In the games we are looking for champions, the best specimens of us all.
They should inspire us to challenge ourselves and achieve the impossible

But… I have never found upon awakening, a desire to dive from my bed
At best I swim out of sleep and wrestle the pillow from my head

Plus I haven’t a swimming pool and measuring by a bath length
Would be tough - I’m longer than it is - I doubt I’d finish tenth. 

But I could get hold of scaffolding or break off some bamboo
And who knows, perhaps - just perhaps - the Pole Vault could be the one to do? 

Could I, should I?  I have never met a pole vaulter. I don’t know the current crop 
I don’t know the names of any vaulter… so must be in with a shot!?

But then here’s a room of twenty plus and what if you all had the thought
I bet you’ve got bamboo in your gardens - in my flat I have not. 

Is that really the goal of the games, that it is an open field?
That if you can run or tumble, throw or swim, kick a ball or curl a … thing?
Then your weird particular skill can be ranked and you may win 
A medal?… and a commentating job... and I guess some sponsoring?

No - lets be honest - its not the sport that drives the viewers daffy 
But those weird bodies doing weirder things - its niche pornography

They can’t have fallen into these events - but they give decades to a sport
And their body bulges or withers where they need, until they finally distort
To the extent where none can beat them unless they transmogrify 
And devote their own body to a body-type that the sport exemplifies 

So no, I’m not in the olympics; my weird body is mostly at rest
If there’s any part that’s exercised its my mind that is distressed
But thankfully mental aberrations don’t display underneath spandex.
Or my skull would break from introspection with a single thoughtful flex