One of my old pentathlon teammates, Eli Bremer came by my office a couple of months back with an usual request: to watch him dance.

Now Eli tends to ask random questions, make bold proclamations, and casually drop quirky statements about sport and life (for example, he once told me he thought Condoleeza Rice was the most beautiful black woman he had ever seen), so I wasn't too taken aback at this latest request.  But I was intrigued.  Having known Eli for nearly 10 years, I know that although he is a very good athlete, he is beyond what anyone would jokingly call "rhythmically challenged," or for that matter graceful with his feet. 

This is the guy who would cause fencing warm-ups to halt for 5 minutes of laughter during practice because he would generally lose his balance and fall when we had to jump in the air and do a 360 spin.  Anyone who has seen him fence would probably describe his footwork in a competition as spastic. 

With all that in mind, I needed to hear more.  As it turned out, Eli was slated to participate in a local dance competition.  I almost shrieked with delight; the thought of seeing Eli stiffly shaking his hips off-beat with a maniacal smile while wearing man-liner was too much to pass on.  

The dance competition couldn't get here fast enough.  By the end of May, the time had finally arrived.  Eli and I went for a run a couple of days before the event and talked about his routine.  (Actually a run is generous, I am really out of shape, it was more like a fast walk for Eli and a knee-crawl for me.)  He mentioned how he was going to be suited and booted, G'ed up from the feet up, dipped in faux bling.  I was giddy. 

"Are you ready to see a white boy dance?!" Eli asked.  I certainly was at least ready to see it attempted.  He noted how he and his partner would walk out to one of the more popular Olympic instrumentals NBC plays 24/7 during the Summer and Winter Games.  They would be carrying a torch and wearing a Team USA jacket that would be passionately flung to the floor as the music began.  I was beyond giddy, I was Regis Philbin.

As Sunday-Dance Day arrived, I was elated.  I couldn't wait to watch.  Aside from his posse of family and friends, a few of Eli's teammates, OTC staff, and athletes from the OTC attended to give him encouragement. 

Headlining as Dancing with Colorado's Stars, the event played out as a secular version of the ABC hit special.  Tables were covered with white table cloths and surrounded the dance floor (or gymnasium wood).  About 13 couples participated.  Each dance couple was comprised of a local dance pro and a local "celebrity" - Eli was only one of the few peeps not involved in radio or the local television news. 

I had a front row seat.  I felt like Steve Harvey in You Got Served.  Luckily, Eli didn't have to win to pay off some local thug and I didn't have to use my nefarious connections to protect him.  

And that made it so much easier to enjoy the program.  And it was surprisingly very interesting.  They began the show with the local pros showing off their ballroom skills.  A couple of group teams were scheduled to perform, including a community hip hop dance set.  Unfortunately, Kevin Federline wasn't among the crew and sadly, no one tried to imitate the Jabberwocky clique.  That would have set it off...

But once the competition got underway, oddly, I got really nervous.  Actually, that isn't that odd for me, for some reason, I get uneasy when people perform in front of a large audience.  I don't want to see people mess up and embarrass themselves, even if I don't know them - its one of the strange quirks about me (that includes, but is not limited to my phobia of people touching my wrists and throat, my affection for warm soda, and my disgust for white fluids).  

Thankfully, every dance routine was shockingly good.  There were obvious small mistakes in the routines, but that was to be expected.  Especially when they mentioned they were only practicing twice a week for about 2 hours at a time. 

A couple of hours into the competition, it was Eli's turn.  His family and friends seemingly took up about 25% of the auditorium - he has quite the following.  And in grand spirit, we chanted "USA, USA, USA!" with gusto as he and his partner walked onto the dance floor. 

And away he went.

No one will ever mistake Eli Bremer for Patrick Swayze and off him a part in a remake of Dirty Dancing, but I have to admit, I was impressed.  Although he was still a little stiff, he was far from awkward.  Not quite as fleet of foot as Gene Kelly, he nonetheless performed remarkably well. Sometimes he would slip into competition mode and fail to flash his pearly whites for the crowd, but he would suddenly remember that smiling was part of the routine and he would indulge his fans.  

After his routine, we cheered and tossed the roses that were on the tables onto the dance floor, but the judges had a different agenda.  Oddly enough, he received the only negative comments in the competition.  They must have been Eastern European judges who frowned on Eli's patriotic following. 

Regardless, Eli did quite well and was far from the worst dancer in the competition.  Not bad for a white guy, as he managed to repeat over and over again to me after the show. 

And I had to agree.  Not bad for a white guy who couldn't hold a beat if money depended on it.  Not bad at all.