Yesterday it was sixty degrees outside, so I took my bike out for the first time all winter. I biked across the river to return a pair of jeans I'd bought online the week earlier; it turns out that ... [+]
My name is not important, nor is my sport. The only things you need to know about me are that I came in second place at the 1996 Summer Olympics, I'm returning to Atlanta, and I have a time machine. By the end this day, I will have had my perfect moment.
I had to consider my plan carefully, of course, so as not to break "the rules." I can only return to a place and time I've been before, I must avoid meeting my former self, I can only carry technology with me that was available at the time, and I have two and a half minutes to complete my task.
Armed with a pistol from 1996, I turn the dial of the time watch to July 31 at 4 a.m. and instantaneously fade into existence on a 30-foot-high catwalk on the catwalk across from the stadium. 1996 me, who will be waking up soon in the Olympic Village, would be ashamed of what I am about to do. But I know it has to be done, and I know it has to be shocking so the city will react quickly—before the athletes arrive for competition.
"Am I really going to do this?" I ask myself, but there is little time to think. The watch is ticking and Nike's own slogan is playing over and over inside my head, urging me on, "Just Do It, Just Do It." So, I do it. I let 29 years of shame and disappointment fly out the end of my gun while I trace the most offensive thing I can think of across the 40-foot-wide Nike advertisement that announces to the world, "You don't win silver, you lose gold."
Suddenly, I'm back in my living room having one of those senior moments that seem to be coming on more often these days. "Hmm," I wonder, looking at the paintball pistol in my hand, "was I taking this out or putting it away?"
Looking up, I see my framed Olympic silver medal hanging on the wall and the most pleasant memory floods back into my mind. After the medal ceremony, I had proudly walked out of the Olympic stadium with my family to see two men finish pasting up a large billboard ad for a local burger restaurant, and boy did that burger look delicious!
"Why not?" I had thought. For years I had lived in a world of training six days a week, watched every calorie I ate, and calculated every nutrient I consumed until I was my very best self. And now I had reaped my reward, I had won a silver medal at the Olympics! Hadn't I earned a juicy, delicious burger to celebrate? My mom had known exactly what I was thinking. " Let's do it," she said, so we did.