for a race. Starting our journey there was still an energy, but it was far from normal. At the airports there were those who were going about their business like nothing had changed, and those, like me, who were diligently hand-sanitizing and donning non-medical masks. And there were the ones in the Abu Dhabi airport who looked like they had come straight out of

Breaking Bad, with head-to-toe hazmat suits and gas masks. And, to be fair, I thought they were pretty smart.

At first, arriving in Australia felt like we had finally dropped the virus. Running down the homestretch away to some kind of viral-free victory. Then Tom Hanks got sick on the Gold Coast a couple of hours south of where we were supposed to compete. Then the NBA postponed their season. Then the Australian government cancelled all events greater than 50 people, starting the following Monday. Our race was scheduled for Saturday afternoon, narrowly missing the cutoff.

On the start line I was grateful to have the opportunity to compete. I even joked with a competitor saying, “This is gonna be our Olympics.” And, sadly, it kind of was. I had an average race in Mooloolaba, finishing in 19th place. When I finished, all I wanted to do was get home, back to some stability.

Arriving back in Canada in midMarch was a whirlwind of nothingness, trying to find a routine amid the twoweek quarantine.

“Could I run outside? If no one is around?” “Will I be racing in Spain in a month?” “Will I be racing this year?” I had many questions. Some had always been there, but were brought forth due to the postponement of the Olympics. I began working with my sports psychologist, and that brought up Continued on p.55…