Runa Reta - WISPA Squash Pro on Tour on www.squashtalk.com

There is something inherent about multi-sport games that seem to attract us to the television set during the course of these events. Maybe it is the fact that for two weeks, a select group of representatives is chosen to stand up for a country’s pride and values, competing to achieve the highest levels of excellence against the rest of the world.

Perhaps it is the peaceful and amiable atmosphere that surrounds these competitions, invariably offering a well-needed respite from the real-world hagglings between nations in everyday world politics. Certainly the individual stories, that speak of struggles and triumph are a source of great interest and inspiration to us all. In sum, there are many different reasons that multi-sport events bring people together. I have always enjoyed watching these games on television, and for the first time recently, I was able to see things from a first-hand perspective, having competed in the 18th Commonwealth Games in Melbourne, Australia.

Up until now, I had never taken part in an event that would place me in a communal living space (ie. the ‘village’) with athletes of different geographical and sporting backgrounds. Although each country had its own cluster of houses in the village, everything else was shared (dining, internet, medical treatment, fitness center, etc.). An entire neighborhood of houses was built specifically for the Games, in order to house the 4,500 athletes competing over 12 days. Immediately upon entering the village, it was clear that the two weeks spent in Melbourne would be a one-of-a-kind experience.

With tight security surrounding the area, the village was closed off from the rest of the world. In this setting, this tiny community seemed to morph into a strangely utopian society, where the citizens were in peak physical shape, communicated freely and cordially with those of other countries, peaceably shared resources, and moved seamlessly through the grounds, with little thought to the physical and cultural borders of other countries’ areas.

At any time of day, you could look out to see runners warming up in the streets, bikers coming in from their rides, or boxers working out in full sweats, (probably to drop the necessary pounds to make their weight classes). In the dining halls, it was common to pick up conversations with athletes of different countries, with discussion generally amounting to “what sport do you play?” and “how did you go today?” Although it was generally small-talk, the village afforded a unique opportunity to speak with people from places that you barely knew existed were it not for the opening ceremonies (where the flag would be waved, the name of the country boomed out on the speakers, and the 5 athletes marched proudly out into the stadium!) And boy was there a wide range of people inhabiting our village! From the athletes of Lesotho- who wore straw hats that resembled the rice-paddy hats of the Chinese- to the New Zealanders- doing their Haka dances out on the lawns- to the Trinidad & Tobagons, whose team leader sported dreadlocks with such impressive girth that when coiled up in a hat looked like an anaconda living atop his head- to the Indians- forever singing Hindi songs wherever they went- it was a truly eclectic and entertaining scene.

The most utopic element of our little society was the fact that all athletes were treated equally in the village. Okay, so maybe Gibraltar and Vanuatu received the slightly cheaper model of cabin housing than say Canada or Australia, other than that, everything was even. Whether you were a gold medallist Olympian or a first-time competitor, everyone shared the same rights. There were no pretensions and no special care given to those athletes who in the normal world are considered big-time superstars (ie. Ian Thorpe, Asafa Powell, etc.), which made them easily accessible to chat with. I spent one evening talking with a gymnast who had won gold in Athens in 2004 (there were Canadian gymnasts, badminton players and lawn bowlers staying with us in our house). Having remembered watching him perform his routine on TV, it was a pure pleasure to listen to him retell his Olympic experience. His modesty and willingness to spend time talking to a stranger about an event that he has surely recounted time and time again, heightened my sense of respect for his achievements and his sport. And yet, the inspiration that I drew from him could easily be drawn from any one of the 4,500 athletes, in any one of the disciplines. Every athlete tells of sacrifice and struggle in order to get to the top.

