Tears and cheers

I figure I'm going to spend the first two weeks of August crying. Because I'm lame. Because it's the Olympics. Because I watched the women's gymnastics Olympics trials just now and I cried at least four times.


So stupid.


But here's the thing: there's just something about watching an athlete who has trained for years, who has sacrificed so much, who has worked so hard, who has pushed their natural talents farther than any of us can imagine . . . there's something about watching them stand on the brink of the moment that they have dreamed of for most of their lives--and then watching them make that dream come true.


IT JUST KILLS ME. 


I am a giant bawl-baby. When they stick a landing, or smash a speed record, or slice into the water with a flawless dive: it's a handful of seconds strung together to give them what they think is the defining moment of their lives. 


It's not of course. The thousands of early mornings and late nights, ofdrilling, and drilling, and drilling, of passing over food they'd love eat and skipping parties they'd love to go to, and the injuries, and the falls, and the getting-back-up? Those are the defining moments.


But I cry every time I get to witness the moment it pays off.


So sorry, husband. It's going to be a wet August around here.