Yesterday, watching the closing of the Olympiad, I heard a wonderful poem by Robert Rozhdestvensky "Report on ski race". I decided to find him, and at the same time I read an interesting interview with Vyacheslav Vedenin (I copied the most interesting sports part below), to whom it was dedicated.
SKI RACE REPORT
This drag is endless
Like a road to a distant world.
Behind you through the rumble
Awesome rolls the Swede!
You win from him
Half a second, half a bullshit!
Cool lift!
Who wins: Either he or you.
Your destiny has become ours
Tears rose to the very eyes.
And we have no order for you
And not a request - one prayer.
You are winning! - add!
You are winning! - Click!
For a moment, clinging, crouching,
- If you want, take our forces!
Here!
Why do we need them now?
You please run.
Be patient, dear!
Reach, Dostony, wheeze, smog!
Through all other people's "not in life! ..",
Through all my "I can't..."
Well, more! Keep it up!!
... Oh, how hot it is in this snow!
Excerpts from the interview:
His legendary relay race in Sapporo 1972 is like an illustration: there are miracles in sports. The impossible happens. At the 10-kilometer distance, Vedenin played a minute and became a two-time Olympic champion! Today, the great skier of the twentieth century lives quietly in a village near Tula.
...........................
-Do you know the poem dedicated to you by Robert Rozhdestvensky by heart?
- "Report about the ski race"? Just a couple of lines: "Please, run. Be patient, dear! Hold on, stop, wheeze ..." He was at the Games with a support group. True, he didn’t stay on the relay either, he rushed to the shops. In Sapporo, we didn't really talk. We met at the Palace of Congresses when I was awarded the Order of Lenin. Rozhdestvensky came up to the banquet, drank a glass.
........................................ ...
- We read about the ointment trick during the relay in Sapporo. How did you think of it?- Once at a competition I asked Finn Myanturanty: "There is a problem with the ointment. What do you recommend?" He pointed out, "Here's a good one." Foolishly listened. She didn't drive at all! I remembered that episode and before my stage, with the Norwegian Harviken, I allegedly began to wipe the skis with ointment. At the same time, he held the tube in a centimeter, drove with a clean finger. Guessing: bite or not? I even managed to congratulate him on the gold medal: they say, I have no chance. All this worked.
- Guess what will play?
- The Norwegian was one of those people whom I studied. If a guy is a little spoiled in childhood, everything worked out for him without stress - rotten inside. You just have to find the place where this rotten thing is. Press there. And I groped - he really wanted glory. I already imagined how the country would be delighted with gold.
- He ran to smear?
- Whispers to the coach: "For the third time, Vedenin greases up ..." They look askance at the blue Swix in my hands. And your skis from toe to heel! Consider, I played 15 seconds. Then on the descent - 12. He cheated again. I told our guys in advance: “Stand there and shout“ Vedenin! ”So they did. Harviken turns his head, loses two seconds on this. The stick slips - and you win back three. And he turned around several times.
- If not for the trick, would you still win?
- I do not know. But there was a lot of evil!
- On whom?
- For our fans. 800 people sailed on a ship from Vladivostok. They left the stands without waiting for the end of the relay.
- Why?
- They did not believe in success. And most importantly - the last day the shops were open. I had to spend my daily allowance. Correspondents followed. Not a single photo of me from this race has survived, not a single interview! Before the start, I ran into coaches Kamensky and Kuzin. A flat bottle of cognac is sipped from the throat: "Slava, second place is also a place!"..........................
- Were you unloved tracks?
- After the Prague spring of 1968, the most disgusting exit is the High Tatras. We were hated there! Czech skiers, when we entered the hall to anoint the skis, yelled: "Invaders, get out!" The windows in the hotel where we lived were pelted with stones. We went to the kitchen for a kettle or a saucepan - they didn’t give it. To drink tea, water was heated in the sink. You plug the hole - and you cut in two boilers. Madhouse! Yes, and in the race there were provocations. Workers stood on the slopes, waving their shovels at us. They tried to hit him in the back. You intercept the shoulder blade with your hand - and swear at them. But you're wasting seconds. And in 1970, at the World Championships in the Tatras, I generally gold medal stolen!
- How?
