The Olympics, part 3

It was a Friday night, and I was on my way to see Apolo. I had taken in USA’s slaughtering of Finland in men’s hockey earlier in the day, but wanted to try and catch some short track before I reported to work. There was a palpable feeling around Vancouver that night, a latent understanding that the Games were coming to an end. One more Olympic weekend. The skaters were warming up as I took my seat in the Pacific Colloseum’s upper deck. I would only be able to catch a few heats, but with two of the most exciting and star-studded events being held, the men’s 500m and the women’s 1000m, I was ok with that. To call the men’s 500 a race is a stretch. It’s more of a scramble. Skaters skate five laps around an incredibly small rink, barely long enough for one to open up their stride before having to dip into the curve. No lead is safe and the constant desperation in each skater as the finish line nears leads to numerous bumps and crashes. It’s NASCAR with blades. The night sped by, figuratively and literally, with Ohno and Canadian Charles Hamelin stealing the show. The races were thrilling for spectators. Each turn threatened to bring a crash or a strategic move in front of an opponent, and the moment the top two finishers crossed the finish line after each heat, the building roared. I had just enough time to see Ohno tip his skate over the finish line to send him into the finals before I had to bolt to the busses.
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The Richmond Olympic Oval is a vast structure with high, wooden ceilings, low slung seating and bright fluorescent lights. Unlike the closer quarters of the Pacific Coloseeum or Canada Hockey Place, the Oval had an almost light, airy quality to it. Team pursuits were on tap for Saturday afternoon. One of the more unusual speed skating competitions, team pursuits are comprised of two teams of three skaters each. The teams start on opposing sides of the oval, and the team with all three skaters across the finish line and the fastest time wins. Synchronicity is key in the early stage of the race, with all three skaters moving as one entity. But as the finish line approaches skaters can fall behind, costing teams valuable seconds and making finishes even more dramatic. I arrived at the Oval just in time to catch the end of the women’s semifinal race between the USA and Germany. The Germans held a slim lead over the US until Germany’s last skater suffered a broken skate blade and began to fall behind her teammates. She stumbled mightily at the home stretch and desperately threw herself across the finish line, sliding to a stop with her head buried in her arms, crushed by the fact that she caused her team to lose. Except, they didn’t lose. Still swimming in grief, she peeked her eyes at the scoreboard and threw her hands up. Germany had edged out the U.S. by .23 seconds.

Soon after was the men’s final between the U.S. and Canada. Led by Chad Hedrick, the U.S. team was the underdog against Denny Morrison’s Canadian squad. Hedrick, who had transformed since Torino from brash and cocky to devoutly religious and humble was skating in his last Olympics. The Canadians grabbed the lead from the starting gun, and didn’t let go. The entirety of the race was like an audio version of “the wave”, the section that the Canadians were skating in front of growing louder. Hedrick’s team didn’t roll over though. They kept the race close, but each instance that a split time was displayed on screen, a roar of Canadian approval rose from the crowd. After the race, Hamilton and his squad skated a victory lap, acknowledging the crowd and soaking in the moment. But in the midst of that, Chad Hedrick was skating a farewell lap, soaking in his last moments as an Olympian. Someone handed him an American flag that he proudly carried as he waved to fans and he stopped in front of my section, acknowledging a contingent of friends and supporters. And he just stood there, holding an American flag, flashing that bright grin, his entire career whittled down to this one moment of victory, contentment, joy. And I got to watch. I got a close up view to one of those moments in life where you realize who you are and what your life is all about. One of those little moments where everything makes sense. Fifteen days earlier I had never felt more Canadian. But at that moment, watching Chad Hedrick close a chapter of his life, I never felt more American.
But the Oval had one more treat for fans that day. After barely sliding head first into the finals, Germany would take on Japan in the women’s final. Japan led from the start. Germany skating swiftly, but at each split time, Japan pulled further and further away. Then, with one lap left, Germany visibly kicked it into overdrive. The split time dropped to below 1 second. Then below .30. The volume of the crowd rose. No. This was impossible. There was no way Germany would take this. Adding to the speculation, the announcer pointed out that the German team had the ability to finish strong so that no lead was insurmountable. The split was down to .18 coming down the home stretch. The skaters broke from their aerodynamic formation to skate in a horizontal line. The noise was deafening. Both teams reached the finish line at the same time. Necks twisted from the finish line to the scoreboard, and a unified “whoa!” came from the crowd. Germany has the gold medal by .02 seconds.

