Olympic Week 3

Week 68

And here we are, the last blog of this journey. Maybe I will follow up with my post-Olympic experience for bonus blog posts. I never thought this day would come, yet here we are. I thought I would be writing you with a different outcome, but the Universe had other plans. I left the U.S. with high hopes full of possibility and left Paris devastated and heartbroken.

It has been a whirlwind of emotions the last five days. After we lost to Australia in the semifinal, I felt like my body got hit by a semi-truck. I woke up that morning, hoping I only experienced a terrible nightmare. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. I did not want to play another game. I lacked the motivation to pick myself up, dust myself off, and fight for bronze. I couldn’t wrap my brain around the fact that we had lost in such a fashion, knowing how much of a better team we were than our opponent. I did not expect to lose because we are a better team, but it only matters who is better on that particular day. I certainly did not underestimate them because I knew that it would be an extremely difficult game to win, but I had confidence and faith in our ability to be victorious. But, we ended the Gold medal streak. The USA is an Olympic medal-producing factory and we as a country place such high value on gold medals. In fact, the expectation of a lot of USA individual athletes and teams is gold. Anything less than that feels like a failure. Our team had high hopes for gold and our track record at the Olympics would indicate a high likelihood of history repeating itself. But, history only instructs, as our sports psychologist would say.

A friend made a great analogy that allowed me to turn a corner in the day we had to regroup for the bronze medal match. The analogy was:

You birth two twins, and one dies. The one who is alive is suffering because the parents are so filled with grief for their loss. The gold medal baby died - unexpectedly and suddenly. However, the bronze medal baby still lives and is in need of love, attention, and passion. Humans can hold both emotions: grief for the loss and love and excitement for the one who lives. I can hold both feelings - the sadness and grief alongside the passion and excitement for a medal.

I became excited about the bronze game because, in my opinion, it is the hardest medal to win. You are fighting to make it on the podium after a heart-wrenching loss. These types of games show what you’re made of and how mentally strong you are. Honestly, it’s easy to continue winning; it’s way harder to get your heart broken and come back and win. I thought to myself, “How fitting that this team is fighting for the bronze - the grittiest medal - with everything we went through the past year. Let’s go.”

Then, we lost again, placing fourth. Both babies died. We are the only team in USA women’s water polo history since its Olympic inception in 2000 to not medal. Not only did we break the gold streak, we broke the podium streak. I will never forget the last play when Holland went up by 1 goal with 1 second left in regulation and the Dutch coaches’ yellow playbook suspended in midair with a wave of orange erupting from the 15,000 in the stands. I will never forget my shaking body and stomach dropping to the bottom of the pool when the final buzzer went off, knowing it was over. I will never forget the mistakes I made in the last two games where I personally fell short and would do anything to change it. I will never forget all the hard work and the sacrifice this team put forth, with nothing to show for it. Yes, I am aware that it isn’t just about medaling, but that was the goal. We deserved it, especially with everything this group went through, but nothing is guaranteed. It is a hard pill to swallow because of how hard we train in comparison to other teams - we devote a year plus versus the two to seven months opposing teams dedicate to this process. It all feels like a sick joke.

At the end of the day, we blew it, as media platforms and trolls are continuously reminding us. We had it within our grasp, but it was like trying to catch water in your hands, we couldn’t hold on. I felt helpless at the hands of fate. I wish I could go back and be able to do it again, just to be given one more chance. I had envisioned this moment and visualized the outcome for eight years. I visualized my desired outcome for the Olympic tournament, going through every game and every play. I envisioned what the Opening and Closing Ceremonies would be like, how an Olympic medal would feel around my neck, the podium experience, and so much more. The amount of visualizing was sickening. And none of it came to fruition.

This experience feels similar to 2021 when I didn’t make the team, but much much worse. I went back and read the article I had written about being one spot short last quad and it contains a lot of similar feelings (https://www.nbcsports.com/on-her-turf/news/how-it-feels-to-be-the-last-player-cut-from-the-us-olympic-water-polo-team). I’m also receiving similar texts to when I got cut…“I’m so sorry, I’m so proud of you, you should hold your head high for this achievement” etc, etc. The condolences are plentiful. Everyone keeps saying how proud I should be and it’s a unicorn achievement to be an Olympian. To be honest, I don’t think I’ll tell people I even went to the Olympics, and don’t try to convince me otherwise. It is pretty cynical to say, but similar to alternates, no one remembers the non-medalists. We put forth the same amount of sacrifice and effort as the medalist, but we don’t get any recognition because we didn’t podium. When we arrived at LAX, the reporters only wanted the medalists. Volunteers and other individuals were only asking for photos with the medalists. We weren’t given the time of day. I don’t care about any of that stuff, but it is just interesting to witness from the sidelines.

I was one spot short of making the Olympic team last quad. Now, I was one spot short of making the podium. I don’t know if I can subject myself to this process again, but only time will tell. My national team experience is forged out of heartache and grief, with countless instances of failure and few moments of success. However, it has certainly made me strong. Time heals all wounds and I will reach a point of gratitude for my experience someday, but I am not there yet. You don’t always get what you want, but you always get what you need. Life is beating me up now, but this isn’t for nothing. There must be a reason. There has to be a reason. Rejection is redirection. I hope someday I find the silver lining. 

Thank you for following along on my 2024 Olympic journey.

Jordan <3

The Olympic flag landing in LA for LA28.