- At a distance of 50 km, I beat Finn Oikarainen for a minute, everything is under control. Suddenly, around the corner near the barn, the boys began to stir, ran up and poured washing powder. I looked around, and they leveled the rear with a rake, sprinkled with snow. Everyone stopped skiing! I somehow finished second on my hands, wiped my palms to the blood.
- Was there a protest?
- How to prove it? Skis are dirty. Then the circle was 25 km, cameras are not everywhere. Today they are stuck everywhere, the circles are smaller - 7-8 km. It's a shame it happened in Sweden at the Vasaloppet super marathon. Finn Siitonen and Swede Bieling were taken away from the main group for nine minutes. We started on green ointments at a temperature of minus 8. And at the finish line, when we passed through the pass, it was plus 3. They don’t hold skis. At the 78th kilometer I see the inscription " Servi with e fix ". I think I will, and it's okay. The Swede, who, already barely holding on, suddenly accelerates. The first one rolls up to the backpack, pulls out the red Rex, smears the skis - and throws the tube into the forest. Moreover, an infection, he waved his hand at us.
- Here's the bastard.
- Sitonen and I open the backpack - there is nothing there but semi-liquid soap. Again on one hand had to run. In the end, I beat the Finn. I lost six kilograms in this race. When he began to undress, the skin on his legs from sweat and salt was removed like a stocking.
........................
- What prevented you from getting to the third Olympics in 1976?
- I dreamed of winning "fifty kopecks" in Innsbruck. But I was deceived. I agreed to drain the blood. Now it's called blood doping. It was officially banned in 1985. And in our team they offered to use it in front of Innsbruck. When the team refused, Zakhavin, deputy chairman of the Sports Committee, and the coaches took me into circulation. They pressed on the fact that I was the only communist in the team, I had to convince the guys. By the way, he became a member of the CPSU under interesting circumstances. They called after Sapporo to the KGB: "With the Order of Lenin, non-party travel abroad is closed." And the party card was issued in a day! Without any experience, meetings.
- Did you donate blood?
- Yes, 680 grams. First. Acted as a guinea pig. Those who trained in the Kolchin group arrived at the blood institute - I, Volodya Lukyanov, Tolik Shmigun ... And others managed to evade. Ivan Garanin said: "Vedenin has nothing to lose, he Olympic champion. Why should we risk it?"
Three weeks later - qualifying championship countries. The coaches say: "Petrovich, don't worry. In any case, the 50 km race in Innsbruck is yours." On the "tag" he lost 11 seconds, on the "fifty" - 8.
- Didn't pass formal selection?
- Yes. And I was unfastened from the Olympics. Before that he was in great shape, fluttered through the mountains. Previously, in general, skiers were hoo! Sourdough rustic, strong, hardy.Current page: 20 (total book has 41 pages) [accessible reading excerpt: 10 pages]
“Fish is easier to fry…”
Zeya
Fish lighter
fry,
what to look for...The ocean squeezed us
like in a vice.
It's about the fish god
us
tortured...
Told me
Borya -
captain:
“How it broke me!
Down to the bottom...
The ocean is my mother.
And a wife.
He feeds and waters.
Hits the stern...
They say,
which is a feat.
How - to whom.
Don't be shy
if
burning with longing...I went -
like in a song
to fishermen.
I am her
native,
I'll finish it!
hoarse, strange,
but -
my…
It must be legal
fell out…
With a fishing rod -
calmer.
It is a fact!
It's not about taste.
who - what ...
But we near Kursk
pike -
in!
In what pikes -
terrible growth! .. "He opened his arms
fingers -
apart.
To your favorite topic
us
get through.
Or
he wanted
embrace the world...Checkered from seagulls
and networks
the ocean is rocking
fifth day!
Ocean sting
strives…Fish lighter
fry,
than to catch.
"Humpback salmon in September..."
You're still jumping
Zeya.
Wash the rocks.
Cool the cedar.
Through this lingering land
proud and big
fly.
birds
with a confident splash.
Expand.
Throw splashes at the clouds.
You reign for now!
Rage!..
Only all this, Zeya,
bye.Because the share is calculated
for you,
shebutnaya water.Humanity is here
young.
Humanity is here
forever and ever.
Humanity is building a dam.
So,
that the rustles of the Zeya depths
turn -
irreversibly! -
in a blinding rush
turbines.
He will be furious to the point of chills.
He will be verified and glorified ...All sunflowers
globe
will turn
to this world!
“Fry live near the shore ...”