The Olympics, Part 1

The man came up to me as I left Tim Horton’s, guitar slung over his back, straddling a bicycle. “Excuse me Miss,” he said. “I’ve been on the streets since Saturday, but I’ll be working for my brother this weekend, He’s a carpenter and believe me I’d rather be playing music than working with my hands but in hard times like these I’m just trying to do what I can This morning I’m trying to buy an orange juice which costs 89 cents but I only have 60…” The man barely took a breath in between his words, which were clearly scripted, rehearsed and delivered countless times. Before he could finish I dug into my pocket and pulled out a dollar coin and gave it to him as he thanked me and I walked away. On any other day, I wouldn’t even give the man a chance to start his spiel, let alone give him any money. But today was different. Today was the first day of the Olympics. The Olympics will do that to you. They’ll make you stop, if just for that small moment, and do something different. Something better.

For the next 17 days, the city of Vancouver would transform from a rainy little city to the center of the sporting universe. The world would cast it’s eyes on the city. It would watch as the city of Vancouver, and Olympic fans and athletes endured heartbreaking tragedy, celebrated delicious victories, and transcended sport.

And I was there. I was swept up in the overwhelming tidal wave of spirit that gripped Vancouver. I witnessed Canadians at their most passionately Canadian. I was thrown head first into an Olympic ocean with no swimming lessons, and managed to tread water. So, below is my experience in one of the craziest two weeks in Canadian history and in my life. I tried to make the dates and details as accurate as possible, but when one day bleeds into another, it’s tough to keep everything straight

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Granville Street was silent at 10:00 p.m. the Thursday night before the Games. Save for the bongo player on the corner of West Georgia Street and locals exiting the Granville Street Sky Train Station, there was little evidence that an Olympic Games would soon be held. In fact, in the week that I had been in Vancouver, the only change that I had seen was an increase in fellow members of the media, which was easy to spot thanks to the gargantuan rectangle media credential hanging from everyone’s necks. As a runner in NBC’s research room, I had spent the past 10 days working, preparing, copying, stapling, hole-punching, and doing pretty much any other exciting clerical duty you can think of in preparation for the whirlwind two weeks. The research room is the literal heartbeat of NBC’s Olympic broadcast. It’s home to some of the greatest minds in the world regarding Winter Olympic sports. And like a well-thrown rock in curling, detail and precision are paramount. The correct pronunciation of Norwegian biathlete Ole Einar Bjoerndalen’s name. The last time Belarus won two bronze medals on the first Saturday of the Olympics. The birthday of the youngest player on the Chinese women’s hockey team. These are the details that make the research room’s world move. It has the frenzied pace of a newsroom, and the exciting hum of the being the go-to resource for live broadcasts. But the days leading up to the Games were steady and smooth, each researcher reading up on their assigned sports and preparing small tidbits and facts for the Opening Ceremony. There were a few celebrity appearances that sent my fellow runners and I into a whispered frenzy. Johnny Mosely, Jeremy Bloom, Kristi Yamaguchi, Jeremy Roenick. For the first week we were giddy with our mini-celebrity encounters, but the excitement soon wore off. “Costas was next to me in line at the salad bar,” my fellow runner stated, genuinely unenthused. There were a few moments that transcended giddy celebrity encounters though. Attending a press conference held by International Olympic Committee President Jacques Rogge and rubbing elbows with Mary Carillo and Lester Holt at a fancy dinner at the Pan-Pacific Hotel, the swankiest hotel in Vancouver top the list.

As I walked through a silent Granville Street that Thursday night, I took in the tranquility, the peace, realizing that it would be the last time for a while that Vancouver was this quiet.

