Eric Liddell, paralympians and great Olympic values

The Games provide for us, on a massive scale, that rarest of opportunities: a chance to celebrate the pursuit of noble goals and to remember the sacrifice required of those who would achieve their true potential, in any walk of life.

Somewhere within each of us, it seems, there is a heroism drive which causes us to aspire to becoming more than we are – and, perhaps, being celebrated by others in the process. There are moments in our lives when, despite the everyday challenges we face, we are reminded of those latent dreams and the hopes we've pushed aside, and encouraged to reach for more.

The Olympics and Paralympics can serve to do just that, if we can look past the copyrighted logos, corporate sponsorships and political talk of economic benefits.

The opening celebration – which is arguably as much a show as a ceremony today – will doubtless dazzle us with its artistry and sheer scale.

At the same time, across town, the walls of the Palace of Westminster will be alight with projected images of great Olympians past and present.

In a sense, this represents as fitting an opening to the Games. It is in these faces and forms that we see the enormous effort, focus, joy and pain that, added to natural talent, forms part of every competitor's journey to potential glory.

In ultimate defeat or victory, every competitor has doggedly – or romantically – pursued a long-held dream and has paid a high price to even get near to it.

Among the pictures thrown onto the wall of the Parliament complex will no doubt be that of Eric Liddell, champion of the 1924 Paris Olympics.

Liddell, driven not just by a desire to compete but by a potent religious faith, refused to compete in the heat for his designated race, the 100 metres, because it was to be run on a Sunday.

The schedule was published months before the Games and Liddell made his decision early. He switched to training for the 400 metres, in which his best time was modest by international standards.

Enormous pressure was brought to bear on this young Scot in the hope that he might if not sacrifice his principles, at least bend his own rules to compete in a race he was the firm favourite to win. He would not.

On the day, he broke with convention by treating what was considered a middle distance race as one long sprint. He was challenged all the way down the home straight but held on to win, breaking the existing Olympic and world records with a time of 47.6 seconds. The record stood for 12 years.