Pink salmon
in September
going to spawn...
fins flutter,
like flags in the wind.
She goes, forgetting about sleep and food,
there,
where was born.
To the only
water.
frenzy,
herd,
an avalanche from the mountain!
And they get heavy in it
caviar pellets…
Pink salmon rushing, rustling,
like from a bag - peas.
Crushing congestion.
And networks of rasporov.
swaying and bubbling,
like a braga at a feast,
pink salmon
in September
going to spawn...A whitish waterfall boils like a punch,
when in a tight stream -
pink salmon torpedoes.
And further -
over the stones.
On the belly
aground!
Bury caviar in the sand.
And accept death instead.
Her time has come
it's her turn...Here -
not even a river
here is a small stream.
It's harder to get into it
than a thread - in a needle ...Pink salmon
in September
going to spawn!
Then she lies
rain on glass...I will roam
across the blue earth.
roll on the grass,
drink demonic kvass.
But on your last day
at an unfathomable hour
nostrils
feeling
the last storm
to your doorstep
I will come
crawl,
crouch
fall down,
knees in blood
erase…Pink salmon
in September
goes to spawn.
"Tunguska Mystery..."
The fry live near the shore.
Them, like in a watermelon -
seeds.
Like a mossy log
pike dozing in the dark...
More and more among my friends
non-drinkers
yes balding.
We still probably
those.
And, in general,
not those at all.
We're all in a hurry somewhere
we're all late for something.
We run away from the hustle and bustle
we are afraid
silence.
We did not aspire to be shepherds.
Let's stay underdogs.
To -
nothing to lose.
Except life.
And wives...
And the river flows past us
empty and sleepless.
Near the right shoulder
there is a gnarled alder.
Now we confess
this philosophy:
let's keep quiet.
Let's wait
until the ear is cooked.
Until you look straight ahead
roach with white pupils.
Pepper in a black pot
circling,
happy heart...Consider us please
naive and poor.
For we own
only
heaven and earth!And let in the chest, under the passport,
tingles a little.
We are sitting,
numb, by the good-natured fire...colored compass needle
still showing
nor to the north
not to the south.
And on you
and on me.
"Man needs little..."
Tunguska riddle
unraveled a long time ago!
protest -
funny.
But in essence -
funny.
Why are these
fears?
Sensations -
for a moment…
Aliens?
These are lies!
Aliens -
it is a myth…But I
familiar with the alien.
I have been friends with him for a long time.
But I
familiar with the alien.
And not even one.
In my sleepless heart
ranks of their names -
fellow aliens
from future
times...And furious
and clear,
through the smoke of the war years, -
In eyes
Kosmodemyanskaya
starlight shines...
From Sakhalin gulls
to the Kremlin
Gagarin
meets
sighing earth...Shiny knives
snarling.
At the entrance -
drunken growl.
And he goes -
alien -
one.
For four.
Not for a funny gesture
(with a club -
to the tank!)
but just
at the alien
conscience decides
So…
Aliens -
as a reward
trust on their shoulders.
For them understanding
"necessary"
more importantly
how
"want".
The time trumpets.
The lights are swaying...Aliens -
where it is difficult.
Where it's scary
They are there…
They don't like to pose.
The planet is being dragged.
Ironically believe people.
And they never lie.
I know their reliability.
I saw them at home.
I accepted
conviction
boundless mind...
Walking without spacesuits
and weird robots...And perish
from heart attacks.
Not stellar.
But earthly ones.
Mamaev kurgan
A person needs little:
to look for
and found.
To have to start
friend -
one
and the enemy
one…
A person needs little:
so that the path leads into the distance.
To live in the world
mother.
How much does she need
lived…
A person needs little:
after the thunder
silence.
Blue patch of fog.
Life -
one.
And death -
one.
Fresh newspaper in the morning -
kinship with humanity.
And just one planet:
Earth!
Only and everything.
AND -
interstellar road
Yes, the dream of speed.
This is, in essence,
a little.
This is, in general,
trifle.
Small reward.
low pedestal.to a person
few
necessary.
If only someone was at home
waited.
Ballad of colors
Hundreds of years
spread out in wide circles
across the vast water
silent river...Above all Everests -
Mamaev kurgan!
In vain about it
not in textbooks
not a line.
