I'm going to get to the Olympics. Some day. Some way. Best believe it, cuz it's true.

Can't say exactly when or how the torch within was lit, but my first recollections of Olympic moments happened when I turned three in the summer of 1984. I was traumatized by the prospect of a little brother on the way (just kidding, Wolfie), and addicted to the Smurfs. My regular Smurf-tastic programming was interrupted one day by music...oh the music--that goosebump-inducing stream of vibration from the genius that is John Williams. Anyone who knows me, knows that it takes even the simplest of melodies to get me all gushy and motivated.

And soon after the seed was planted...I heard tales of the US hockey team's triumph before I was born. I heard of heartbreaking defeats. Crying on the medal stand, winning for your country! Swifter, faster, stronger! My fragile little mind wrapped itself around the idea that Olympic glory was the ultimate achievement.

Skip ahead three and one half years--I was six in the winter of '88, when I fell in love with finger painting--er figure skating. What would Brian Boitano do? Well, I decided I was going to do what Brian Boitano did to get my ass to the Olympics.

That was my first plan of action. My dad took me to Center City in Schenectady (RIP the greatest rink ever) with my first pair of real single-blade skates. The next year I was competing. Two years after that I had my axel, and then my double axel, and then two triples. Dammit dudes, I was on my friggin' way to Olympic glory like Kristi Yamaguchi.

Ten years of competing, early morning and late night training sessions and several summers in Lake Placid later...I decided a social life was a useful thing to have. Off to college I went, thus dissolving my chances to make it to the Olympics as a figure skater. I tried a few comebacks, but money, time and verve were lacking.

Yet the flame still burned. After college, I staged another brief comeback with figure skating--but the dreaded breast and hip growth had set in during my collegiate inactivity.

But that was when running caught my attention. Sadly, I started running to take my mind off of a diastrous relationship and to get over a stupid ex-boyfriend. Before long, I thought I could be an olympic runner! But reality set in there too, realizing I don't like to be rushed.

And then I happened to see Cool Runnings one day on HBO. And what do you know, the national bobsled and skeleton team was holding tryouts in the Cap Region the very next week. Women's bobsled is still a baby in the world of sports...Well, I don't weigh enough to be a bobsledder, so I tried out for skeleton--that suicidal headfirst slide down the bobsled run. Made the training camp, but couldn't go because I started grad school in an effort to begin this thing called, "a career."

That brings the timeline to the here and now. (Gymnastics, softball and ultimate frisbee played minor roles I have neglected to mention.) I've realized daydream of standing atop the medal podium and hearing John Williams music and the national anthem is likely to not happen in my lifetime.

That explosive fusion of hard work, glory, pride, patriotism and a good old-fashioned hamming it up on live television is for other athletes.

It's not that I've given up a dream. I've just come to realize that I've felt what I've imagined a million times before anyway--when I skated, I felt it every damn day. When I ran, I got giddy each time I ran a mile farther than the day or time before. It's that infectious spirit (purified from the political, corporate monster it has become today), that bites you in the ass to keep you moving forward in any aspect of life.

I'll settle for watching the Olympics on television this year.

But in 2008, I'll be live in Beijing covering them! Muhahaha!