I am exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally destroyed. And the best part is: I wouldn't have it any other way.
The Olympics in Vancouver have become a series of Saturdays. Every day feels like the weekend. The streets are full of pride and pandemonium at all hours of the day and night.
At 5 in the morning: masses of people beginning to line up for rare treats like a chance to touch the Olympic Medals at the Canadian Mint or an opportunity to zip line over Robson Square.
I left the bar at 3 this morning (yes! I did!) and the streets were still packed; the spirits were still bright; and a handful of guys had set up a game of road hockey in the parking lot using a beer can as a puck and flag poles as hockey sticks. A crowd had gathered and they all started cheering. Beautiful.
By midday every day anyone with a hint of claustrophobia would flee from the masses. The streets disappear underneath thousands upon thousands of feet. You have to look up and over to navigate, not directly in front. Else you'll never get anywhere. There is no pushing and shoving. It's all very polite. It's almost like this is the way it was meant to be. Too many people to move, and yet you still get to where you want to go and you meet three hundred friends along the way. It's eerily perfect.
I jumped on a free rickshaw yesterday just because (1) it was free and I've never seen a rickshaw in Vancouver before, (2) my normally 10 minute walk to work had morphed into a 30+ minute walk as I weaseled my way through the crowds and I had a conference call to jump on, and (3) well, why not take a rickshaw to work? It's the Olympics!
(as an aside: I think if Stephen Harper can prorogue parliament for the Olympics than he really should prorogue work in general from all Canadians. I mean, how's a girl supposed to put in her 8 hours when there's a party at her door 24/7?)
When night falls, the city carries on. thousands of people from curb to curb crowd Granville and Robson streets. They rush to the harbour to see the flame. The line up for clubs. They drink beers on patios (yes! In February). They high five and reminisce in the days wins and losses.
Just yesterday, as I waded like a salmon going upstream through masses on Robson to meet some friends, one sole Canadian had a portable radio and the announcer excitedly screamed: "Jon Montgomery of Canada wins gold!!" The guy holding the radio screamed "Yes!" and threw his arms up in the air, as if it were his victory. His gold. He turned to me and with emotion and zeal enthusiastically screamed "GOLD!" as if I were three blocks away not rubbing shoulders in a crowd.
"WOOHOO!" I screamed back and we hugged tightly while jumping. Suddenly, I felt like I too had won gold. My country won it. Me. It's the most amazing feeling. And then the ripple affect happened. Screaming! Clapping! Jumping! Thousands of Canadians we're instantly glowing. "With glowing hearts" -- the marketers got that one right. Smiles stretched clear off of everyone's faces as a man no one has ever heard of before from a small town in Manitoba descended on our sliding track in Whistler and captured gold. A random O'Canada started. And a thousand people started to sing and rock side to side and perfect strangers were arm in arm in a sweet song of patriotism.
It gave me chills.
There is something about these Olympics that is big. I wish I had the words to describe it. It is an emotion that runs deep. It is a pride that cannot be denied. It is belonging to a club of 30+ million people and knowing that there is no other club you'd rather be a part of.
The thing is: I've always known that I was one lucky girl to be born on Canadian soil and to experience my life in this fine country. When I drove from Ontario to BC a few years ago, I was inspired with this country's beauty - the rugged terrain of Northern Ontario, the deep blue waters of Lake Superior, the big sky and vast golden landscape of the prairies, the shear magnitude and marvel of the Rocky Mountains, the wonder of the sagebrush and cacti in the country's only desert, the delicate beauty of the Okanagan. When I kayaked off of Blue Rocks, Nova Scotia years ago, I fell madly in love with the Atlantic, with East Coast kindness, with lobster and fishermen. When I slept under the Northern Lights in the Yukon under the shadow of the Tombstone Mountains, I thought I was in heaven. These and so many other moments have made me proud and humbled to be a Canadian.
But it's always been a quiet pride.
For me and for most.
The Olympics have awakened the Canadian spirit. A sea of red and white and maple leafs greets me every morning and every night. I wake to it. I go to sleep to the hum of people still celebrating, singing, loving this country. It's magic. Cheesy as it sounds, it really is.
Mike had the privilege and general good luck to attend the Canada-Switzerland game this week. His heart skipped a beat when the Swiss tied it up and there was a possibility that perhaps Canada wouldn't win. That perhaps "we" would lose.
"I couldn't breathe" he said. Time stood still. The whole arena fell into one collective held breath. And, no doubt, the whole country. And when Crosby scored in the over-time shootout and Canada won, everyone won. We all won. And the country sighed relief. And Mike took a deep breath. And all was right with the world again.
That's love. That's emotion. That's the Olympics for you.
For every athlete donning a maple leaf there are 30 million people in his or her corner, rooting with fire in their bellies for a podium finish, feeling real pain and sorrow for losses and missed opportunities and crying real tears of joy when the Canadian Flag is raised above all others.
Like I said: Every day is Saturday. Every day is Canada Day. And though we're definitely yearning for less hangovers, more sleep, fewer dinners with a side of yam fries, and the return of our routine, we can't deny that this is the best celebration we've ever been a part of and we are oh so glad to be Canadian.
Go Canada Go!
