Olympic Delirium

I love the Olympics.

Like really love.

Like, feel like 2 years between each with the alternating schedule seems a tad too long for me.

Like, full on tears as snowboarder Johnny Lyall boarded effortlessly down the untouched, pristine Canadian slope into the now ablaze Maple Leaf with the voice over of all the previous sites of the Winter Olympics.

Man, I am such a sucker.

I become overly invested once I know the back stories (good work NBC) as I ride the athletes wins and losses as though they were my own. I yell at Apollo as he skates near the back of the pack, even though I'm watching on DVR and I already know he won silver in the 1500 meter race. I love that Bode Miller talks about racing it safe, crashing less and winning more but the victory being less sweet because he didn't ski with his full passion and heart.

I tell you I am hooked. If permitted, I wouldn't leave the TV for the duration.

Ella's getting on board too, saying things like, "I want to be able to do that," (a mere triple lux) "but without all the practice."

Ummm... me too.

And, by the way, I think the Olympic's commercial beat the PANTS off the Superbowl commercials...