Standing atop the podium, the Golden Boy’s long blond hair blew in the wind. He smiled for the reporters, gold medal around his neck.
The famous image looked out at children from the history books. Frederik Lodberg, who fought with such confidence and agility, redeeming the country after its star sprinter had failed to clear the final hurdle. It had been the first of three Olympic golds for the man who became the face of judo not only in his country, but around the world.
Jakob never met his grandfather. On the day he was born, his grandfather had been watching his son, Luca, in an Olympic qualifying tournament. The dream of father-and-son gold medalists was suddenly shattered when Frederik suffered a heart attack. Luca withdrew from the tournament to accompany him to the hospital, but Frederik died in the ambulance. Luca could never bring himself to compete again.
This double tragedy was an inauspicious beginning to Jakob’s life. It was also the first of many coincidences—as Jakob grew up, he looked almost identical to the legendary Frederik Lodberg, to the point that people would stop him on the street to tell stories of watching his grandfather compete. His parents had always loved how his long, wavy blond hair matched his grandfather’s, and he never felt like cutting it was even an option. People even called him the Golden Child, a tribute to Frederik’s nickname.
During his matches, Jakob also seemed to channel his grandfather’s instincts and skills. His movements were quick and fluid, always anticipating his opponent’s thoughts and responding a split-second before they could make a move. He earned his black belt on his seventeenth birthday, also seventeen years after the family, and the world, had lost Frederik.
The country was already talking about the possibility of its first gold medal in judo since Frederik’s death. The final qualifying tournament was being held in Jakob’s hometown. Officially, this was a tribute to Frederik, but it was clearly designed to give the world what it wanted to see. Not that Jakob needed the advantage. He sat comfortably in the world rankings and winning even a single match would clinch a spot in the Olympics.
The day before weigh-ins, Jakob strolled through the park with Pelle, his sparring partner.
“Looks like everyone’s counting on you to keep the family legacy alive,” Pelle said.
Jakob stopped walking and glanced around. “Yeah.” He hesitated, almost ashamed to voice his feelings. “I just…I admire what he did, and I wish my dad could have lived out his dream as well. But I just keep having this feeling that I don’t really matter. Like, I’m just the next link in the chain. I’m the grandson of one of the greats, but, I mean, is that all I am?”
A passing couple waved and called, “Good luck this weekend, Golden Child!”
“You see?” said Jakob. “I just…well, I don’t want to be seen as a child forever.”
“Well, I think that an Olympic medal would get them to see you as your own person.”
“I doubt it,” said Jakob. “It would be all about how the Golden Boy’s grandson lived up to the family name.” He pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket. “I don’t know. I just saw a news story about how I’m the reincarnation of my grandfather, and I guess it’s just got me thinking too much.”
Pelle pointed to the chocolate bar. “I can’t believe you eat like that the day before the weigh-in session. The rest of us are living off water to cut weight before the tournament.”
Jakob laughed. “That’s never been my style. I’m right in the middle of my weight class, so I can afford to eat and keep up my energy for the training sessions. I jog to the weigh-in for a little insurance, but there’s really nothing to worry about.”
* * *
After a late breakfast of bacon and eggs, Jakob was putting on his jogging outfit when there was a knock on the door. A reporter, he suspected. They had been getting more persistent over the past week, but Jakob had offered a truce, promising photo sessions and interviews in exchange for a reasonable amount of privacy. So why would they be knocking at this hour in the morning?
But it was no reporter. Luca Lodberg stood on the doorstep, eyes red and tears streaming down his face.
“Dad! What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry to put this on you today, but I know you wouldn’t want me to hide anything from you.”
“What’s happening? Are you okay? Is it mom?”
“No, it’s me. I got a call from the doctor and wanted to tell you in person.”
“Tell me what?”
It was difficult to make out the message through Luca’s tears, but Jakob caught the important parts: terminal, untreatable, six months at best.
Jakob invited him in, and they soon got lost in conversation of symptoms, tests, and doctor visits.
As always, the conversation drifted back to judo: “Anyhow, I know that quitting judo was the right decision for me. It was tough to let go of the expectations, the potential. But I’m just glad that you don’t have to worry about that.”
“No…no,” Jakob said absentmindedly, knowing that this wasn’t the time to acknowledge that his father’s words hit closer than he realized.
“But, Jakob, I’m going to hold on long enough to see your Olympic dream come true.”
Jakob was suddenly shaken from his mental haze. “Sorry, dad—I have to run. Weigh-ins close at noon.”
There was no time for the traditional jog. Jakob grabbed his keys from the counter and walked to the back door. As he backed his car into the alley behind his house, reporters rushed to head him off. Knowing that there was no way out, he gave them the quick statement he knew they wanted to hear: he was proud represent his country and carry on his grandfather’s legacy.
Unfortunately, these delays placed him squarely in bumper-to-bumper traffic. As the song finished on his radio, a woman’s voice informed listeners that two news vans had collided, undoubtedly en route to Jakob’s house. The minutes ticked away, leaving him increasingly anxious.
