Remembering the Games of the Olympiad

Memories are a kaleidoscope of senses. Pictures, names, sounds, smells, all playing back constantly in your head, in real time. You can age someone by how many Olympics they clearly remember, like the rings from a tree trunk. For me, it’s Barcelona, Atlanta, Sydney, Athens, Beijing, London, and (now) Rio.

Barcelona — The song by Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballé, the all-conquering USA Dream Team in Basketball. The day long mini Olympics our school did, which was torture to fitness-shy 8 year old me.

Atlanta 1996. I remember sitting in with the rest of my year, a nervous, awkward 11 year old watching the heroics of Danyon Loader, winning two Gold Medals. History repeated for Sydney — Once again, sitting in History class in college, with the Olympics on the TV all day. Very little history was learnt during the Sydney Olympics!

I remember going out and drinking a lot at 19, leaving Mum, Dad and my sister at home watching Athens 2004. I’d come back at 3 A.M, and they’re still there, watching the games. I secretly harbored dreams of running in the Marathon — but I never did anything about it. Story of my life, really.

I boycotted Beijing 2008. But that didn’t stop 23 years old me picking up a couple of branded Coca-Cola glasses with my Big Mac meals while I worked. Too busy with three kids, 28 year old me almost entirely missed London 2012.

And so here I am, 31 years old, and with the Rio Olympics only two days old, I’m fortunate to make memories of my seventh Olympics games, sitting next to my daughter, as she makes memories of her first.

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