You know…other than the the reason that Turbo Kick will probably never be considered an official event, and all.
In honor of tomorrow’s opening ceremonies, I’d planned on doing an Olympic-themed post where I described my experience at the 2010 Winter Games in Vancouver, British Columbia.
Our journey to Vancouver proved to be quite the adventure. Believe it or not, I was so decked out in Team U.S.A. gear, someone actually mistook me for an Olympic Athlete.
Scott said they must have been intoxicated.
I argued that I’m totally believable as a curler, possibly even ice hockey player.
Yes, ice hockey. While I’m not all that coordinated, can barely balance on skates, and would undoubtedly flinch any time the hockey puck came whizzing within ten yards of my body, I’d probably be really good at starting fights, don’t you think?
Another highlight occurred during a random encounter on our bus to the ice skating compound. Anyone who knows me well understands that I am not afraid to chat up any stranger who happens to be in close proximity when using public transit. After a few minutes of casual small talk, I realized the man I’d been blabbing at for the past five minutes was a former Canadian gymnast who had competed in both Athens and Beijing. This was his first time in years simply “taking the games in” as a tourist.
“That’s awesome!” I replied, slightly starstruck. “I thought you looked like an athlete.”
He smiled, obviously pleased by my comment.
“So,” I continued, “How did you do?”
“Oh, you know…pretty good.” he replied bashfully, kicking his sneakers across the floor of the bus. ”I won.”
As in an Olympic gold medal, you guys.
Kyle Shewfelt, I’d like to formally apologize for not immediately identifying you as true Olympic royalty.
I’d also like to apologize for sneezing all over your luggage.
(The worst part is that I think it was designer.)
As if one celebrity sighting wasn’t enough, Scott and I bumpeed into Donald Sutherland at the ice rink an hour later.
Our shoulders brushed, and Scott squealed like a teenage girl. Apparently D. Suth is his version of Justin Bieber. (No need to thank me for conjuring the image of Donald thrusting his hips and singing “Boyfriend.”)
Like the stranger who bought the hat of my head for forty dollars. (Which was more like $45, when you account for the exchange rate at the time.)
Don’t worry — I had three other identical hats in my back pack.
(It’s kind of a long story involving my dad, a bunch of overstocked gear from the Torino games, and the Spanaway, Washington Goodwill store.)
But, I won’t be going into any more detail about any of that.
Because I have no discipline.
I’ve had an insanely busy couple of days at work, my in-laws are coming to visit tomorrow, and I still have to clean, cook, and paint my toenails so they don’t secretly think I have cavewoman feet.
(Whatever you do — never let your in-laws think you have cavewoman feet. Trust me.)
Essentially, I’m burnt out. And you’re getting a mediocre post because I don’t have the discipline to suck it up and keep working.
This lack of discipline (combined with the fact that I possess about as much athletic ability as Miss Piggy) is also the reason I will never medal in the Olympics–despite the fact that I was actually born during the 1984 Opening ceremonies in Los Angeles. Many people took this as an omen that I was destined for gold-medal greatness. Really, I think my mom intentionally waited until that very moment, simply to test my dad. She wanted to see whether he would choose to watch the ceremonies, or my birth.
Apparently, he multitasked and did both. I’m not sure which he found to be more impressive.
So…while I’ll probably never compete in the games, there is one thing I could totally win a gold medal in.
Guarantee you the Swiss judge would give it at least a 9.6.