Bonjour!
It still feels slightly surreal to say I covered my first Olympics, as I was never meant to be in Paris.
After going freelance so close to the Games, I’d given up on the idea. Press passes are often applied for a year in advance, so I thought that ship had sailed and instead had LA 2028 in my sights instead.
But for various serendipitous reasons (and a message from my former colleague Ben Bloom), I found out I had a press pass in July, so made the late decision to come. As a freelancer, there’s always an element of risk but I just had to hope the work would come (plus I had the benefit of two fab friends who live in Paris, who I could lodge with at short notice!). An Olympics so close to home was too outrageous an opportunity to miss.
In the best case scenario, I’d do some writing. Worst case, I’d spend six days watching the best athletes in the world compete. It was an easy decision.
With that in mind, I’ve been soaking up the city, trying to catch as much sport as possible around other work, and tick as many Olympic bucket list items off.
So I thought I’d share a bit of a diary about all the amazing sport I watched, public transport fails and bungling attempts at understanding a word of French.
Nine sports, eight venues, countless croissants, far too many stadium hotdogs, and 100,303 steps (with probably half of those spent looking for the right entrance at various venues) - it was six days of absolute joy.
Sunday
An early start to pick up my press pass, located at the Main Press Centre in a mostly deserted shopping centre to the east of the city. I have a minor (read: major) panic when I’m told there is an error in my application, which may mean I’m denied access to events for up to two days. After sweating it out for 30 minutes, a friendly man at the desk calls me back to say it’s been resolved.
With my press pass safely and firmly round my neck, I hop on the Metro to the Bercy Arena.
Though I’ve missed the first week of action, I’m so pleased to land in Paris just in time to catch the final routine of Becky Downie’s Olympic career (probably). As comebacks go, hers has been remarkable.
I’ve covered her career since 2019. The first time I met her was actually for a ‘day in the life of a Team GB gymnast’ story for the Telegraph, where I was meant to have a full training session on her specialist event, the uneven bars.
But when her first instruction to me was to do a pull-up on the bar (to which I replied ‘Eh?!’), she was forced to dial down her expectations for a weakling like me. She spent the rest of the session patiently teaching me the right form for forward rolls and handstands.
Since then I’ve interviewed her a number of times about her biggest successes and most challenging moments. Since she won a world silver medal in 2019, she has contended with more than most people: a delayed Olympics, becoming a brave whistleblower to abuse in gymnastics, grieving the tragic, untimely loss of her brother Josh, and missing out on selection for the Tokyo Olympics in controversial circumstances.
Seeing her walk out to an Olympic final, aged 32 - 16 years after her first Games in Beijing - was quite a moment. If Olympic medals were doled out simply based on who deserves them, Downie would be a shoe in. But in the end, it all goes wrong - her hand slips off the bar and she falls to her knees agonisingly close to the end of her otherwise stellar routine.
When a gymnast falls during their gravity-defying and frankly dangerous routines, it’s hard to watch. The crowd gasps, it feels like the air gets sucked out of the arena, and there’s a moment of dead silence. But Downie gets up, shakes her head in disbelief and then moves to finish as the crowd applauds her efforts.
In the mixed zone afterwards, it’s hard to know what to expect. Mixed zones are a weird, often irritating quirk of sports journalism. Usually located in the bowels of a stadium, in an exposed corridor which is either impossibly drafty or boiling hot, journalists are penned behind a barrier as athletes walk by after competition.
I have waited hours in these mixed zones over the years. Once in the snow at Stamford Bridge, often in the rain at Arsenal Women’s Borehamwood ground, and in the sweltering heat at the Tokyo Paralympics - only for some athletes to walk right by and choose not to stop for a chat. That is totally their right, but it can be soul-destroying nonetheless.
Sometimes though, there are rare moments of real emotion in this strange environment, and when Downie arrives she speaks through a beaming smile while wiping away her tears.
Even at the most disappointing finish to her Olympics, Downie already has some perspective. She also remarkably finds a moment to laugh. “My family would hate me if I said right now, let’s go again,” she says lightly, after I ask whether this was her last competition before retirement. “My brother already said to me months ago, ‘If you say you’re going to stay, I’m not speaking to you anymore. I can’t make the call right now, but 99.9 per cent that was my last performance.”
It gives me hope for mixed zones.
In the evening, I scoot from the gymnastics to the athletics and tick off my first bucket list item: an Olympic 100m final. The atmosphere at the Stade de France is electric. As the sky turns from lilac to black, a dazzling light show begins (and many wonder where such special theatrics were for the women’s race 24 hours prior), before one of the great sprint races in Olympic history begins.
Eventual champion Noah Lyles may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but you can’t deny the guy has got presence. He had 70,000 fans eating out of the palm of his hand before the race begins. The dramatic photo finish only makes it that much more special.
Monday
An early start, 7am, hoping to catch some of the mixed triathlon. Google Maps tells me the press tribune is a 12-minute metro journey from my digs. Easy.