In vain it is not said in them,
what warms the earth
and the earth brightens
because on it
about the mounds of Mamaev
remember the command
light up
thousands of eternal lights...I have to come back here.
For good and bad.
I have to come here.
crawl.
fly in.
And, clutching the heart at that height,
panting
rarefied air to swallow.
I have to come back here.
From small losses.
From well-groomed countries.
And feverish dreams.
Bump into the long moans of people
and chain mail
ringing orders...
In vain is not said in the books,
Mamaev kurgan,
what's the metal in your stunned gut
more,
than in the famous Magnetic Mountain!
What was enough for him and his friends
and enemies.
Instead of dew drops
like a blind stubble
iron leaks,
dripping blood...
And therefore
the most important part
in the attraction of the Earth -
attraction is yours!You have grown with flowers.
You have shed tears.
You stand,
endure the agony of the funeral.
bluish lightning
slow thunderstorms,
like a bell of memory
hitting you!
And then the birds rise from the ground,
and swaying nervously
steppe grass.
come alive
worn out completely
the words.
And on the slabs
wearily
knocking
crutches.
“It is not true that time is running out. We are leaving…”
He was red
like stew from mushrooms.
redhead,
like oranges in the snow.
The mother was joking
mother was cheerful
"I'm from the sun
gave birth to a son ... "
And the other was black-black with her.
black,
like burnt tar.She laughed at the questions,
said:
"It was too late
black!.."In the forty-first
in the forty memorable year
loudspeakers shouted
trouble.
Both sons
both two,
salt of the earth -
bowed to mom in the waist
and left...Happened in battle
smell young
red furious fire
and black smoke
evil greenery
stagnant fields,
grey colour
front line hospitals.
Both sons
both two,
two wings
fought until victory.
Mother was waiting.
Didn't get angry
she did not curse fate.
The funeral bypassed her hut.
She's lucky
happiness suddenly came.
lucky one
three villages around.
She's lucky
lucky for her
lucky!
Both sons
returned to the village.
Both sons
both two,
flesh and become.
Golden orders can not be counted.
Sons sit side by side -
shoulder shoulder.
Whole legs
whole hands -
what else?
Drink green wine
as usual...
Both have changed
hair color.
Hair became -
deadly white...Apparently a lot
white paint
at the war.
"A proverb is knocking on the door..."
It is not true that time is running out.
It's leaving
we.
By fixed time.
Along its long valleys.
Past the forgotten sleigh
in the middle of the Siberian winter.
Past the Irtysh reaches
with the unique wind.
There, behind our backs, -
haze on four sides.
And a lonely tree
ridiculously bent.
Under weightless bombs -
frosty platform.
Arms,
not reaching
to ration bread.
There, behind our backs, -
snow depth.
There are burnt shoulders
stiffen with pain.
Above the darkened city
song:
“Get up, country-a!”
"Ah-ah-ah-ah ..." - echoes loudly,
like in an empty cathedral...
We are leaving the past.
The sand crunches on your teeth.
rusty bush
ghostly bristles along the road.
And we leave on it
shreds of father's shirts
and put on synthetics,
harmful to health.
We go to the line, beyond which -
short tears of women.
Crazy afternoon.
Thunder inaudible rumbles.
hospitals,
where will they take us from.
Sad conductor.
And a trombonist
licking
parched lips...
The road is in the form of a spiral.
The road is in the form of a ring.
But -
having dined with potatoes
or buckwheat porridge -
the history of mankind
to my own end
each passes in time.
Everyone passes.
Each.
And to each - in turn -
it's sunny
it's dark.
We measure the road
measure of their arshins.
Because it's already installed
someone a long time ago
all human experience
there is a repetition of errors ...
And we go to the horizon.
We cough.
We get up early.
Opening schools and monuments.
Stars and shops...
It is not true that we are getting old!
Just -
we get tired.
And quietly step aside
when the power runs out.
"Humanity is on the road..."
The proverb is knocking on the door.
You have to let it in:
"happy days
don't believe too much...
Don't live like this
as you wish…”And I live
as you wish.
And I live
how to breathe.
Fate -
my assistant.
Love -
my mistress...
The rains are flying
ringing!
The earth trembles with a roar.
I would have time
understand her
at least a little
at least a little.
Would say
what is not said
about courage and loyalty.
After all, only a step
everyone has it
since birth
until eternity...And I live
as you wish.
I'm going my own way.
