Colin Duffy
At 16 years old, with no experience in the adult circuit, Colin Duffy claimed the sole remaining spot on the U.S. Olympic Team. To many, his debut was a surprise. But Colin was no dark horse.
There’s no getting around it. The vibe in the gym was weird, given what a seminal moment it was.
Colin Duffy, 16, lowered slowly into the crowd. He had just topped the men’s final lead route, putting him in first place by six points, not an insignificant margin, and securing his ticket to the 2020 Tokyo Olympics. It was the sole remaining spot on the men’s US Team. There would be an award ceremony and interviews and photoshoots to come. The Washington Post would call him up. He’d go on Channel 9News. People online would profile him. Sponsorship contracts would be reworked. The high schooler would endure a school assembly in his honor.
But in the meantime, Colin sat below the lead wall and un-velcroed his shoes. He hugged his coach, he talked to his teammates. He stood with his shoulders slightly hunched. While Colin went through a series of mechanical, quotidian motions, nothing on his face showed any indication of registration. It was an emblemless, frisson-less moment, in which his life changed forever, and absolutely nothing seemed to change at all. Some liminal spaces are just too big to immediately occupy.
Perhaps, if he had at least cracked a smile, the onlooking crowd might have been able to breathe some sort of sigh of relief and joy. Or perhaps if it all didn’t come at such a stark contrast from the night before, when Canada’s Alannah Yip secured her own ticket to the Games. The 28-year-old had clawed her way through 21 World Cups and Championships in 2019 alone to get to where she was. While lowering from the final lead route, Yip was breathless—all shakes and sobs while trying to untie her knot, kiss her boyfriend and hug her coaches. Her victory had been clinched by the tiniest of margins, a consummate fight, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the whole damn gym.
There’s no getting around it. The vibe in the gym was weird, given what a seminal moment it was.
Colin Duffy, 16, lowered slowly into the crowd. He had just topped the men’s final lead route, putting him in first place by six points, not an insignificant margin, and securing his ticket to the 2020 Tokyo Olympics. It was the sole remaining spot on the men’s US Team. There would be an award ceremony and interviews and photoshoots to come. The Washington Post would call him up. He’d go on Channel 9News. People online would profile him. Sponsorship contracts would be reworked. The high schooler would endure a school assembly in his honor.
But in the meantime, Colin sat below the lead wall and un-velcroed his shoes. He hugged his coach, he talked to his teammates. He stood with his shoulders slightly hunched. While Colin went through a series of mechanical, quotidian motions, nothing on his face showed any indication of registration. It was an emblemless, frisson-less moment, in which his life changed forever, and absolutely nothing seemed to change at all. Some liminal spaces are just too big to immediately occupy.
Perhaps, if he had at least cracked a smile, the onlooking crowd might have been able to breathe some sort of sigh of relief and joy. Or perhaps if it all didn’t come at such a stark contrast from the night before, when Canada’s Alannah Yip secured her own ticket to the Games. The 28-year-old had clawed her way through 21 World Cups and Championships in 2019 alone to get to where she was. While lowering from the final lead route, Yip was breathless—all shakes and sobs while trying to untie her knot, kiss her boyfriend and hug her coaches. Her victory had been clinched by the tiniest of margins, a consummate fight, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the whole damn gym.
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