There is an alternate universe in Philippine sports, one that split off the current reality in 2014: when Hidilyn Diaz, in an agony of frustration over failed results in two Olympic Games and a bungled attempt to qualify for the Southeast Asian Games, decided to quit her sport.
Imagine that universe now: There is no triumphant homecoming of the heroine birthed on the weightlifting stage of Rio de Janeiro, a precious silver medal slung around her neck. There is only—still—a huge void in the Philippines’ quest for sporting excellence and Olympic success, a black, barren space peopled by bickering sports officials, each trying to extricate himself from yet another debacle in the Summer Games.
That such an alternate reality could very well have been our present is proof of the dismal quality of Philippine sports officials. That Hidilyn Diaz could have thrown in the towel, but for the encouragement of a coach whose faith in her never faltered, indicts our sporting leadership and infrastructure.
“She lost focus after she was not able to compete and her allowance from the Philippine Sports Commission was considerably reduced,” Diaz’s coach, Alfonsito Aldanete, told reporters. “She wanted to just go to the United States to work as a fitness instructor.”
It wasn’t just the slash in Diaz’s monthly allowance from P40,000 to P9,600 that illustrated how sports officials failed to recognize her potential and, subsequently, imagine what she could achieve. In fact, they couldn’t be bothered to lift the sagging spirits of the weightlifter from Zamboanga City who would eventually fulfill the country’s 20-year yearning for Olympic glory.
It was her coach who managed to convince the young woman to persevere one last time. He told her: You’ve given the sport 14 years, more than half your life. Give me 14 more months and you’ll get a medal. And then, you can be as free as you want. You can go live your American dream. Go work there, if that’s the life you choose. But give me these 14 months. Give yourself these 14 months.
That was the point where the cosmic timeline split. On one path, Diaz was way past persevering. On the other, the one that we live in right now, she said yes, put her heart on training mode one more time—and went on to bag the silver medal in the women’s 53-kilogram weightlifting class in Rio. How rich that medal is in firsts: It is the first Olympic medal of any color for the Philippines since 1996, when boxer Onyok Velasco also won silver. It is the first Olympic medal for a Filipino woman. It is the first Olympic medal for a nonboxer in eight decades. It is the first Olympic medal won by an athlete from Mindanao.
For this, the Philippines has Diaz to thank. To a certain extent, her coach, too, for not giving up on her. And those who helped her even before the limelight fell on her petite frame.
This is no validation of a sporting fiefdom’s reign. This is proof that an athlete and her little-known sports association can go far in terms of Olympic success despite operating largely under the limelight. Aldanete drew up a program that Diaz diligently followed, one that included the hiring of a nutritionist, who helped her adjust to a lower weight class; a psychologist, who chased away the demons of past failures; and a conditioning coach, who made sure that the athlete maintained her strength despite shedding a few pounds to compete in a lighter division.
This is their reward. This is their moment to savor. This is Airwoman First Class Hidilyn Diaz’s success. She took one more shot at triumph and chose to stand on a pressure-packed stage in Rio to lift and hold aloft her, and her nation’s, Olympic dream.
No amount of congressional citations, monetary rewards, fulsome praise, or offered benefits by publicity-hungry officials can take away the reality in which the nation now rejoices. A photograph of her, other than the one showing her strong, triumphant lift, is priceless: After receiving her medal, the 25-year-old stands with hand over her heart, looking at her flag as the anthem plays, tears spilling from her eyes.