The Commonwealth Games, though not inclusive of all the countries involved in the Olympics (71 commonwealth countries participated in the Games) still provided an abundance of stories of courage and glory. A man from the Cook Islands beats his father in weightlifting. A South African runs barefooted in the 800m event. Two sisters battle one another for gold in the singles of squash, then play together to claim gold in the doubles. A swimmer from Papua New Guinea claims the first gold for his country in 16 years. A South African swimmer who competed as an able-bodied athlete in the 1998 Games and then lost her leg in a motorcycle accident in 2001, claims two golds in the Elite Athletes with Disabilities (EAD) events. The achievements of the surrounding athletes are incredible. But walking through the village, I got the sense that for many countries, half of the achievement lay in merely being there.

On the last night of competition, where it seems customary for athletes to trade off selected items of their gear to other countries, I was desperate to get a Kenya jacket (thinking that my mom would enjoy a memento from the country she grew up in and still cheers for in athletic meets). Having flagged down the Kenyan swimming coach (yes swimming, turns out the Kenyans are hell-bent on being successful in events other than running!) off the street, I explained to him my predicament and asked whether he could find me an athlete that might be willing to trade jackets. Although he admitted that most Kenyans had already given away their tops, he invited me to come back to the ‘Kenyan quarters’ to see what success I could have there. When I entered the house, the atmosphere was relaxed and friendly, and every Kenyan came up to greet me warmly and see what I had on offer. Funnily enough, it was the men who kept approaching, wanting to try on my womens small jacket, and invariably complaining that it didn’t fit properly! In the end, a girl in a wheelchair came out of one of the rooms and proclaimed that she would trade with me. I followed her back to her place (another house down the street) and she spoke quietly with a warm smile, and easy demeanor. As she gave me her jacket, a sudden pang of regret and shame overcame me. Unlike the Canadians, who had literally been given a suitcase full of apparel for the Games, this top seemed to be only one of two items that the Kenyans had. Did she really want to give this to me? I asked her if she was sure, and she insisted yes. I asked if she liked the Canadian jacket and would like to try it on to make sure that it fit, and she smiled broadly, claiming that her little brothers back home would love it. At that point, the shame dissipated, and I realized that a fair trade had been made (although I did wish that I had enough tops to give for all of her brothers!)

After thanking her and walking away from the Kenyan camp, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of lives some of these athletes led back in their homelands. I walked past the Sierra Leone area, where everything seemed quiet and desolate. During the past week, half of their 21 athletes had gone missing from the village, having used the Games as an opportunity to avoid returning to the ominous realities of a disastrously war-torn country. What kind of lives did those athletes lead? What had they seen and experienced? What conditions would the remaining Sierra Leone athletes be returning to the following day? It seemed abundantly clear that the life I had the privilege of returning to differed dramatically from that of these particular athletes.

And yet, this one sad story was not the case for other athletes of developing nations, who were clearly enjoying their experiences in Melbourne, and were proud to represent their countries. The greatest memory that I will take away from the Commonwealth Games occurred one evening as I was returning to the village from a long day at the squash courts. As I was walking to my house, I noticed two African women in wheelchairs making their way back from the dining halls, teasing one another in a foreign dialect and laughing to one another. All of a sudden, one of them took off, and the other chased behind, the two of them laughing and joking the whole way down the street. This to me summed up the spirit of the Games. No matter what the hardships, for 12 days, sport seems to have the ability to dissolve our real-world woes and bring us together, allowing us to interact and share simple, special moments with one another.

And maybe that is the dominant reason why we invest ourselves so deeply in multi-sport events. Sport acts as a great equalizer in this chaotic world of ours. Regardless of the social, economic, cultural, physical or religious differences, all athletes are viewed equally to one another during these competitions, and treated with the same level of dignity and respect. By overlooking the superficial lines that seem to continually divide us in the real world, we bear witness to a perfect utopia, wherein all the members of society are able to live harmoniously with each other for a short moment in time. Although the spirit of the Commonwealth Games may be an ideal that most people find impossible to adapt to the world at large, like most athletes who have succeeded on the principle that there is no such thing as impossible, we would be wise to follow their example and strive persistently for the desired outcomes of peace and unity, however far off they may be.