Rarely, as adults, are we given the opportunity for euphoria. I’m not talking happiness: of course, if we’re careful, we never lose the capacity for joy. I’m thinking of real, deep-seated elation, coupled with an intense breadth of feeling that occupies the very human core, raising the heart rate as well as the follicles on arms, necks and the odd chin. As a kid, the sight of a quite-bendy stick near a big enough puddle is enough to evoke euphoria – with a natural mischief aftertaste. Somehow though, we just don’t come across that stick-induced-glee as much once we reach the bill-paying stage.

But one Friday this summer, as I took my plastic seat in the buzzing Emirates Arena to watch the tenth annual Mini Olympics, it was immediately clear that only the very dead of soul could occupy that space without the waves of euphoria soaking them to the very skin.

Organised entirely – and beautifully – by Glasgow charity, FARE, the Mini Olympics brings together final year pupils from 24 Scottish primary schools in an almighty sports day, complete with opening procession, medal ceremony and fuzzy bear mascot. Nearly 900 kids took their place on the immaculate new arena floor to run, jump and, more often than not, laugh their way towards finish lines. When I say ‘sports day’ though, don’t think muddy pitches and three-legged injuries. No, this is an event like no school playground has ever seen.

With a host of entertaining youth workers, inclusive transport to and from the schools, and a packed lunch provided for all (the tiny box of raisins brought me an inordinate amount of joy), the Mini Olympics is nothing short of a fiesta – and, for the kids and their families (and we clumsy hangers-on), it’s all entirely free. Incredible.

Not only is the event itself a spectacle of philanthropy, each participating school is given a four-week training program, you know, just to keep things fair. And it was with real trepidation that I shuffled along to Sunnyside Primary School to try my uncoordinated hand at three of the field sports: foam javelin, standing long jump and speed bounce. So, they’re not technically Commonwealth sports but, as an introduction to athletics for a complete neophyte, they were bloody hard enough.

The kids were kind but clearly bemused by my presence in the playground – even though my diminutive stature allowed me a certain degree of camouflage among them. To say I wasn’t the best in the group would be, well, laughable. They absolutely hammered me.

Results
Speed bounce: Me – 18; Winner – 51
Standing long jump: Me – 1.06; Winner – 1.74
Foam javelin: Me – near; Winner – far

If I’d had pride to begin with, it would have been sincerely shot. Luckily though, I left behind all remnants of hubris in nursery in 1984 with the horse-is-cow debacle. (They really aren’t so dissimilar.)

So it was with genuine respect that I watched the competitors stepping up for their schools and making the sports their own as the Emirates rung with the shouts of a raisin-fuelled generation. 60 metre sprint, shot putt and mixed relays were performed with the focus that the occasion demanded. This was their Waterloo, and they would leave victorious. In between events though, they were just dancing, as kids do.

Typically, in such a large group, there were youngsters who, like me, weren’t big on competitive oomph. But, unlike me, they weren’t asked to stay at home so as not to embarrass their more sporty classmates with their ineptitude. Non-scoring versions of each event put paid to that issue. Every child had a participant number, a fetching sports bib and an activity in which to take part. And, in spite of the huge walking notice-boards indicating which event was in progress, it was difficult to tell at times whether a race was for points or for chuckles since the enthusiasm from the breath-holding onlookers was equally intense either way. The Mini Olympics is children’s sport as it should be – fun, inclusive and, above all, FARE.

On my feet among the families, cheering home little Johnny, Ellie or, I kid you not, Pocahontas, I found myself suddenly filled with a burgeoning guilt for depriving my own wonderful parents of the joy of cheering me on to victory in, well, anything really. The vicarious pleasure of watching a wee sprog to whom I have no connection make the winning throw, pass or bounce caused me to break out the old something-in-my-eye pretence, that all good saps know and abuse, more than once. Even the prize-giving turned my brave face to mush, particularly when the award for sportsmanship was announced – perhaps because it was the only medal for which I would ever have been in the running.

Granted then, it’s not every day that an event like this comes around to sweep us away on a swell of excitement but the Mini Olympics taught me at least that our capacity for euphoria doesn’t wane with age. We just have to break the surface tension, soak it up, and fill our sensible shoes with it whenever we get the chance.

Paula.