The Blues

During the recent Winter Olympics, I happened to watch a little of the skeleton.

It’s an interesting event for a few reasons.  Why is it called skeleton when it takes a lot of guts to do it?  Perhaps it is named skeleton because those that sprint at a two-by-four plank of nothing, launch themselves head-first into a tunnel of slick ice and savage speed, only to travel upwards of 150,000 miles per hour with their FACE inches from the ice CANNOT HAVE ANY BRAINS.  Maybe its name will always be a bone of contention.

Whatever the case, these situations always make me question why people do things. I love to think about the why or the motivation behind choice.

A sporting event like the skeleton is probably easy to explain with a combination of adrenalin junkie, talent, will to win, wanting to try something different, the need to shear the face from the body …

What encourages a kid to want to skeleton in the first place?  Do they see it on the telly, yell out to mum or dad to ‘come and see this amazing sport’ and pester their parents to take them to training? In Alaska? Do they rock up at their local skeleton club and say ‘I would like to try the event where I sprint, lay down, travel at terrifyingly fast speeds while my nose is nearly grazing an ice inferno, break through the finish line, get up, pump the air, then do it all again’?

How does the adult get involved?  Is it a matter of (in Australia) getting the top off an old-fashioned Esky (car fridge), turning it upside down at the local reservoir and running to jump on your belly, sliding down the hill after 6 sausages and 3 beers?

The skeleton is quite thrilling to watch, and therein could lie the answer – it attracts amazing people who long to launch themselves down an ice corral and tell their tale at the bottom.

This line of questioning also happens when I consider other people’s occupations.  One that instantly comes to mind is that of the gastrointestinal specialist or a doctor of the Lower Passages of Preciousness.  I am an ardent admirer of a professional that chooses to look into Uranus as his/her career, but it interests me to know how they arrived at that idea in the first place.

Is it a calling?  Does one follow this particular path lest their life turn to shit?  Or specialize in this branch of medicine for fear of making an arse of themselves if they don’t?  I certainly know they have to be careful during a colonoscopy, because one false move with the instrument will rectum for life.

Stupid, infantile jokes aside, what draws a medical mind to the pursuit of probing colons, rectal passages and ani (anuses is correct, but not nearly as fun)?  I assume it is an intense interest in tight, dark crevices, wriggly-worm like structures and sulphuric perfume explosions?

Or not.

Does the specialist get home from work and, when asked what he/she has done today, elaborate on exploration of bowel and snaffling of polyp?  And – the question that really gets up my nose because I wonder if I have passed my gastrointestinal specialist in the supermarket – what happens when they meet a patient face to face (eas) at a party?  Does the patient feel a blush to his/her cheeks and worry that the specialist is thinking of  his/her other cheeks?

Of course, all of this is extremely unethical, could never happen, and is nonsense when we consider the type of wonderful people involved in this medical specialization.  As I stated at the onset, my admiration for these doctors is high, it’s simply the notion of selecting this career path as right for YOU that puzzles me.

Then there’s a political career (why?) a flight attendant (the turbulence, the terror) police force (the turbulence, the terror), a miner (the claustrophobia) a teacher (the turbulence, the terror) …

As we know, one woman’s trash (or job they couldn‘t imagine being in) is another’s treasure (dream job). Some of us are suited to working with waste, some with children, some with parliamentary matters, some with blood, some with words, some with paint and some with computers.

I still wouldn’t do the skeleton, but I could be convinced to prepare your butt cheeks for the camera ; )

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