And how will it end
guess for now
I don't try.
I will follow it to the end
open and right.
And my great-grandson
will go to his father.
Maybe -
and great-grandfather...
The world is dawning again.
And I look at the glow.And every day
not in vain
I live again
again.
Fate -
my assistant.
Love -
my mistress...
And you have to live
as you wish.
And you have to live
how to breathe.
"Snow is swirling over Sapporo..."
Humanity -
on the road.
Dear pampering.
Maybe this -
from health.
Maybe not from him...
fussy
pointlessly -
who?
why?
for what?
when?..
From such an invasion
moaning sweetly
cities…
Tugriks,
pesetas,
francs,
lyre,
dollars,
pounds.
And rumble, sated,
banks,
like smooth cats...
Connoisseurs -
one in a hundred.
fill,
like a collapse
modern chapel,
ancient torture cellar.
The shackles grab tenaciously,
feeling itchy in the fingers.
twirl,
ask the price
chains
try on the tooth...
villas,
blast furnaces,
parks,
arable land.
Fly!
Reach!
Swim!
To from the Eiffel Tower
souvenir
saw off…
They go far and long.
They burn with a nervous flame.
And they all look
only
through the camera.
Played like children
through the sea -
On the desk,
through Asia -
in a carriage
on a kayak -
by Oka.
How many?
Where are they being driven?
What is the cause of these disturbances?
What are they losing?
What do they find?
What -
eventually -
understand?
I dont know.
I dont know.
I won't give you an answer.Himself today
leaving.
I'm packing my suitcase.
Trainer
Over Sapporo
snow is spinning...
I'll get out of bed in the summer
close my eyes
and present:
over Sapporo
snow is spinning.
Falling off
like a coat off the shoulder.
Naive,
childish,
funny -
hovering over someone's hope,
over someone's excitement
sounding.
Snowdrifts grow in the yard.
At the snow
young face.
Snowflakes burn in the palm of your hand
pagans -
at the stake...
It's the middle of winter.
For snow - neither too late nor too early.
And we smile strangely ...What are we smiling at
we?
A little of everything.
Everything.
Of course, this snow.
And this midnight.
And the sky.
Or maybe
not only to him.
roads,
piercing eyelid.
Houses above the frozen river.
Holy moment of peace
in which snow is born ...
This snow has come
and leave.
He will pass
like youth.
Like a train...Not in vain
lonely japanese
sweeping the pavement all night.
A.V. Tarasov
Ski race report
Athletes emerge
growing up
from the trainer
like branches from a trunk...The hour has come!
Champion -
on a pedestal!
And the coach
rude praise.
They approach him
hand shake to a crunch:
"And yours, yours! .."
"Athlete! .."
"Eagle!.."
And the trainer
nods sadly.
As if lost
did not purchase.
As if the Almighty helped him.
It's like a dream hasn't come true.
And it seems ordinary
habitual
this unprecedented
height…His pet froze
panting
in the radiance of a gilded crown ...Again the coach
enduring and cursing -
guide the life of a new kid.
Feel again
that returned to youth.
Whisper with an unsmiling mouth:
"You will win...
Just don't worry!..."
And know
what is at hand
validol.
Figure skating
This drag is endless
how is the road
into the distant light.
behind your back
through the hum
awesome
rolls the Swede!..
You win from him
half a second
half bullshit!
Cool lift.
Who will win.
Or -
he you.
Or -
you…Became our
your fate.
Tears rose to the very eyes.
And we have for you -
not an order.
And not a request -
one prayer:
you are winning -
add!
You are winning -
Click!
For a moment, clinging, crouching, -
want, -
our forces
take it!..
On the!
Why do we need them now?
You -
please -
run.
Be patient, dear!
Hold on.
Don't stop.
Do hoarse.
Smogi.
Through all others:
"Not in life..."
Through all your
"I can not…"
Well, more!
Keep it up!!…Oh, how hot
on this snow!
Hieroglyphs
Figure skating!
Color leapfrog.
inviting,
fatal
crunching ice...
For the premiere
world
getting ready -
don't ask for tickets...
And talk about todes
driven by a taxi driver.
Reevaluates
jogging
and coils...Again
from triple salchow
turn pale
connoisseurs!
Transforming into the sun
in a blizzard
in Yulu -
again
dancing Cinderella
at a fairy ball.