Except I fight through the crowds towards the Pont Alexandre III, only to be told I’m on the wrong side of the bridge. I fight back through the crowds, over the Pont de la Concorde to the other side of the river, and trek back towards the Pont Alexandre III. Then I’m told the media entrance is across the road - but I can’t cross over, because the race is due to start, so I must walk around the Grand Palais in a big old loop.
This was my first mishap with venue entrances. Reader, it would not be the last.
This has taken about 45 minutes already, so I give up, get back to the Bercy Arena for 9am, and watch the triathlon’s dramatic photo-finish from the empty stands there, on my iPad.
It’s not an ideal start to my day, but at least I’m in position at the gymnastics before the hoards of journalists start spilling in.
Why? Simone Biles.
Forgive my fan-girling, but this was the ultimate bucket list item in my book. Biles is the face of Paris 2024, taking the baton on, just as Usain Bolt and Michael Phelps did before her.
On Monday, she completes her Olympics across the balance beam and floor finals, in what turns into a wild final day of competition.
With falls aplenty, weird shushing going on in the crowd and controversy in some of the scoring, Biles adds one more medal to her tally: a silver on the floor. It is the culmination of what is proving to be a burgeoning, friendly rivalry between her and Brazil’s Rebeca Andrade, who took gold.
Fans no doubt would love to see the Biles-Andrade battle go on for years to come, but my sense is that we might have just seen the last of Biles at an Olympics.
If it is indeed her final bow, doing so on an all-Black podium, alongside Andrade and teammate Jordan Chiles*, feels like a fitting end for a gymnast who has left her mark on sport.
Later, I witness more greatness as Keely Hodgkinson carries the weight of British expectations and hopes on her shoulders and delivers. She looks calm and completely in control throughout her 800m final, and wins an unforgettable gold - Britain’s first in the event since Dame Kelly Holmes in 2004. It is perfect.
*Chiles later has her medal revoked, in a remarkable decision nearly a week on from the competition.
Tuesday
A 30-minute walk in 31 degree heat to the skateboarding nearly kills my spirit. I’ve once again been burned by the wrong entrance, directed 20 minutes in the wrong direction by a volunteer. Aggrieved and hangry, I cut my losses and grab a salad to-go before heading to the Aquatics Centre. After another boiling 26-minute walk to this venue, thankfully in the right direction, I squeeze into a spare seat in the press tribune. Luckily, a colleague arrives at the stadium minutes before me and we can share in our sweaty annoyance.
Then I squirm in my seat as I watch the 10-metre diving competition, where Andrea Spendolini-Siriex’s hopes of a medal are dashed by one marginally off-kilter dive. Such fine, difficult margins.
But her post-competition interview, where she speaks of her mental health struggles since Tokyo 2020, bring the idea of ‘losing a medal’ back into stark perspective. These Games feel they are a constant reminder of how athletes have become brave advocates for the importance of mental health. It is as impressive and commendable as Spendolini-Siriex’s acrobatics off the diving board.
Next I cross the bridge to the Stade de France and meet with British long jumper Jazmin Sawyers, who I’m interviewing for the Telegraph. Her Achilles injury in April brought a heartbreaking end to her Paris aims, but she is at the Olympics working as a commentator for the BBC.
She shows me her incredible nail art, complete with her favourite Animal Crossing characters holding teeny yellow BBC Sport microphones and a lilac track.
She is choosing positivity amid a difficult situation and her energy is really infectious. “The way I’m viewing it, every time you hear of a champion’s story, something has happened and they’ve been through something,” she says. “This is just my thing. I’m at the bottom point but that will set me up to be a champion. Nobody gets that without going through something. I feel like I’ll feel better and recover better if I’m happy and enjoying myself.
“My training partner Kat Johnson-Thompson did her Achilles and has been able to help me through it. I’m sure she doesn’t need reminding of such a difficult moment but she’s been an overwhelming support - amazing, a real crucial part. She is evidence that I can do it. I can use her as the blueprint.”
Then I’m lucky enough to watch one of the great 1,500m races in Olympic history, as Josh Kerr and Jakob Ingebrigtsen’s rivalry is curtailed by Cole Hocker sneaking round the inside to win gold. Sport, eh?
Wednesday
I spend lunchtime with two-time Olympic medallist Sky Brown, fresh from winning her bronze medal the previous day. The 16-year-old British skateboarder is popping a painkiller and drinking a bubble tea, wincing slightly as she sits down in the corporate conference room we’ve been assigned by Visa, who she works with as an athlete ambassador.
She talks through what it’s like to win a medal mere hours after her father popped her dislocated shoulder back into its socket. Painful, is the general gist, but Brown is made of tougher stuff than most.
Next I walk up and down an avenue parallel with the Champ de Mars for what feels like an hour, before finally finding the correct entrance to the beach volleyball venue. Then I walk some more to get the media tribune steps. I’m feeling mildly miffed about my abysmal record when it comes to finding venue entrances, and then the Eiffel Tower comes into view and those feelings quickly dissipated.