Eighteen minutes later, Jakob stood gasping before the officials’ table. His was the only form still sitting in front of them.
“Step onto the scale. We can only accept participants fully registered by noon, so there’s no time to lose.”
As he looked at the display, he again regretted his decision to drive. Just over. He pulled off his shirt and pants, standing on the scale wearing only his underwear. Even closer, but still too high.
“Can you give me a couple minutes to jog a lap or two around the gym?” he asked.
“Sorry. We need to be consistent, especially for an Olympic qualifier, so we have to cut things off right at noon.”
“What about switching my weight class? I can fight higher.”
“They’ve already drawn the brackets, so people need to fight in the weight class they signed up for. I’m really sorry, Jakob.”
Jakob felt sick. Almost sick enough to throw up his breakfast, but nothing came.
He spied a pair of scissors on the table. A sudden inspiration hit him—this was the moment of liberation. He grabbed them and chopped haphazardly at his hair, cutting it as short as he dared. He stepped on the scale with only seconds to spare.
“Right on the dot,” said the official. “You’re registered.”
Jakob walked away, turning and glancing at the pile of hair as he left the room. If anything, he felt heavier than before. Far from relief at stepping out of his grandfather’s shadow, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it would have been better to miss the tournament altogether.
He was certain that, regardless of how he felt during the day, nighttime would bring peace. He always slept soundly the night before a tournament, dreaming of fighting in the dojo. Each time, the match ended the same. The referee raised his hand to signal the victory, and Jakob saw his grandfather smiling proudly among the spectators.
* * *
In the morning, he awoke with a cold sweat. He had dreamed of the dojo, but his grandfather sat with his back turned. There had been no smile.
The crowds at the tournament were shocked to see his new look. Cameras flashed nonstop, and reporters called out endless questions. Looking beyond them, Jakob saw his parents. Both smiled, but he felt like his father had aged several years overnight.
And just behind them, Jakob saw a flash of blond. Looking through the mass of spectators, he was sure he saw someone with long hair, facing away from the fighters. The scene was exactly like his dream. He quickly weaved through the crowd. His father drew him into a hug, apparently thinking Jakob had come to see him. From within his father’s arms, he scanned the crowd, but the blond hair was gone.
Although shaken by the experience, he was relieved to see the tournament brackets posted on the gym walls. He had drawn David Sommers in the first round. David was strong but predictable, and Jakob had never lost a match to him. As they bowed to each other before the match, Jakob could see concern on David’s face. This was a good sign.
At the start of the match, Jakob reached for David’s lapel, but David surprised him by moving faster and reaching over top of Jakob’s hands. He got a strong grip and pulled Jakob off balance. Jakob recovered quickly but overcompensated, allowing David to block his step and push him to the mat. The referee called out to award David a partial point. David quickly attempted an armbar, but Jakob fought him off until the referee called for a break.
As both men stood up, Jakob shook his head, wondering what had happened to his instincts. How had he allowed David to take control? A lifetime of perfecting every movement—had it vanished overnight?
Jakob started as the aggressor as the match resumed. He pulled David forward while spinning to attempt a throw, but his movements seemed off. David easily countered by sidestepping and pulling Jakob to the ground. Jakob was dazed, but they had fortunately reached the edge of the mat. The referee called for another break.
As he waited for the referee to restart the match, Jakob reached to run his fingers through his hair. It was one of his rituals, calming him down and connecting him to the grandfather he had never met.
He remembered that his long, flowing hair was gone. The surprise caused him to hesitate, and David grabbed his arm and tried to sweep Jakob’s leg. Jakob avoided the attack, congratulating himself on anticipating the move. Perhaps he hadn’t lost it altogether, he reflected.
That thought left him quickly, as David followed up his attempt with a throw that sent Jakob right over top of him. Jakob landed squarely on his back. “Ippon!” the referee called, signaling the end of the match.
Jakob bowed one final time before stepping off the mat, the only person in the building to understand that it signaled the end of his fighting career. Immediately, he was greeted by Niles, another friend from the dojo. “I’m not sure what happened out there. It was like you were moving in slow motion, but don’t worry. It’s double-elimination, so you’ve still got a strong shot at qualifying.”
Jakob walked around him without a word. He didn’t know how to explain it. The feeling was gone. The truth had been dawning on him since he left the weigh-in session the previous day. He had given up too much. “I’m sorry, grandfather,” Jakob whispered as he pulled off his black belt.
Walking past the bleachers, Jakob saw an unattended hat and jacket. He quickly put them on. He had hoped this tournament would be the first step to becoming own person, but now he just wanted to vanish, to feel true anonymity. Nobody noticed as he wound his way across the gym and slipped quietly out a back door.
–
Kevin Hogg teaches high school English, Law, and History in British Columbia’s Rocky Mountains. He can take any topic and connect it to his 1969 narrative nonfiction work-in-progress (although he usually tries hard to resist). He loves supernatural horror movies and punk rock, but he’s just as likely to be watching Clueless or listening to the Monkees. His website is https://kevinhogg.ca.
© 2025, Kevin Hogg
Halfway Down the Stairs 