My obsessions are numerous and bizarre. Like seeing a porn star wear Pumas; then buying Pumas every six months for three years. Or seeing the marks on older cars windshields where the wiper blades have worn a pattern, so hand washing my windshield every day for four years. Or, recently really liking guys in their twenties due to my fear and loathing of growing old. Wait, that’s neurosis and narcissism. Completely different.
Lately, while the world is obsessed with the fait of Malaysian Airlines Flight 370 and the amazing media coverage and strange conspiracy theories, my obsession gene is turned elsewhere. My dear Oscar. South African sprint runner, Oscar Pistorius. Now, I don’t like the word “obsession” in this case, it seems dirty somehow. It’s more like a deep unending love that is only one-way and will never be responded to or returned.
While watching the track and field portion of the 2012 Olympics, I watched with the world as Oscar Pistorius, a South African sprint runner struggled to participate in the men’s 400 metres sprint. Oscar Pistorius competed in the London Summer Olympics as the first double leg amputee.
After that race I became obsessed with this amazing man’s struggle to overcome obstacles. When I got lazy about running, or really any perceived obstacle I used Oscar for motivation. Tired and not wanting to drive to the gym, I would think of Oscar the amazing athlete.
My hero even wished my a happy Birthday via Twitter:
My hero got me through some tough times. One day I heard my heroes name on television. “Oscar Pistorius accused of premeditated murder of girlfriend by South Africa prosecutors.”
The continuing court case stuns me with every news cast. The court is opening to the world his complicated life. Texts from the slain Reeva Steenkamp show the anger and control issues that Oscar portrayed. One of a jealous and cruel boyfriend. Other news casts focus on Oscar vomiting in the courtroom and physical distress in the retelling of his beloved Reeva’s injuries. Spending emotional days on stand crying repeatedly, apologizing to Steenkamp’s family. Every day in court he is emotionally and physically exhausted. Even with my skewed lust filled eyes, the defense of why he shot through a bathroom door, killing Reeva, simply falls down.
I obsessively watch any report I can find.
There is a philosophy that your heroes will disappoint you. That is true. In this world, if you obsess too much, you just might make immortals out of mortals.