8/12/08 The Second Most Exciting Thing To Do At 2 AM.

Oh ya’ll, are you not just LOVING the Olympics right now? I have thirty-something hours of grueling athletic competition DVRed and ready for my enjoyment. My new nightly ritual is to lie in bed and watch the competitions until I fall asleep. (This granted, is hard to do while I’m jumping up and down on the bed cheering and insulting Bob Costas, so it’s made for some very late nights).

As a matter of fact, if watching the Olympics ever became an Olympic sport, I would soooo medal. I have it down to an art. I conserve my energy for the most important parts by fast forwarding through all the commercials, Bob Costas seeing how many adjectives he can use for the work “rigorous” (grueling, challenging, stringent), and any interviews with athletes that I can’t recognize in less than 3 seconds. I also fast forward through long races, like rowing, only stopping to see who wins. I have gotten to where I follow beach volleyball games at 30 times the normal speed, and bring it back to normal speed the instant they break away to the water cube. I can identify all the members of the men’s swim relay team, and not just Michael Phelps like the rest of you Olympic posers. (Admit it. You only love him because he’s won a bazillion medals and has a body that you could eat off of). I however, love him for his art. His passion. His very dedication to his craft.

Okay and his abs. Sweet mercy, that boy has some abs.

But I also watch the women’s fencing and the equestrian events. And the men’s gymnastics. And the rowing. And the synchronized diving, which may very well be my new favorite sport because it is just so graceful; embodying all the things I am not. (Note: I didn’t think about this, but some of those synchro teams don’t actually like each other. I mean, they work together, they mirror each other perfectly, but they are not guaranteed bestest buddies like you would expect. They’re just co-workers. I guess you can’t always mirror personalities like you can with a one and a half twist). Regardless, I love them all.

Tony, on the other hand, has no Olympic spirit at all. In fact, he sleeps though every single event with the exception of women’s beach volleyball. He can be in a dead sleep, not so much as stirring as I jump on the bed and yell “Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!” for hours at a time, but the second the announcer whispers the name Misty May, he’s awake and watching avidly. And I do not think his interest is in her dedication to her craft either.

But how can you not get caught up in all the emotion of the Olympics? I mean, I cry when they are on the medal stand, no matter which country is up there. I gasp and accidentally yell profanity when one of the gymnasts misses the bar after a release. I sing along with our national anthem, and study interviews of the women’s volleyball team to figure out how they manage to keep those little shorts from riding up and giving them wedgies on national television, because heaven knows I need to know that secret. (Note to Nicole Davis: Help a sister out here. Is it tape? Elastic shorts? Superior non-short eating buns?)

Anyway, that’s what I’ll be doing tonight and every night for the next few weeks. I’ll be cheering on the athletes, and soaking up their excitement and dedication. I’ll be yelling and cheering and booing and gasping and crying and waving my arms around at 2am while the rest of the house sleeps.

I am an Olympics junky.