At our big screen in Canary Wharf, the ran began to pour after an hour or so, and without a coat I decided to go to the gym to do my work-out while watching the athletes' parade. Running on my treadmill, it was good to see every screen in the gym switched on to the Olympic Games and everyone pausing in their workout as the rugged Olympian Mark Foster led Team GB around the track. As every small country was introduced, a beaming flagwaver appeared, proud as punch. More than the opening ceremony, seeing the big grins on these athletes was the bit that made me well up a little - how must it feel to represent your country at the biggest, most exciting sporting event in the world? It was almost like the gold medals didn't matter. Almost.
And then all of us in the gym went back to our work-outs, a little prouder and maybe trying that little bit harder in our runs or at the weights to be at least a little bit like the athletes we had just seen.
Sneaking back to join the damp hordes watching the giant screen, I sat and watched the Olympic Hymn (who knew the words?!) and the ceremony climax - the astonishing Olympian who simulated running around the top edge of the stadium with the torc, to light the cauldron flame that will last until the world turns to London at the end of these Games. Can't wait, can't wait.
My Olympics
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