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Death has no place in the Olympic Games. The Games are a stage for the peak of human athletic achievement. Where Gods of the Games fly down mountains, race on sheets of ice, and dance with grace and blades on their feet.
But that changed when a luger from Bakuriani, Georgia’s frame was flung off of his luge sled, bounced out of the Whistler Sliding Centre’s slick, curved track and snapped against an unprotected metal located directly outside of the track. Nodar Kumaritashvili’s death rocked Vancouver, and the entire Olympics community. The crash occurred at about 10:45 a.m. local time. I saw the footage at 10:46. I never wanted to see it again. The research room was immediately thrown into chaos. A false report that NBC reported him dead was followed by a confirmed death report from the Toronto Sun. The entire situation was mind-boggling from a journalistic perspective. Sports journalism, and many times, sport in general, is often charged with having no purpose, or being less important than other facets of society. Why invest so much effort in some silly game when people are going hungry, fighting, dying. But the Olympics are supposed to be where our argument stands up. Where it’s ok to put so much effort into these silly games because it’s about more than just the games. It’s the cultural and social relevance of hundreds of nations gathered in one city. It’s the Olympic Truce. It’s peace. It’s the essence of life. But then someone dies. Someone rocketing down an icy chute with no protection between himself and the ice save for a small metal sled and a helmet.
The heart-breaking details began to emerge. He was 21. His small Georgian hometown was planning a celebration festival for their Olympic hero. The emotional magnitude was too much to process, too big to understand, comprehend, package. Each hour that passed was affecting, draining. By late afternoon, things in the research room had settled to a morose mood. With the Opening Ceremony just hours away, things had to move on. But things would be a little bit heavier for the rest of the Games.


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I never felt more Canadian, and never will again, than the night of Feb. 13, when I ran through the streets of Vancouver with hundreds of people, chasing the Great One and a little flame with the whole world watching. Just hours after Nodar Kumaritashvili’s death, the Olympic Community composed itself enough to proceed with the Opening Ceremony, Vancouver’s welcome to the world. I stood in the pouring rain a mere 10 yards from BC Place, watching the Ceremony at the Alberta Pavilion. The rain came in waves, at times torrential, as did the people. A Japanese family passed through. So did a gaggle of young party-goers looking for directions to Yaletown. A line of cops barricaded the entrance to the stadium.
The Opening Ceremony was an experience in Canadian pride. The crowd in the pavilion shouted their approval as Sarah McLachlan and KD Lang sang for their country, and Canadian icons carried the Olympic Flag.
There was no louder cheer than when the final torch bearer, Wayne Gretzky, the Great One, accepted the flame from Nancy Greene Raine. As Gretzky made his way up through the stands at BC Place, the police officers by me began to rustle. The crowd’s eyes shifted back and forth from the big screens of Gretzky making his way out of the building to the cops lining up along the barricades and clearing a path out of the stadium. “NO WAY” said one man standing near me. “He’s coming out here!” The entire crowd rushed to the barriers, straining to catch a glimpse of the Great One. I was mashed in with the rest of the crowd, securing a spot close to the front of the pack. The cold, rainy, black of night was broken by a brilliant orange light 30 yards away. The Olympic Flame. A swell of cheers rose up from the crowd, and chants of “GRETZKY! GRETZKY! GRETZKY!” rang into the night. The Great One mounted the back of a pickup truck and almost immediately, the motorcade was in motion. The cheers grew louder as the Great One glided by, looking impressively calm, waving to the crowd. After he was through, the cheers subsided a bit, and reached a consistent roar. The path behind the motorcade was soon filled in/choked with hundreds of Canadians chasing after the pickup truck, the Great One and the flame. I followed. We sprinted up Cambie Street and left onto West Georgia, about a block behind the motorcade. People began running out of the bars and clubs that lined the street, trying to soak in a piece of history, a piece of Canada. After a few blocks I realized that there was no way that I was 1. Going to catch up to the motorcade 2. Make it all the way to the IBC in a dead sprint. So I stopped, content with the moment that I had just experienced and grabbed my knees, sucking wind. Surrounding me were dozens of others who had just seen what I saw and felt what I felt. There were still cheers and whooping, one man yelled to another “I just saw the Great One!” while others hugged and embraced. I was tired, wet, wheezing, but I was Canadian, at least for those five minutes I spent cheering for their heroes, large on a screen, and chasing their national icon down a wet street. I walked back to my hotel room, changed into dry clothes and soaked in what had just occurred. By this time, fans from the Opening Ceremony were pouring out of the stadium. I opened my window a crack and let the sounds of “O Canada” sung by the crowd outside my window lull me to sleep.




