I saw this in one of my favorite blogs to read in my spare, albeit infrequent, spare time.
Running a hospital: First known picture of Michael Phelps
Last Thursday, a few of us took a well-deserved break from studying for our inflammation exam to celebrate a friend's birthday and catch one of Phelps' races. (No, I don't know which one. I can't swim. All I know is that Phelps gets to swim in the middle lane, there's a green line showing the rate he'd have to go to beat the world record, and he was moving faster than the line.)
Amongst my friends, Dustyn used to be a swimmer, Aaron played tennis, and Jay wrestled (among a myriad of other things). And I thought to myself, how good could they have been if they had spent more time on their sport and less time in school? But then, how would you feel if you devoted your entire life to one task, and didn't come out first in the world? After all, there can only be one.
I can't say I spent a lot of time thinking about this; I had a lot of pathology to read, and honestly, I was in the marching band in high school. The closest I ever got to an Olympic sport was competitive walking. I was also attacked by a big hand stamp and was more worried about looking like I had Stevens- Johnson syndrome, which in case you don't know what it is, you really don't want it.
(The stamps says AWESOME, if you can't tell. Apparently I'm really awesome.)
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