:060216: My captors want me to choose a favorite event. I can't do it. I love them all. It doesn't matter which event is happening, I love to watch. I can say that some of my least favorite are the team sports. I think this is because of the elimination process. If the two best teams in the world are matched against each other early on, one team gets the chance to try for gold, and the other can't get any medal at all. It just doesn’t seem fair.

Conversely, my favorite events are the ones with absolute outcomes, like races. No matter who is racing against whom, no matter who is judging, the best time wins. No style points, no bad luck with whom the athlete is paired against, just pure speed. In the close races, I find myself whispering "go go go go go go go go go go…" as I watch.

At the start of each event, I always find myself rooting for the US. Every two years, for two weeks, I am very patriotic. I enjoy the victories of athletes from my country. I've never met these people, I've never participated in their sport of choice, but their victories are my victories. There is something inspiring about belonging to something that is the best in the world. It feels good to root for the best in the world.

So, although I like to root for Americans, I don't really like to root for Americans who are not the best in the world. I much prefer to root for the best in the world. Doesn't matter what country they come from, if they are medal-bound, I'll whisper my go-go-gos for them, too. I can appreciate the beauty of a sport well done, even if I know nothing about the sport. Yes, I'll readily admit that I am a fair-weather fan.

I'm also a sucker for a good underdog story. A shoddy upbringing, a terrible injury, multiple past Olympic dreams dashed, even a bad pre-competition practice will get me rooting. Speaking of bad pre-competition practices, I am of course rooting for the American, Lindsay Kildow who totally bit it on the downhill during practice, enough to land her in the hospital overnight with deep muscle bruises, and she's skiing now despite the pain. I'm also rooting for the French skier, Carole Montillet-Carles who crashed on the same run, sustaining rib, back and facial injuries. Her face is so bruised and swollen she can barely fit into her helmet.

The element of danger in so many events grips me with fascination. The athletes travel at such incredible speeds in unforgiving environments. You don't realize just how fast they are going until they fall, and you see how high they bounce. How did they get to the level where they can handle those extremes? Then it dawns on me that they start out small. Very small. They have worked for years and years to get to where they are. I not only cannot fathom working so hard on something to get so good at it, I also cannot fathom spending so much of my life focused on a single pursuit. One sport. One single idea. Every moment of your free time since you were very small.

It is because of this that I wonder what goes on in the minds of medalists on the podium. Some grin stupidly, and can't really believe that they are there. Some weep with the release that comes from years of pressure coming to fruition. Probably none of them are thinking yet, "Ok, what now?" Now that they have done what they set out to do, what they have spent every moment of their free time doing for as long as they can remember, what do they do now? These athletes are not very old. The youngest of them will set their sights four years into the future and prepare for the next Olympic games, or other competitions. Some will become commentators for their particular sport. I guess the rest will get a job.

All in all, I am a fan of sport, of friendly competition, of the top dog and the underdog, of the fastest race and of the fairest race, of the home team, of the falls that are agonizing out of pain or out of broken dreams, of giving it your all, even when you know with absolute certainty that you will not win the medal. And yes, I’m absolutely and unashamedly a fan of the "Life Takes Visa" commercials.

:060210: My captors keep talking about the good old days. There is something to be said for living in the now. There is more to be said for enjoying the now. I listen to people recounting days of yore with nostalgia and longing, and I understand that hearts can be warmed by fond memories – I quite enjoy my fair share of cardio-toasting recollections of my past – but the pedestal is what worries me.

My father is a high school teacher. In the high drama of your typical teenager’s life, the big picture is easy to lose. My father reminds his students, “If high school is the high point of your life, you’re doing it wrong.” Meaning Life. You’re doing Life wrong. High school should not be the best time you ever had. It should not be the greatest, most glorious four years that will ever be. If it is, that means the entire, long, rest of your life never got any better than high school. Think about that. Nothing in your life was ever any better than high school.

It’s not just high school. It could be anything in your life. If you can pick a point in your past that was the best time you ever had, then you should change something in your present or your future. Right now should be the best time you ever had. Make it a never-ending goal to outdo yourself. That doesn’t mean you have to go to dangerous extremes, you just have to find something that fulfills you as much as or more so than whatever you were doing in the past.

Life can always get better than it used to be. If you cling to your past with the conviction that no part of your future can top that time, then no part of your future ever will. You will have become older without having grown.

This past-clingage makes me saddest when it involves me. An old friend will want to reminisce about times gone by. Again, I enjoy the reminiscing, to a point, but when it becomes clear that that person’s life never got any better than that, that’s when I start to become uncomfortable. It’s the pedestal thing, I think. I was a part of something, some time in their life that was truly great. Those were the days. The Greatest Days. When they see me, they are reminded of those, the Greatest of Days. I am a part of their Greatest of Days. Their life has just been a continuation, plodding on with only a memory to sustain them.

But I moved on. I had more great days, even some greater days after that. Those new experiences did not involve that other person. I put that person on no pedestal. Sure, we had some good times together. And sure, I’ll always remember them with a warm-hearted fond glow. But my greatest days are still to come, and they may or may not involve that person. Should I feel bad about that? To me, the other person is a fond memory of my past. To them, I am a pivotal piece of their Long Lost Greatest Time.

This is where my discomfort comes in. Being a part of someone’s Greatest Time Ever is a lot of pressure. They want to talk about it. They want validation that those were the good old days. They want me to agree. “Weren’t those just the best days ever?” “Don’t you wish we could relive those days?” “Doesn’t life suck now that we’re not in that time anymore?” …What am I, as a good friend, supposed to say? Do I lie and say, “yes?” Do I tell them the brutal truth, that the time in their life they believe will top no other was, to me, not all that great in comparison to the things I have done since then?

Clearly I cannot invalidate their Greatest Time, so like a good friend, I lie. I agree that their Greatest Time was also my Greatest Time. I can tell, though, that the most persistent reminiscers do not believe the lie. They want details. They want me to explain precisely how the Greatest Time came to be the Greatest Time, and why it is still the Greatest Time. I cannot provide details because I have none. It isn’t true. It was a good time, but I have no evidence at all that it was the Greatest Time. I don’t believe it. If I did believe it, it would be a depressing Truth to behold. Never any better than that? For all time? I hope I have a good 60 or 70 years left in me. I hope I didn’t waste my Greatest Time Ever already. That would be a whole lot of nothing to look forward to.

Remember the good times. Remember the Great Times. Reserve judgment of the Greatest Time Ever for your deathbed. Hopefully, it will be difficult to choose.