The campaign Atalanta waged to be allowed to run in the Olympic Games is worthy of its own book. Let’s just say that when every mortal on earth stops sending bull sacrifices, the gods listen.
On the day the games began, the stadium was packed. Every immortal who could astro-travel, walk, run, fly, or slither was there. Plus every mortal with good ticket connections. Artemis had managed to score a front-row seat for her mortal friend Clymene. The mortals were beside themselves with joy at another mortal’s being allowed to enter the games. Many of them must have been thinking, “After Atalanta, why not me?” They were stomping and chanting, “Let the games begin!”
At noon, Iris, the rainbow messenger of the gods, carried the Olympic torch into the stadium, and we gods paraded in after her. I was entered in the wrestling event. Persephone marched at my side. This was her first Olympics, and she was nervous. She was entered in weeding—the events were a bit different in those days—and her big competition was her own mother, Demeter. After the gods, Atalanta strode into the stadium. The mortals went crazy, clapping and cheering.
“Welcome to the Olympic Games!” said Pan, who had a naturally loud voice and didn’t need a megaphone. “The first event today will be weeding.”
“Go, P-phone!” I said. “I’ll be rooting for you. Get it? Root-ing?” I thought maybe a little joke would calm her down.
“Ha-ha, Hades,” said Persephone, and she jogged out onto the field.
When the starting cymbal clanged, the weeding began. It quickly became obvious that Demeter didn’t stand a chance. Persephone had spent her whole goddess childhood weeding her mom’s garden. Now, all that practice was paying off.
After she won, Persephone stood on a platform. Hestia, goddess of the hearth, put a ribbon around her neck. Dangling from it was a gold medal. The official Olympic photographer snapped her picture.
“Congratulations, Phoney, honey!” I said when she came back to the stands. I gave her a godly hug. My queen, a gold medalist!
The next event was archery. Artemis, looking good in rabbit fur, and Apollo, wearing a plain white robe, ran onto the field with their bows and arrows. They began shooting at twin targets. But each one got bull’s-eye after bull’s-eye, and finally the crowd got bored and began booing, so the referee declared a tie.
“The next event is the X-dekameter dash,” said Pan. “The competitors will be Hermes . . .”
Flapping his helmet wings as well as his sandal wings, Hermes fluttered out onto the field.
“. . . and Atalanta!” said Pan.
Atalanta stepped out onto the Olympic track. She’d always dreamed of entering the Olympics as a wrestler. She felt this was her strongest sport. But after all the races at her father’s palace, Atalanta was famous for being a runner. When she received a “PLEASE RUN!” petition signed by more than a dekathousand mortals, she agreed to enter the X-dekameter dash.
When the mortals saw Atalanta, they screamed their little heads off. Clymene cheered louder than anyone.
“Um, Dad?” Pan called to Hermes when the cheering died down. “Lose the wings.”
“You’re kidding!” cried Hermes. “I’m not taking off my helmet and sandals.”
“Then you will automatically forfeit the race to your opponent,” said Pan.
“I should have grounded you more often when I had the chance,” muttered Hermes as he ripped off his helmet and sandals. I had to admit, he looked a little naked without them. He called to the gods, “Okay, who wants to loan me some sneakers?”
Cupid ran out with a pair. “Here, man,” he said. “Good luck!” He handed them to Hermes, and Hermes quickly put them on.
“Runners, take your marks,” said Pan.
Atalanta and Hermes crouched down in starting position.
It was just like being back at King Iasus’s palace. But now the stakes were different. If Atalanta beat Hermes, she’d be the biggest mortal hero the world has even known. Artemis would be thrilled. And I’d be happy for her. But not all the gods would feel that way. Zeus was so unpredictable. He could easily decide to zap her with a thunderbolt as she ran across the finish line. I started biting my godly fingernails. At least this was a quick dash and not four laps around a track. I couldn’t have stood that much suspense.
