olympic village

Well, I am still alive. Barely. After a week in the Olympic Village and touring around Beijing at top-speed, I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to sleep and my body is just now beginning to give in to some sort of viral invader. But I’ve had the time of my life over the past few weeks and I am sure I will have to keep telling myself that when I am relegated to my couch tomorrow and the days following, engulfed in phlegm and jet-lag.

First things first: the Final. It hasn’t been easy for me to find an angle from which to frame my experiences racing in the Olympic Final. It’s no simple task to publicly declare the ways your mind and heart attack yourself after falling short of an Olympic medal on a global stage. I’ve juggled thoughts of hope and disappointment since crossing the finish line on the 16th and nothing quite seems adequate. How could anything really bring it all together?
The few things that I have come to settle on don’t really form a cohesive picture, but they are related in some ways. And with all the comings and goings of the drastic, negative, hopeless and humble, they are what continue to fill my thoughts as I continue to sort through the aftermath of the 2008 Olympic Games.