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Day 2 started much quieter than Day 1. Swiss, ski-jumper and Harry Potter-look-alike Simon Ammann took the first gold of the Games. American icon Apolo Anton Ohno crashed his way to another medal. Hannah Kearney soared past Canadian Jenn Heil to keep Canada from Owning the Podium for yet another day. But that wouldn’t hold up for long. The next night, Day 3, Canada made it’s golden debut in the form of a wide-eyed, French-Canadian freestyle skier named Alex Bilodeau who glued his eyes to the scoreboard after Guilbaut Colas’ run, and erupted in celebration the moment the gold medal was his. Canada, at long last, had arrived.

Arrival

So, I arrived in the Great White North at about 10:00 a.m. local time, or about 1:00 p.m. on the east coast. And although it’s been Great so far, it’s not very White. Rain and mist greeted my friend Josh and I when we got off the plane. It had been a tiring day up to that point. I woke up at 3:30 a.m. to get to the airport around 5 to board my plane that took off at 7. Then I sat through a six-hour flight with no sleep. So, when 10:00 a.m. in Vancouver rolled around the gloomy day didn’t do a lot to wake me up. But, even that couldn’t quell my excitement for being in Vancouver. Even the airport was bursting with Olympic signs, banners and displays. One of the cooler things we got to do was head straight into a special “Olympic Line” instead of going through regular Customs services. Once through that we got our media credentials validated. Event though I’m just a student from Ithaca, I got to go through the same line as the rest of the world’s media, which was really cool. We took a cab into the city with a very interesting cab driver who tried to talk to us about real estate in Pennsylvania. After checking into our hotels Josh and I went out to lunch at a really cool pub just up the street. It had on the Celtic football game and had the feel of a London pub, which I loved. Now, I’m just hanging out in the hotel room, fighting off sleep to try and beat the jet lag and once a few more of our friends get here we’re going to explore the city a little more. But so far, my first few hours in Vancouver have been great!

Some thoughts about the fact that I’m going to the Olympics

So the fact that in a few days I’m going to Vancouver is still blowing my mind. The idea that a shy, insecure kid from a rural town in Pennsylvania is going to the Olympics is so incredible that I still can’t figure it out. The most I can chalk it up to is a lot of luck and an incredible amount of support and love from the people around me. Thinking about all of this has also made me appreciate how everything in my life is connected by that luck and those people in a crazy, amazing chain of moments and experiences.

Without my parents taking me to pretty much every North Pocono athletic event that was held, I don’t have the high school sports journalism career that I had. Without that, I don’t get the Park Scholarship. Without the Park Scholarship, I don’t go to Ithaca. If I don’t go to Ithaca, I don’t even get a chance to apply for the NBC Olympic program. If I don’t go to Ithaca, I don’t meet one of my best friends who herself went to the Winter Olympics in 2006. Without her stories of the Games, her constant support and advice, I don’t even get close to Vancouver.

If I don’t go to Ithaca, I don’t study abroad in London my sophomore year. I don’t get the chance to intern at the Times, to travel to Greece, Italy, the Netherlands, to see Chelsea and Manchester United, to meet amazing people, see incredible things, and develop a sense of independence and confidence that I never knew I possessed. Without my sports journalism experience, without the Times, I don’t get an internship with USA Volleyball. I don’t get the chance to live at the Olympic Training Center with Olympic athletes, many of whom will be competing in Vancouver. I don’t get the chance to take the leap of faith of moving across the country to live and work with people I’ve never met before and work at a job that was as fulfilling as it was challenging. Without all of these experiences, I don’t become the person that I am today.

