My Olympic heroes (heroines?)

Well, they’re finally going to try holding the Olympic Summer Games, starting later this month. I personally hope they manage it, safely and successfully. I look forward to watching the competitions. Olympics time is the only chance many of us get to see some of those contests.

I got to thinking about past Olympics, both summer and winter, and some of the people who have been heroes to me. And guess what? I realized none of my greatest Olympic heroes have been men. They’ve all been women.

That’s right. As a kid, I sat there watching the Olympics on TV, while either cheering or being elated by the performances of certain female athletes more than the men. Okay, maybe I had a crush. Or two. But that doesn’t explain it all.

Not only did I cheer, but the individuals for whom I cheered haven’t necessarily been the women that most people would think of, if they were choosing all-time Olympic heroes. Johns Hopkins University research data.

For one thing, my greatest Summer Olympics hero was not a gymnast. The top female gymnast is always the sweetheart of the Games, right? Well, okay, I guess. But I was different.

Oh, sure, I admired Olga Korbut in 1972 and 1976. I also was impressed by Nadia Comaneci when she came along with all those perfect tens.

But my absolute biggest hero – or heroine, if you insist – was in track and field. Her name was Wilma Rudolph. She had overcome polio as a child to become the greatest female sprinter of her time, which she proved in 1960, in Rome.

It was amazing to a young guy, sitting on the edge of the couch, watching that old black and white TV. There would be all these women lined up, ready to run. They would get set. The gun would sound. And all those women would start running like their hair was on fire.

And then suddenly here came this gazelle, separating herself, pulling away from the others, like it was no contest. Almost like it was unfair. But it wasn’t unfair. She was simply the best there was. Who could possibly catch Wilma Rudolph?

My all-time Winter Olympics hero was also a woman, and in more of a traditional arena for heroes to be born. Just as the Summer Games has its sweetheart in gymnastics, in every Winter Olympics, the woman’s figure skating champ is automatically crowned the sweetheart of the Games, whether she’s from the USA, Russia or Timbuktu. But this gal was American.

These days, I admit that I enjoy watching the athleticism of the skaters, male and female. But my favorite wasn’t a quadruple jumping, backflipping (okay, I’m exaggerating) skater.

My favorite was an incredibly artistic, impossibly graceful Peggy Fleming. It was 1968, in Grenoble. Wearing that chartreuse costume.

She seemed to float over the ice, like she wasn’t even wearing skates.

So those are my heroes. It’s never bothered me that two of my athletic idols happened to be women. Maybe I had crushes. But I’d like to think it was their accomplishments, and the quality of those accomplishments, rather than their gender, that I admired then and continue to admire to this day. Every once in a while I come upon a recipe online. Okay, okay, it happens all the time. Every day in fact. Yes, I’ve tried a few. Some have worked. Some – well, I think some of them may have been sabotaged.

But rarely have I come across a recipe that takes me back. It happened not long ago, when it briefly caught my eye, causing me to stop and scroll back to it.

“Macaroni and tomatoes,” it said. “A delicious side dish.”

I was suddenly taken back to a time when Mom would whip up a macaroni and tomato dish. Sometimes it was as a side dish. And well, it sometimes it was supper.

It was not to be confused with spaghetti sauce in any way. Spaghetti was a completely different thing. Anyway, I opened the recipe, made a copy and a few days later I tried it.

I’m pretty sure Mom didn’t use exactly the same ingredients that are called for in this recipe. But my results tasted enough like her results that the memories came flooding in. And the taste buds also approved.

Having thought about it. I bet there were a lot of moms out there who could take a can of tomatoes and some macaroni and come up with something that could help fill the empty spot. Or in some cases, even fill it completely. I can’t help but wonder if that simple recipe came about out of necessity, when times might have been just a bit difficult. Anyway, I think it’s good.

Whatever, the way to make macaroni and tomatoes is printed on a card and safely stored in my recipe box. And while it may not be exactly what Mom made, it’s close enough.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: David Nichol is a freelance writer who retired from the Times-Herald. He can be contacted at nicholdb@cablelynx.com.)