T.C. has it all together
Dantzler is a husband, father, businessman -- and Olympian
After two days trying to reach T.C. Dantzler, the Olympic wrestler from Harvey, the phone rang Thursday, and it was him. I got off the treadmill, out of breath, and answered.
''Call me back,'' he said. ''I hate to interrupt a guy during his cardio.''
And he was gone. Just like that.
Gone.
Normal athlete would have seen that as an ideal getaway from talking. Instead, 20 minutes later, there he was, waiting to answer his phone and talk.
And talk.
And talk, and laugh. Even if you've never met him, he makes you feel like a longtime friend.
''That's normal to me,'' he said. ''I need to have balance in my life.''
Yes, this is about what normal is for today's athletes. When Michael Phelps, the swimmer who will be the superstar of the Beijing Games, was in town recently, he said his life is boring. He swims, listens to music, sleeps and watches TV.
This is the way now. So many athletes isolate their experiences, block off an actual life to focus exclusively on training.
Dantzler?
''I never see my kids when I walk in,'' he said. ''They're hiding, waiting to ambush me. But you can hear them: 'I was here first. Move. I'm here.' I tell them, 'You're the worst ambushers in Colorado Springs.'''
That's where he lives now. And trains at the Olympic training center. And runs his business, which does detailed background checks. And raises his children with his wife.
Just describing his life is exhausting. Imagine living it.
Dantzler has something to talk about, some things to do with his time. Too many things, really. He's a normal guy running a business he started up, with a wife and three kids. They're adopting a niece in need, too. Also, he happens to pack in hours of daily training, and flying around the world to wrestle.
And now, going to the Olympics.
It took a while. He's 37. He never won a state title at Thornwood -- ''That's my claim to fame,'' he said, laughing. He never won an NCAA title at Northern Illinois, where he was a wrestler and football player.
In 1994, after college, he switched to Greco-Roman wrestling, which he knew nothing about. He got a book, looked at the pictures, and then?
''I didn't have anyone to train with,'' he said. ''So my girlfriend let me do the moves on her. I'd say, 'Position your arm here. Move over there.'''
Now, he's a legit medal candidate, maybe even gold. He has made a habit of beating the world champion, then losing to someone else. Mention that second part to him, and he asks, ''What is your home address again? I think I'm going to have to see what's in your background.''
For most of us, we can follow our lives, or chuck everything to follow our dreams.
Dantzler jammed both of those worlds into one.
''Four forty-eight,'' he said. ''That's what I set my alarm for.''
Why that exact time? Because his clock has 12 minutes of snooze. It's all the snoozing he does.
He's at the office by 5:45, back home by 7:20 to help get the kids off to school, training from 8 to 9:45, in the office 10 to 4, training 4:30 to 7, and then home. Unless there's more work to do.
''That's normal to me,'' he said again.
That word again. Dantzler is showing that you don't have to give up your day job to do reach abnormal heights. I think that's his message. There's just something about a guy who doesn't quite win state in high school, remember every detail of it, then moves into a normal job.
But doesn't give up the Olympic dream.
Four years ago, the U.S. didn't qualify for the Olympics in his usual weight class, 163 pounds. So he dropped to 145, but it didn't work out.
It was around then that he started TC logiQ Inc. in Colorado. It was a one-man shop, and his office was so small he called it the closet.
''The joke of the closet was, nobody wanted to work there because there wasn't room to open your laptop,'' he said. ''I was juggling, as my CPA calls it. You win a tournament, you can use the funds you won to get that laser printer, or to pay the rent for three or four months. Or maybe it takes care of the electric bill.''
Next week, six new employees start, giving him 29. He now has a partner, Jarvis Wyatt, whom Dantzler credits for allowing him to travel to wrestle.
Dantzler and his wife, Tanya, had their third kid a few weeks ago, a girl they named True Callia (''In Greek,'' he said, ''that means beauty'').
All of their kids have T.C. for first and middle initials. And I sense a little George Foreman thing going.
''My wife's middle name is Lavon, but she wouldn't change it to something that starts with 'C,''' he said. ''How selfish.''
Dantzler will tell more about his life (lives) in a blog on his Web site, tcdantzler2008olympian.com, from Beijing. Call up that site, and you see a picture of him with a bionic eye and a bionic arm. His nickname, the Tominator.
He plans to take Thomas Curtis III, his 8-year-old, with him. The kid will wear the gold medal home.
''He has these learn-to-speak Chinese audio tapes,'' Dantzler said. ''He says things to me, and they sound good. But how do I know if they are real words? Is my son hustling me?''
The guess here is he's just Dantzler-normal.