Oh, Olympiad...

I am in love. With the Olympics.

I have been for quite some time. In 1996, I raced around my house, jumping on beds, pretending I was Dominique Moceanu. I read the biography of the Magnificent Seven after they won gold. I watched Ian Thorpe conquer the pool in 2000. In 2004, I joined my fellow Faulkner freshmen in the girls' dorm lobby between classes, hoping to catch a glimpse of an American on the medal stand.

In 2008, I'm still in awe. Michael Phelps by one-hundredth of a second. Dana Torres at 41. Usain Bolt and his long legs. Nastia's grace. Shawn's power. I love it all. Just ask my boss, who I'm sure is wondering why there are bags under my eyes and my productivity is dwindling.

I've even begun to think of my life in terms of the Olympiad. Every four years my life is totally different. In '96, I was enjoying the carefree life of a ten year old, thinking that despite my lack of talent, I might actually be capable of a gold on the balance beam. In 2000, I was starting high school, looking up facts about the Thorpedo on my high school computer. In 2004, I was starting college, and in 2008, I'm engaged and planning a wedding.

So where will I be in 2012? I'll tell you where I'd like to be. In London, experiencing the Olympics live. I'll keep my fingers crossed.