The alternative, of course, is to find some common ground with the dabblers and the poseurs, inquire about their experience, encourage them if they (or their children) continue to train or compete, and then allow your experience to shed light on what it's like at the top of the pyramid.

I was a very good middle distance runner. When I go running I certainly RUN; I don't JOG. But I was never gonna go to the Olympics or do much more than win a few road races now and again, so maybe that's why my inclination is to bridge the gap between the joggers, would-be road racers, and those who think running is too hard, and the elites. Because anyone can run. And anyone can derive joy and pleasure and fitness from running -- regardless of talent level.

I don't know what it's like to run a mile at the world-class level, but I got closer than 99.9% of the population. Now I can continue to live in the glory days of that time or I can do my best to explain to my friends and acquaintances the freakin' awesomeness of the times posted by the world's elite runners. I respect Jennifer's honesty, but it is disappointing to think she wouldn't use her position and knowledge and perspective to encourage other potential athletes to participate in gymnastics -- or to capture for the rest of us ignoramuses just what makes those ridiculous flips and tumbles so utterly marvelous.

But that requires a little bit of the old letting go...

I totally understand where the musicians who've responded to this thread are coming from. I play a lot of Guitar Hero on my X-Box, and I also know that people who aren't good at Guitar Hero are musicians, just like us.

I think we should cut Sey some slack, though. I know how hard it is to be a journalist. Every year I send a brief note to family and friends updating them on the events of the last year (spelling error free since 2006!) and so I can tell you, journalism isn't always easy!

I once tried out for the swim team in college. After a few weeks the coach told me to come back next year(I transferred). I was lousy. What? You don't want to hear my story? It might be funny. Would you like to hear the stories of my brothers who ran track in college? They worked hard and were mediocre(certainly by your standards). Is there a curve upon which a level of effort and talent draws your interest or is it a hard and fast threshold where only persons near your level but perhaps not above it would hold your interest? Would you be interested in hearing the stories of effort and talent in areas that society does not exalt? If I give you a list of stuff that i've done with a check box for the ones that interest you, would you check any of them? And would it matter to either of us if you did?

You're confused just like Ms. Sey. I can perfectly understand any competetive sport. It's not rocket science. Any cursory reading or explanation of training suffices. Are you suggesting that we haven't all been treated ad nauseum to the vision of the athlete toiling long, lonely hours at their endeavor? I can assure you, we have. I get it, I really do.

What you and Ms. Sey want is to feel very, very special and alone. What you don't get is that it is your ATTITUDE and PERCEPTIONS that isolate you, not your experience as an athlete. I don't know why you feel the need to elevate yourself from others. However, Ms. Sey's story is out there. She trained from childhood, sacrificed her mental and physical health as a child and won a National title. But no Olympic glory whatsoever. Her bitterness at that failing has clearly defined her experiences as an athlete. The only question that remains then is what failings, real or perceived, have prompted you to become bitter?

Wow, you might not have managed to hit the trajectory you strove for, but you manage some world-class gracelessness in this article/column/essay/rant (?) you got Salon to publish (or else Salon knew they had a clickable bonanza in this piece, so they ran it, licking their electronic chops at the prospect). And this beast you pretend to closet, even as you talk about the book you're writing...golly, where to begin?

It feels like you're wrestling with some serious self-esteem issues, are tooth-gnashingly embittered at your failure and want to give semantic swirlies to whatever targets are in reach, so you reach for the hapless spectators, or worse, people close to you -- the people unlucky enough not to be you, of course.

I feel bad for anybody who knows you, but I feel worse for you, pining for lost (or worse, never-realized) glory, and still stuck with that albatross around your neck in lieu of Olympic gold. How dare everyday people enjoy the spectacle you ultimately failed at! You'll show us, uncaring world!

As a writer, when I read somebody's world-class prose, I think "Wow, that was awesome. I'd love to be able to write something that great." And I try. Or, I read it, and think "Wow, that sucked. I can do better." And I try. Either way, it inspires and it motivates. Art can do that in so many ways; therein lies its power, its magic. Pay attention to that, if you're going to try to be a writer. It's not for the faint-hearted. I don't think you have more than one book in you, at the rate you're going.

But sport isn't art, although there is certainly artistry within it. With sport, you can only do well, or you fail. Excellence inspires, rises far above the fleeting glory of the moment. I'd like to think that this is what Olympic gory inspires in everybody who sees it -- from the little kids with dreams, to the older has-beens, wannabes, and never-weres -- to see something glorious and fleeting, perfectly rendered in a moment.

That's what makes Olympic glory so precious; it's over in a heartbeat (sometimes literally). Records rise and fall with startling speed, but the glory endures. It's best when the athlete has the grace to merit the glory they inspire. Sometimes the athlete is a total shit, and that can tarnish even gold a bit, unfortunately. A lit of humility would go a long way for you, as would a lot of therapy, if you're not already seeing a psychologist. Get there, and just let go of it, and move on with your life. You tried mightily, and you failed; it's over. Beating up the fans of sport is just so much displaced aggression. Life is a lot harder than sport. Try to do better.