So I guess the reason I’m finding it so hard to believe that I’m going to the Olympics, is because I don’t think it should be just me going. I am the product of so many people who have pushed me, guided me, molded me, loved me and deserve just as much as I do to be hopping on a plane to Vancouver. All of my friends from Ithaca and Colorado, my colleagues at USA Volleyball and the Times, my teachers from North Pocono and professors from Ithaca, and especially my parents. Especially my parents. Because if it wasn’t for them, driving me across the country and following me around the world, I probably would still be that shy insecure kid from Pennsylvania.

Honestly, I’m terrified about going to the Olympics. I’m nervous, intimidated, scared. But, I’m ready. I’m ready to take that leap of faith again, just like I did in Ithaca, in London and in Colorado, with the promise that as scary as that leap is, there will be people and experiences on the other end that make it so worthwhile. Because that is what the people in my life have taught me.

So, to everyone that has had an impact on my life to this point, thanks. And even though you can’t be with me in Vancouver, you’ll be in my heart.

Epic

26 Days!

26 days until the opening ceremonies! My excitement is really starting to build as the games get closer. My media credentials came in the mail the other day, and I received more information about where I’ll be staying. I’m staying at a sweet, hotel in city centre called the Sandman. It has two restaurants, a bar, a fitness center and an indoor pool. It’s about a 20-minute walk from the IBC and close to several of the Olympic venues including BC Place (where the Opening and Closing ceremonies will be held) and Canada Hockey Place (where all of the hockey games will take place). I also talked to a friend of mine who worked in the research department (where I’ll be working) at the Beijing Games. From what he told me, a lot of my tasks will be pretty menial, but I’ll be surrounded by some of the sharpest minds in sports media. The research room is where the on-air talent will come to check their facts before their broadcasts, and my job will be to make as much information available as quickly and efficiently as possible. I think the job is right up my alley as a journalism major. I love research and organizing facts, plus it’s a little less stressful than doing anything on-air. Also, I feel like working in the research room will give me a more detailed understanding and appreciation of people and events of the Games. When I see a skier or a speed skater compete, I might know a nugget of information about their personal life or past that most people don’t, which will make me see that athlete in a whole different light and appreciate my experience even more.

Vancouver Bound!!

Sometimes I have a hard time believing that the life that I’m living is really mine. I’ve been to England, Italy, Greece and the Netherlands. I’ve climbed mountains in Athens and Colorado. I’ve run into Michael Phelps and 2008 U.S. Olympic flagbearer Lopez Lomong and cheered on the English National football team at Wembley Stadium. All in the past year. That’s why I have an even harder time believing that it can get any better. But, in just a little bit over a months time, I’m going to the Olympics. On Feb. 2, I’ll fly out of Newark, New Jersey and land in Vancouver where I’ll be stationed for the next month. I’m working as a runner with the research department of NBC at the International Broadcast Centre in downtown Vancouver. This basically means that I’ll be a general intern that does whatever I’m asked to do… make photocopies, run tapes, get coffee, etc. Besides these basic facts, I don’t know much more about my job, and I have no idea what to expect from the experience. I have a lot of friends who have been to Olympic Games, both Torino and Beijing, and I’ve been trying to get as much advice as possible. But I still have no idea what to expect. I have a feeling that I will be busy. I’m envisioning a lot of sleepless nights and caffeine-driven days frantically running around the inside of broadcast studios as history is made and the world watches. Which is really really cool.
In the meantime, I’m doing everything I can to prepare for my four weeks. I’m reading up on the history of the winter Olympics and Vancouver and following the progress of athletes still trying to qualify for the Games. I want to be as knowledgeable as possible when I get off of that plane, in the hopes of making my boss’ job easier and my job more fulfilling. I’ll be posting here sporadically in the weeks leading up to the Games, and hopefully pretty regularly once I get to Vancouver. So check back once in a while to read about my experience at the 21st Winter Olympics!!