Apart from the stunning views, this crowd is as fun as I’ve found in Paris. There is also an artist set up with an easel in the media tribune, who had spent a few days creating his version of the impressive backdrop to the beach volleyball. It’s a nice touch. The sport is good, the Brazilian pair prevail, and I can feel my skin burning as the DJ blasts ‘Mambo No 5’ between points. I have had worse Wednesdays.
I then met some friends at the Parc de la Villete, where all the nation houses are located. We somehow settled on Mongolia House, drank a vodka and blueberry juice (apparently a national specialty ) and watch a famous throat singer and his band play some songs about Genghis Khan. If that doesn’t capture the Olympic spirit, I’m not sure what does.
Thursday
I had big aims to squeeze at least three sports into my day.
After just catching the end of the outdoor swimming down the Seine (and thinking, I’m counting this as sport number one of the day), I struggle to find the entrance of the Grand Palais. I then stumble through the temporary plasterboard corridors set up within the venue before finally bursting through the correct door.
Like at the volleyball earlier that week, the 45 minutes of aimless wandering in the heat quickly become worth it for the view I’m rewarded with: towering glass domes and a spectacular, light-filled, late-19th-century structure working as the backdrop to an Olympic event. This time, a taekwondo mat surrounded by stands filled to the brim. As aesthetically pleasing a sporting arena as I’ve ever seen.
The brutal nature of sport was on full display though, as two-time Olympic gold medallist Jade Jones is ejected in the round-of-16.
Earlier, I was moved by Iran’s Nahid Kiyanichandeh’s win in the same round, which sparked celebrations from women dotted around the crowd waving flags and punching the air. A number of them are wearing headscarves, like the athlete herself, and - considering France has blocked women athletes from wearing a hijab at these Olympics - Kiyanichandeh’s presence feels like a powerful statement in itself.
Later, after eating a pasta salad on a park bench in Square Marigny, I stumble upon Olympic trampoline champion Bryony Page and a Team GB press officer. They are eating their lunch on a nearby bench too, and crouched over a phone, scrolling through her emails. The press officer tells me that winning a gold medal at the Olympics will spark hundreds of offers and invites from brands, and jumping on them quickly - even in the fog of celebrations in Paris - is key.
A 45-minute metro later, and I’m aiming for the table tennis in South Paris Arena. Instead I unwittingly end up in the neighbouring venue, where the women’s 59kg weightlifting is due to start. I’m not complaining.
I watch in awe at the women lifting bars close to double their body weight for an hour or so, then scoot over to the basketball at the Bercy Arena only to be denied access because the event is oversubscribed to.
Gutted, I take in the close semi-final between Germany and France at a neighbouring cafe full of boisterous home fans, before returning to the Stade de France where Pakistan’s Arshad Nadeem delivers an Olympic record 92.97m javelin throw and an emotionally-charged first medal for his country in athletics.
Friday
It’s my final day in Paris, but there’s time for one more sport: climbing.
I’ve been bouldering at a local club for the last few months, and love it. So to watch the pros scale the wall like real-life Spiderman is one thing I can’t miss. It is also mildly heartening to see some of them stumped by some of the trickier climbs, proving it even happens to the pros.
My journey there with suitcase in tow is as fun as most of my journeys this week. I get on the wrong train and don’t realise for about three stops. It delays me by about 30 minutes so I miss the start of the boulder competition. But as I lug my suitcase up to the media tribune, I can already feel that this trip will be special. As 7,000 people will on each and every climber, the sun beating down on Le Bourget, it creates a collegiate atmosphere unlike any I’ve been at so far in Paris.
This quirky sport is still only at its second Olympics, and — even though I’m a climbing enthusiast — I am among a huddle of journalists trying to work out the basic rules to victory. Trying to make sense of an unfamiliar sport is part of the fun of the Olympics, and I watch on in slight bafflement as the athletes get out their binoculars to suss out the 15-metre wall set-up for the lead climb section of the event.
When 19-year-old Toby Roberts wins gold, this delightful day out turns into a big story. I’m spurred into action and tasked by the Telegraph to find out everything I can about this British teen sensation.
Beyond a bit of background gleaned from his YouTube channel, I thought the best people to tell me about Roberts were going to be those closest to him. Luckily his family aren’t far away from our mixed zone area, so I run over and grab a word with his mother Marina, father and coach Tristan and his three siblings. They’re all beaming with pride and looking deliriously shocked at the “madness” of what they just watched.
I won’t ever forget their joy. Or them sharing that they are, ironically enough, actually all afraid of heights. Go figure.
I transcribe the interviews on the train to the airport and write up the story from my flight gate at Paris-Orly Airport. It’s a slapdash, exhilarating end to a week that will be difficult to top.
Back soon,
Molly x
Loved your description of “behind the scenes” olympics - felt myself transpose to your experiences! 😍👏
This was the first Olympics in six that I didn't cover. I missed all the stories; thank you for sharing yours.