Delving into the action
fourth hour in a row
hundred million -
groan,
and only two
sleeping...Figure skating!
Silent palace.
Great Expectation:
when,
finally,
judicial mountains
show at once
like market parrots, -
tickets
with happiness.
S.V. Neverov
"Not reaching the handrail ..."
V. Ovchinnikov
Hiroshima
Without reaching the handrail
stammered a Japanese woman.
echo,
hint,
humility.
Sigh.
Another dimension.
The very beginning of the movement.
Phrase
without continuation.
As if collected from echoes.
not born -
drawn.
Even -
barely marked.
Light brush.
Draft.
disappeared
gone missing
melted...
Shadow of sensation
left.
Singaporean winter...
The city is famous for:
a military eccentric came out,
old man
with a young face.
"Guys, -
he said, -
let's fly!
Boys
the time has come.
Devilishly lucky for us! .. "At seven forty nine in the morning
everything was the same as yesterday.
"Dot… -
the officer sighed
cleanly
hit the target…”At eight twelve in the morning
it was said:
"It's time!.."
At eight fifteen
flying over the world
howled triumphantly
smoky bubble!
The sun is darkened
getting colder.
Both shuddered.
and Boeing
and god!
The steward exclaimed:
"Oh, how beautiful! .."At this moment
in the molten haze
collapsed
all notions of evil.
People found out
what on earth
there is Hiroshima.
And no Hiroshima.
"In ceremonial revelation..."
Singaporean winter.
It's been four days
raindrops,
like bullets
are flying.
And all -
into me.
Rains hang over the world
streaming from the ceiling.
And it even smells
soap
economic.Slightly.
Still a little
pair
Yes, the bathhouse attendant!
Will pass for a broom
palm
(Swing her there! ..).
When the earth sweats
when there is water around
Not all
paper
endures.
Not all.
And not always…
I will go to the sea with grief:
"Cool,
save me!..”
But sorry:
looks like the sea
by warmth -
tips.
And I'm wet on the pier
I stand angry
really me
lemon
hang out
in that tea?
But also on land
shower,
very boring.
Hot and sleepy
like a local winter.
warmer,
than our summer.
Sukhumi.
Self…
I'm sorry
for that
wet
letter.
In ceremonial revelation
the sun came up
yellow lemon...
And its smoking
tart juice
seething in the sand,
dry on the asphalt
odorous shroud
flow down the trunk
from rough bark
pressed the resin
I read a forgotten book on the bench,
golden bullets
made bees,
murmured along the beach,
teasing seagulls.
Was
seasoning of the day!
Was
foundation of the day!
And then over the grove
over the hill
still
heat
hung...
People were squinting
looking at the eternal lemon.
The people were light.
And sour.
October 1 celebrates his 71st birthday Vedenin Vyacheslav Petrovich - two-time Olympic champion, four-time world champion, 13-time champion of the USSR, Honored Master of Sports of the USSR. He was awarded the "Order of Lenin" and the "Red Banner of Labor", is an honorary citizen of the Tula region and the city of Kandalaksha (Murmansk region).
Vedenin Vyacheslav Petrovich was born on October 1, 1941 in the village of Sloboda, Dubensky district, Tula region. The first steps towards sports were dictated by the need to get to school every day, located 5 km from home. Cycling in summer, skiing in winter. In his youth, Vyacheslav Petrovich was seriously engaged in cycling, confirmation of this is the standard "Master of Sports of the USSR", performed by him.
Life put everything in its place and at the age of twenty skiing firmly established as the main direction of the life of Vyacheslav Petrovich. Only at the age of 25 did Vedenin enter the USSR national cross-country skiing team, finishing sixth in the 50 km race. Many did not believe in the "age" skier, but everything was still ahead (Vyacheslav Petrovich Vedenin - 13-time champion of the USSR). In 1968, at the X Winter Olympic Games in the city of Grenoble (France), he won a silver medal in the 50 km race. Two years later, at the World Championships in the city of Strbske Pleso (Czechoslovakia), he became a two-time champion in the 30 km distance and in the 4x10 km relay.
Memorial in Strbske Pleso (Slovakia). Here in 1970 the World Cup was held. ski activities sports.
