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I don’t know how many if you saw the Opening Ceremonies last Friday. I enjoyed watching it with my family and remembering my own trip to Russia fourteen years ago. I appreciated the emotion with which each athlete entered the stadium and the years of work represented by just being able to represent their country as an Olympian. You could see the pride on their faces to represent their country, but none showed the level of emotion and excitement as the only Venezuelan athlete that came in.
Antonio José Pardo Andretta is the only Venezuelan representing his country in the Winter Olympic Games in Sochi, Russia, in 2014. He is 43 years old and he began skiing competitively in 2011, after losing his job and being inspired by the Winter Olympics in Toronto, Canada, in 2010.
I was impressed by his enthusiasm – he was almost dancing as he lifted the Venezuela flag, full of anticipation and joy. He began working to fulfill his dream at the age of 40.
What dream would you love to realize if age didn’t matter?
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After my precarious entrance into the snowy neighborhood, I was apprehensive about leaving after the additional two feet of snow that had fallen. My confidence was a bit shaky, but even before I could attempt to drive out, I had to dig myself out from under all the snow.
The altitude at the cabin was over 11,000 feet – aka, a place with significantly less oxygen than I was used to, even living in the mile-high city of Denver. This meant that even the smallest task could take a lot out of you and leave you out of breath.
On Friday, the original day of my departure, a recording from the county rang the phone line at the cabin at 9:00 am, to inform me and all others in Lake County to “Stay home. Do not drive unless it is an emergency. Stay home.”
Seeing the accumulated feet of snow around the cabin, on, and around my car, I knew that I wouldn’t be leaving any time soon anyway. I bundled up in warm, waterproof boots, ski pants, and layers to head out and attack the snow.
I dug for three and a half hours, taking short breaks every so often to catch my breath or to lay flat on my back on the snow, which actually served to straighten and ice my back.
The next day, as I attempted to drive out, I told several people, “I’ll be the tortoise, not the hare.” Slow and steady wins the race. I did not need to hurry to make it down the mountain. I just needed to arrive safely.
What do you need to take one step at a time? Or what are you hurrying through to finish and not enjoying the steady pace of the journey?