“Get set . . .” said Pan.
Atalanta and Hermes stared straight ahead.
Pan yelled, “Go!”
Off the runners raced. They were side by side, running for all they were worth.
Now Atalanta’s father’s voice rose up above all the others: “Go for the gold, Atalanta!” he cried. “Go! Go! Go! Go!”
Neither Atalanta nor Hermes had pulled ahead at the VIII-dekameter marker. Was it going to be a tie? I couldn’t bear to look!
Then, at the IX-dekameter marker, Hermes took a funny little hop. He broke stride, and Atalanta raced over the finish line a hair ahead of him.
It was pretty much a meltdown in the mortals’ section of the stands. Complete strangers were hugging each other and jumping up and down.
Only Pan could have yelled over the hoopla:
“THE GOLD MEDAL FOR THE X-DEKAMETER DASH GOES TO ATALANTA!”
“No fair!” howled Hermes. “It’s these sneakers! They don’t fit right. I demand a rematch!”
But no one paid any attention to him.
Now Atalanta was happy to run a victory lap. The cheering was so loud, it hurt my godly ears.
After her lap, Atalanta stepped up onto a platform and received her Olympic gold medal.
“Nice race, babe!” called Zeus from the stands. “Come see me after the games, I can help your career!”
Well, it looked like I could stop worrying about Zeus zapping Atalanta. The old myth-o-maniac had a crush on her!
As Atalanta posed for her winning photo, dozens of mortals rushed up to her. They tried to hand her their cards.
Atalanta shook her head, trying to get rid of them, but they kept swarming around. I thought she might need some help, so I ran down to the field.
“We want you to be our spokesperson,” a mortal woman was telling Atalanta. “For Breakfast Bites Cereal. Our slogan is ‘Eat it on the run!’”
“Never heard of it,” said Atalanta, jumping down from the platform.
“Wait!” called the photographer. “I need to take your picture.”
“Hold it!” the woman called to Atalanta. “You don’t even have to taste the cereal. We’ll still pay you tons of money to say you love it. This is the real reward for winning the gold medal. Will you do it?”
“No!” said Atalanta.
“Yes!” cried her father, the king. He rushed to her side. “Yes to all endorsements!” He began taking everyone’s cards.
“Dad—” began Atalanta.
“Shhhh!” said her father. “I’ll handle this.”
“Can we finish up here?” Pan called to the crowd, still gathered around Atalanta. “The games must go on.”
Atalanta jumped back up onto the winner’s platform.
“I’m not selling anything!” she cried.
“Talk to me!” her dad shrieked to the ad mortals. “I’m her manager!”
“No, you’re not, Dad,” said Atalanta. “You’re fired.”
“You can’t fire your own father,” said the king.
“I just did,” said Atalanta. Then she turned to the mob gathered around her. “Listen to me!” she cried, and they quieted down. “I got to race in the Olympic games. I won the medal. That’s all the reward I need.”
“Way to tell it, Atalanta!” cried a fan from the stands.
“After the games are over, my crew and I are taking to the road,” Atalanta went on. “We are going to fight for truth and justice. We are going to right wrongs. We are going to make the world a better place.”
Wild clapping and cheering followed.
“I’m a hero,” said Atalanta. “That’s what heroes do. That’s all I have to say.”
She was about to jump down from the platform again, when the photographer cried, “One picture, Atalanta!” He aimed his kamara in her direction.
“Okay,” said Atalanta. “One of me. And one with my crew.”
The photographer took the winner’s picture. Then Atalanta waved over her buddies: Meleager, Melanion, Boar, Honey, Mojo, and Tiny. They ran and stood beside her.
“Hey, where’s Hades?” said Atalanta, looking around. “He needs to be in this picture too.”
I slid into the group in back of Boar.
“I, II, III,” said the photographer. “What do we call Atalanta?”
“A HEEERO!” we all cried, and he took the picture.