Olympics: Colliding Myths After a Dozen Years

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The facilities for athletes, while excellent by Soviet standards, sometimes reflect their age and heavy communal use. At Brothers Znamensky, a complex that is nearly 20 years old, the pole-vault cushion has a large rip, many < hurdles are broken, the indoor track is bumpy; and patches of grass sprout through the outdoor track. Nor is coaching always lavish. Although the Soviets have been a world power in women's basketball for decades, Center Olessya Barel was wowed during an American tour last year. Says she: "Facilities across the U.S. are of a much higher standard than ours, and they have different coaches for offense, defense and sometimes just for conditioning."

Both the U.S. and the Soviets use electronics to study form and technique, to test aerobic capacity and to develop speed and coordination via devices much like computer games. Sometimes the results are practical: demonstrating to a runner that he is placing more stress than needed on his ankles. Other times there is apparent tech-cess: the $1 million flume built by the U.S.O.C. to study swimming has been used by only a handful of athletes since it became operational in May. Numerically, the Soviets have a seemingly huge lead in sports-science researchers, although the different systems make numbers hard to compare. For all of that, however, new theories are not necessarily any more readily accepted by leading Soviet coaches, most of them ex-athletes with fond memories of the good old days, than by their U.S. counterparts. Dr. Michael Yessis, editor of the U.S.-based Soviet Sports Review, reports, "The most significant innovation developed by Soviet sports researchers in recent years is 'speed and strength' training. Under this system, swimmers utilize heavy weights for only six to twelve weeks, then switch to lighter loads and faster movements. The result: more explosiveness in the arms and legs." But when Igor Kravtsev applied similar theories to track, he was regarded as so unorthodox that Soviet officials discouraged Long Jumper Galina Chistyakova and her husband, Triple Jumper Alexander Beskrovni, from training with him. Technological advances may not always have much effect anyway. Many athletes believe something equivalent to the credo of Soviet Cyclist Guintautas Umaras: "It is the amount of time you spend on the bike that makes the difference."

For athletes and fans from both nations, just as for any warriors facing legendary foes, the end of myth will come with the start of true competition. In 1988 in Seoul, as in 1976 in Montreal, some Soviets will do better than expected, and some Americans will surprise even themselves. Some obscure athletes will overcome a lack of support, and some highly trained ones will be off form on the fateful day. But for Lisovskaya and Louganis and all their counterparts, this time there will be no "if onlys," no implied asterisks next to their achievements. What is special for U.S. and Soviet athletes about these Games is that they are no longer special: once again they are, as they should be, for everyone.