Resounding success Vyacheslav Petrovich brought XI winter Olympic Games in the city of Sapporo (Japan). At a distance of 30 km, Vedenin wins gold, and becomes the first Soviet skier to win gold in this discipline. In the 4x10 km relay, Vedenin performs a real sporting feat, having played more than a minute against the Norwegian skier Jos Harviken. Many years of training and inexhaustible diligence made it possible to win back a minute at the last stage of the relay - to do, as it seemed to many, the impossible.
Currently leading an active social activities, supports children's skiing in the Tula region. Annually holds the Vedenina Ski Track competition in the village of Voskresenskoye (Tula Region) - competitions that gather up to 500 young athletes, and "Extreme Cross" in the village of Podrezkovo (Moscow region).
In the native village of Voskresenskoye built new school, it has a commemorative plaque.
Robert Rozhdestvensky
"Ski Race Report"
(dedicated to the victory of Vedenin)
This drag is endless
Like a road to a distant world.
Behind you through the rumble
Awesome rolls the Swede!
You win from him
Half a second, half a bullshit!
Cool lift!
Who wins: Either he or you.
Your destiny has become ours
Tears rose to the very eyes.
And we have no order for you
And not a request - one prayer.
You are winning! - add!
You are winning! - Click!
For a moment, clinging, crouching,
- If you want, take our forces!
Why do we need them now?
You please run.
Be patient, dear!
Reach, Dostony, wheeze, smog!
Through all other people's "not in life! ..",
Through all my "I can't..."
Well, more! Keep it up!!
... Oh, how hot it is in this snow!
The Russian Ski Racing Federation congratulates Vyacheslav Petrovich on his birthday, wishes him happiness, good health and long life!
FLGR press service
This drag is endless
Like a road to a distant world.
Behind you through the rumble
Awesome rolls the Swede!
You win from him
Half a second, half a bullshit!
Cool lift! Who will win:
Or he you, or you.
Your destiny has become ours
Tears rose to the very eyes.
And we have no order for you
And not a request - one prayer.
You are winning! - add!
You are winning! - Click!
For a moment, clinging, crouching, -
If you want, take our forces!
Why do we need them now?
You please run.
Be patient, dear! hold on,
Stop, wheeze, be able!
Through all the strangers "not in life! ..",
Through all my "I can't..."
Well, more! Keep it up!!
... Oh, how hot it is in this snow!
Robert Rozhdestvensky, February 1972, Sapporo, Winter Olympics
When I recently attended a meeting in my city Olympic flame, I remembered these lines and the events with which they are associated.
It seemed that everything was lost. Minute and one second break; at Harviken one of the best skiers in Norway, behind (very close) the Swede Lundbeck - the winner in the 15 km race. We have a silver medal or a bronze one - that seemed to be the question. The Norwegians believed that victory was assured. They lined up with flags at their house. Harviken was about to emerge. But all those gathered saw Vedenin, and it was more than a miracle.
Robert Rozhdestvensky was then in February 1972 as part of our delegation at the Winter Olympics in Sapporo, Japan, and saw everything with his own eyes. He decided to reflect in his poetic Reportage exactly the moment when our skier was still on the sidelines, and complete victory was only far ahead. Later, Rozhdestvensky will say: "Vedenin is a legend in sports."
Irina Rodnina, who also performed remarkably well at that Winter Olympics, recalled: “I was on the relay track when Vedenin did the seemingly impossible. They couldn’t even believe their eyes former champions of the world, ski coaches who saw everything on the slopes ... Vedenin fought for himself. For the team. For our entire team. And it gave him extra strength. So triumphant as he was at the finish line, saying exactly three words about what happened: "I pressed, caught up and won" - he will remain in my memory forever.
Honored Master of Sports in cross-country skiing, two-time Olympic champion, four-time world champion, thirteen-time champion of the Union, holder of the Orders of Lenin and the Red Banner of Labor, retired colonel of the internal service Vyacheslav Petrovich Vedenin entered his name in gold letters in sports history countries.
Long ago, when I was still a child, my now deceased grandmother Maria Grigorievna showed me letters signed "Glory to Vedenin." They were addressed to her brother Leonid Grigoryevich Kharitonov, whom I don't remember at all - he died in the mid-1970s. He worked as a physical education teacher at a rural school in the village of Sloboda, Dubensky district. On the photo from the Olympics in Sapporo, sent by Vedenin to Kharitonov, there is an inscription: "You also helped to win all the medals!"
Dmitry Ovchinnikov, Tula.