I have never been super athletic. I have distinct memories of my four year-old self desperate to impress my dad’s troop of WEBELOs, sprinting as fast as I could, windmilling my arms in great circles as I did - you know, to make me go faster.

I’ve always been pretty gangly, largely uncoordinated, and painfully insecure in athletic settings. Neverthelss, and no small amount of compulsion involved, I have had the privilege of being on numerous athletic teams: community swim, community soccer, the Junior Golfer’s Association of Arizona, high school swim-team, an ill-fated foray into high school track, and a semester of college fencing.

(Two notes here, while I adjust the tape on my glasses:

1. What I lacked in compulsion that semester in collegiate fencing, I more than made up for in passionate, nerdy delusions of grandeur. And,

2. If you have had the opportunity to sit with me in an interview setting, you may have heard me use an example from my years on “The Decathlon” to illustrate my various Strengths as a Team Player™. Don’t get it twisted, sister, I am of course referring to the Academic Decathlon. Varsity State Speech Competition, 1st place, baby!)

To me, athletics in general are frustrating because of the extreme importance placed on teams: I hated always being the one holding the team back, I hated being the one always saying, “dude, chill out — it’s just PE.”

Despite this, or maybe in fact, because of it, I love - LOVE - the Olympics. In fact, our whole family does. For the 17 days of the Olympiad, I eat, sleep, and breathe the Olympics. Its the one time that I really feel like we are truly living in a global community, the one time where I really think the concept of “sport” transcends itself and becomes a lens through which to view all of human endeavor, indeed, the human experience.

I buy into all of the hype. I eat up the human interest stories. I live for the dramatic, pandering, precious tales of tragedy and triumph. I bear my extreme annoyance with Bob Costas, gritting through him all the while because suddenly, despite myself, I am very interested in what he has to say. “What’s that Bob, another cloying account of personal victory in the gymnast tent, well you can go sit on… I mean, wait Bobby! TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU KNOW.”

It is in fact, surprise! a Very Tearful Time for me (and most of my weepy, weepy family). The Nike commercials? Big emo tear. The national anthems during medal ceremonies? Musical kicks to the groin. During Athens, there was this story they were telling about some guy who ran the New York marathon to raise awareness about the situation in post-war Greece? Yeah, I not only remember it verbatim, but I cannot recount it without crying when, at the moment when the runner is about to fail, his ill-advised new shoes cutting his feet to ribbons, an expat and fellow country-man cries out from the side lines “For your country! For your People!” And he is lifted, as if on wings and comes from last place, tearing past everyone to the finish line, a come back feat that makes Lezak’s surge last night look like child’s play. It kills me.

When Paula Radcliffe succumbed to fatigue in the last stretch of her marathon, collapsing to the curb, her shoulders shaking with her sobs… I was reduced to a quivering puddle. (In fact, when I came back from Hawai’i, essentially two years of living off the grid and found out about YouTube, two of the very first things I looked up were: 1. Nike’s award winning, 2002 Olympic commercial “Move,” and 2. The footage from Paula Radcliffe’s race*.)

For the brief time the Olympics are “on,” they make such an impression. I couldn’t tell you five players name from any one major sport going on right now, but I could give you at least 15 Olympic athletes from this year’s games, the sports, their backstories; probably 10 from the last Olympiad, etc etc.

It’s about personal struggle, and it’s about personal triumph, it’s about being your very best and somehow doing it for everyone at home watching. I love the Olympics. And I apologize if this becomes an Olympic Blog for the next little bit.

*Which is here tainted forever a horrible, horrible soundtrack. Thanks, random youtube user.