Where Carl Lewis Treads, So Go I

I'm hoping that the statute of limitations has expired and that I'm not incriminating myself by telling this story...

Back in '96, my dad got tickets to the U.S. Olympic Track and Field Trials. Every day of 'em. It was awesome.

We arrived in Atlanta the day before the Trials, rented ourselves a car at the airport and headed on out to the Atlanta suburbs and the house of my dad's friend, where we were staying. Our drive there took us right past the Olympic Stadium, so we got off the highway to check it out up close. We did a drive-by, and then my dad went looking for a place to park.

We found a church parking lot nearby and proceeded on foot. As we got close to the stadium, we noticed a bunch of people, presumably meet volunteers or something, trying to find an open door. Eventually, someone inside let them in.

And my dad followed them in. It was an unexpected development for me, so I just blundered along in as well.

So now we were inside the bowels of the Olympic Stadium, standing around with a bunch of volunteers having some sort of orientation meeting. Trying our best to blend in with one of us (me) wearing a camera around my neck. And not wearing the same t-shirt as everyone else. Though I was thoroughly convinced that we were mere moments away from getting tickets to the inside of the Fulton County Jail, nobody paid us any mind at all.

Eventually, the meeting came to an end, and the group started moving deeper into the stadium. So we followed them. After a short while, we saw an opening to the track area, so we broke away from the group and headed towards that.

And then we were standing on the track upon which Olympians would be running.

(Pictured: My dad, the Olympic track, the Olympic torch)

It was a track unlike any that I had been on before or since. The surface was made up of little rubber-like bristles, rather than the rough rubber-like sheet that you see on high school or college tracks (maybe the more high-falutin' colleges have the good stuff, but I haven't been on those to know.) It made the surface slightly more bouncy - very good for helping one run faster. Certainly helped Michael Johnson, I think.

So yeah... two guys off the street easily sneak their way into the Olympic Stadium and end up right there on the track. That's some bang-up security going on there! 1996 was a simpler time, before the Olympic Bomber and 9-11.

After taking some pictures and running back and forth a little, we saw the volunteer group come into the stands to get a group picture taken. My dad considered going up there and getting into the picture, but it was decided that we best not push our luck. And so, we went back out the way we came and drove on out to the suburbs.

My dad is, of course, off the hook from any after-the-fact prosecution, now. I'll thank you not to turn me into the authorities.