When the Canadian Olympic Committee unveiled its Own the Podium initiative nearly a decade ago, it signalled a sea-change in the way this country approached amateur athletics.
It was more than a targeted infusion of money. It was a profound shift in philosophy. From now on, Canada was about winning, full stop.
Like any culture change, it didn't just reset our goals. It altered the ways in which we approached them. Over the past few days, we've seen that that process is occasionally messy.
This week, several former Olympians who've splintered from Speed Skating Canada will compete at World Cup trials. This offshoot calls itself Team Crossover. Its seven members are upset about changes to the system put in place after the country's poor showing (two medals; neither gold) on the oval in Sochi.
Unsurprisingly, those fixes tend to favour the most successful competitors with the lion's share of coaching and funding. That's Own the Podium in practice.
The rationale put forward by the rogue faction – beyond an inchoate sense of grievance – is that this unprecedented move gives them all a better chance to succeed. Which is also Own the Podium in action, though through a glass darkly.
It's not at all clear where this all leads – what happens when someone from Team Crossover beats someone from Team Canada? Are they welcomed back? And does the countryman or woman they beat get punted?
If we're going to double down on the Own the Podium ideal, then we'll treat all our taxpayer-funded, elite-athletic programs like shark tanks. Everyone goes into the water. Only the best come out. How they manage it is up to them.
I'm not sure the average Canadian is prepared for that sort of merciless baseline. Having moved the boundaries, the skaters who made this decision had better be.
That option – going it alone – seems also to be on the mind of double Olympic gold medallist and 2014 Lou Marsh Award winner Kaillie Humphries. The bobsledder is attempting to become the first woman competitor to pilot a men's Olympic team, at the 2018 Pyongyang Games.
What started out as a warm, headline-grabbing story chilled Arctically over the past few days. Because of her mediocre showings, Humphries has been denied a place on Canada's men's World Cup team. Rather than accept that, she's begun swinging on her own behalf at the sport's governing body. Depending on your perspective, it's either bravery or petulance.
You could argue her case from either side.
On the one hand, Bobsleigh Canada Skeleton (BCS) wants to act as a pure meritocracy (at least in this instance). Humphries isn't the best driver. Based on results, she isn't even the second-best driver. Since she has failed to meet the minimum qualifications, she gets no special favours.
On the other, Humphries is looking around at other disciplines that routinely do behind-the-scenes solids for their top dogs when it suits them. When speed skater Gilmore Junio was asked in Sochi to give up his spot in the 1,000-metre event to eventual silver-medalist Denny Morrison, that was an anti-meritocratic decision. Junio won his spot in qualifying. Morrison tripped and lost his.
Just because Junio stepped aside willingly and it all worked out to Canada's advantage doesn't make it any more fair – whatever "fair" means to you in this instance.
On that basis, Humphries has some reasonable expectation. She doesn't want to choose between competing in the top women's tier and the qualifying men's tier. Like most hyper-successful people, she wants to have her cake and eat it, too.
"I don't feel as one of the best athletes in this sport that I should be questioned as to what's best for my personal learning curve," Humphries said this week.
Put that quote in big-time pro terms – if LeBron James or Sidney Crosby or Serena Williams said it, we'd applaud their ruthlessness. This is what separates truly great performers from the rest of us – they don't hear the words "No, you can't."
Within the small confines of her discipline, Humphries is a Crosby or a Williams. She expects people to massage the rules for her, based on her history of success. If she'd stuck to that argument, it might catch some traction. She began to drift from the path when she made this about gender.
"This sucks. I'm being told I can't do something because I'm a girl," Humphries told the Calgary Herald's Vicki Hall.
BCS boss Sarah Storey, standing on firmer ground, pointed at the standings. Humphries's crew finished last season ranked 18th of 30 competitors, and behind two male Canadian drivers. There is only one available slot.
"We don't send people on the World Cup to develop," Storey said. "We don't send them as tourists."
Humphries had her chance. It didn't work out. Which happens.
No one is discriminating against her because she's a woman. They're discriminating against her because she hasn't met a measurable standard.
Well into their laureled careers, Humphries and the breakaway speed skaters are learning the hard lesson all elite athletes must eventually come to terms with: Things change once you're no longer on top. Coffee's for closers, and second prize is a set of steak knives. Third prize is you're fired. Right now, they're all in third.
This won't – and shouldn't – prevent future Olympic hopefuls from trying as best they can to bend sport and the people who control it to their will. That uncommon ambition is what made them special in the first place. Though we may not like all the implications, these are the Alpha personality traits that push people to gold medals.
We told them that competing was no longer enough. From now on, they had to win. Given those new marching orders, they are using all available resources – including some that aren't in the fair-play rulebook – to make it happen.
Underneath the platitudes and the teary moments atop the podium, we're seeing what Canada's push to be the best reduces to under high, competitive temperatures – Eat What You Kill. And do so however you can manage to kill it.
Cathal Kelly