(Never mind the mental lapse in the video. Make no mistake about it, this thing has gone on since 1976 ~ not 1996!)
Our family was visiting my aunt in Washington, DC, where we would spend our days visiting museums, parks, and shrines, and our nights watching sports events in a thing called "The Olympics".
Not only did the catchy Olympic theme remain in my head for weeks thereafter, but my love affair with the sport of gymnastics began and has been ever since.
First, and for years, I was obsessed with Nadia Comaneci. I am sure I drew thousands upon thousands of pictures of her, found every single event on ABC's Wide World of Sports that she might be competing in, and read every biography ever written about her. My favorite book's binding finally succombed to my multiple readings and literally fell apart.
My goal was to be her and to get to the next Olympics and score perfect 10s of my own. (That dream basically went into flames once I passed the 5'2 mark and topped out at 5'7 1/2, thus forcing me to abandon my mission and switch careers to basketball and lacrosse.)
Alas, I didn't get quite as close to Moscow as I might have liked, and I had to settle for watching her in the 1980 Games from our Sea Isle City, New Jersey beach rental.
But the love affair began and ~ after years of practicing on a homemade balance beam and wearing down my grandparents' lawn with my cousins and tumbling competitions of our own (complete with trophies made from empty coffee cans) ~ it continues.
Just like any romance, it's not quite as hot and heavy as it was in the beginning. I don't know the names of every international competitor from China to Czechoslovakia like I did then.
But when I head down to Sea Isle tonight, unpack and settle in, you can bet that I will be fixated in front of the television, watching and waiting to see who will emerge from the Olympiad to join the ranks of heart-stealers like Nadia, Olga, Nelli, Mary Lou, Shannon, Shawn & Nastia. I will enjoy every minute, every triumph, every fall, every heartbreak, every ankle break, every questionable score, and every great performance, and I will probably get a lump in my throat when I watch the ultimate All-Around winner stand on the podium while her national anthem plays.
Then I will do it all again in four years.
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