And does anyone think that, e.g., Nadia Comaneci would be graceless enough to look down on this B- "elite" if they ever happened to be stuck on a plane together?

No, and in fact here's what she is up to lately:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nadia_Com%C4%83neci

"She is currently the Vice-Chair of the Board Of Directors of the International Special Olympics and Vice President of the Board of Directors of the Muscular Dystrophy Association.[21][44] She has also personally funded the construction and operation of the Nadia Comaneci Children's Clinic, a clinic in Bucharest that provides low-cost and free medical and social support to Romanian children.[45]"

Lolo Jones and I exchanged a flurry of text messages when she visited Des Moines July 15 for her Olympic send-off. But we never connected. Lolo was too busy helping flood relief victims, inspiring young athletes and showing Iowans that the state would be represented by an energetic ambassador of goodwill.

“I’m sorry, Marilyn. I’ll make it up to you,” read her final text message.

Of course she has nothing to make up to me. It was reward enough to watch the kindness of this extraordinary young woman I got to know 10 years before when she was a teenager in need.

Lolo moved in with my family her junior year of high school. My former husband, Randy Essex, and I knew Lolo from the Des Moines Area Youth Track Club where our son, Dustin Essex, 10, ran distance events. Under the leadership of Coach Phil Ferguson, the track club had a family-like atmosphere. And in the summer of 1998 one of our kids was facing a gigantic hurdle: Lolo’s mother was moving to Forest City.

We knew Lolo had tremendous promise that could be wasted were she forced to abruptly change track coaches and schools. We told Coach Phil we would help if we could.

His reply, “Can she live with you?”

Randy and I certainly hadn’t gotten through life without unexpected help from time to time. When we married, a friend in Abilene, Texas, gave us an embarrassingly large cash present with a note that read, “Pass it along when you’re able. Spread a little bread on the water.”

Overnight, we became immersed in the world of a teenage girl: hosting basketball dinners, getting our house wrapped in toilet paper, learning the hit music of the time. I even surprised myself by uttering words I never thought would come from my mouth: “Please turn your stereo down.”

When time for driver’s education approached, Lolo was chagrined at discovering both our vehicles had standard transmissions. I can still hear my gears grinding as the hills of Glendale Cemetery proved more challenging for Lolo than hurdles ever were. Randy that night told her when she was a famous Olympian and could afford an expensive sports car, she would thank us for teaching her to drive a stick. Most teens would have laughed off such a comment as a pipe dream. But Randy had stumbled upon her most precious dream. “Don’t put that kind of pressure on me,” she retorted.

All told, we got to be part of a village that helped Lolo. Coach Phil and members of the track club looked out for her. Teachers at Roosevelt High School made sure she put together the right classes to be ready for college. Dr. Dennis Kommer, a Des Moines orthodontist, enhanced her winning smile by reducing the cost her braces. Des Moines attorney Dwight James handled paperwork work pro bono to assure she was covered by our health insurance. Jean and Kim Walker and later Janice Caldwell also welcomed Lolo into their homes. And the list goes on.

Now, watching world champion Lolo Jones being interviewed brings on happy tears; surprised tears; but most of all, proud tears.

Lolo told a news reporter that over the years when she needed help, strangers told her, “Here it is — no strings attached. I’m glad I could return what somebody did for me years ago.”

Taking a stranger into our home was risky. Failing to step in when a teen’s future was on the line would have been far riskier.

I think back to our friend’s advice, “Spread a little bread on the water.” Sometimes you never know how far an act of kindness will travel.

Nurtured by Lolo’s determination and hard work, the kindnesses showed by so many in central Iowa has gone all the way to Beijing — with bread crumbs scattered across several oceans.

What I find unconscionable is that the abuse young athletes are subjected to is somehow considered a mark of elitism. I think your "horrible, condescending jerk" is really a traumatized abused child, who doesn't know any other way of expressing herself. Expressing anger is much more acceptable and less scary than expressing the sadness from a lost childhood.

These long hour workouts should be a choice of an adult - not thrust on children by parents with an agenda.

best of luck.

But by your own logic, you're not a writer. Sure, you wrote a book and it was published. Woohoo!

Technically, you sat down, typed words into some form of coherent narrative and got it published. Basically, you stayed afloat and swam back and forth, but what you did has nothing to do with what, say, Gabriel Garcia Marquez brought to bear in his memoir "Living to Tell the Tale."

Fair enough?

Come and run a four hour marathon with me!

Jennifer, come join me in running a four hour marathon. No, we won't be up there with the elite runners (they'll be finished in half the time). But, as you log mile after mile in every kind of weather over the months you'll get an understanding of how much training is involved to just complete the distance. And, come race day, you'll get to actually see what it feels like to run 26.2 miles. Instead of being bitter about not receiving gold, silver or bronze, you'll be proud to receive that finishers medal. And even though you won't place, no one will argue that you are not really a runner.

Oh yeah, and maybe watching 2012 Olympics, you'll see those world class marathoners compete, and remember how you ran through that brutal mile 20 - 26 stretch, and find yourself saying "I ran a marathon..."