Winners never quit... they just find something better to do

I realize this makes me part of a very small (and possibly unpopular) minority, but I have watched not one minute of the Olympics. I just have no desire. No interest. I'm not watching anything else, other than Project Runway; I just can't understand why I am supposed to get excited about a sports broadcast that runs non-stop, 24-hour-a-day.

I used to enjoy watching the Olympics when I was younger, especially the gymnastics and diving portions. Come to think of it, though, I'm sure I only watched because my mom did, and this afforded me an excuse to curl up in her big bed in the only room of our house that had an air conditioner. I don't think I ever actually cared about the competition, itself.

I did like watching the gymnasts, though, if only because I was one for a while. From the time I was four until I was seven or eight, I took gymnastics at the local center. I was pretty good, too - could do all of my splits, front and back walkovers, and all on a balance beam, no less! I was basically an energetic monkey who loved any excuse to hang upside down. I quit, though, weeks before what would have been my first competition. I was just too scared to have to perform a routine in front of people in case, God forbid, I messed up. Goodness knows that suburban parents are cruelly unforgiving of talentless eight year olds.

I don't know what reason I gave my mom for wanting to quit, but she never questioned it. Years later, when I was a cheerleader and could have benefited from having mastered that elusive back handspring, I always regretted not sticking around just a little bit longer.

By then, though, quitting was natural for me. After I gave up gymnastics, I convinced my mom to let my join an after-school ski club. I lasted one lesson. In seventh grade, I kickstarted my cheerleading career and liked it enough on the "B's", but ultimately chose not to try out for the eighth grade "A's". It wasn't because I didn't enjoy it, but because the A's did Competition every year and I just didn't have the interest. Or the courage.

Ninth grade was soccer, which I liked well enough; however I wasn't very good at it and quit after the first practice of my sophomore year when it was clear I'd be stuck back on JV. I quit cheerleading for good halfway through my junior year. I went up to the coach after a basketball game and quit on the spot - no reason, no warning, no notice. I was just stressed out. Plus, I knew I'd never make Captain the following year, and cheerleading, by then, had lost its charm. I had spent three years doing it and my life was no closer to a John Hughes movie. The boys in my high school were all still more Cameron than Ferris.

Sports were never fun for me. While I had friends on the squad, on the team, I always felt that sports were a hindrance to my social life rather than the gateway to it. It was an obligation I felt I had to endure for college apps and social standing, but when it came down to it, I much preferred spending my weekday afternoons watching soap operas or scoping slackers at the mall.

Ironically, it was when I finally quit everything that I ultimately found myself.

After I quit cheerleading, I became obsessively fearful that the sudden lack of activity would lead me to get fat. I started walking everyday with my neighbor and close friend, and the following year, we took aerobics. By the time I left for college I was a regular in the gym, and only grew more so as I feared the Freshman 15 and favored the eye candy that spent time in the weight room. I was often the only girl.

The Stairmaster and bike led to the treadmill, and ultimately, to my running outside, which is what captured my passion for the sport. The summer before my junior year of college I was living in Boston, and didn't want to spend money on a temporary gym membership. Instead, I started running the Charles every day. At the start of summer I couldn't make it a mile; by the end, I was running for 20 minutes straight which, I know now, was at least two. It was the proudest, most exhilarated I'd ever felt, and now, more than ten years later, I'll still never forget it.

And of course, all these years later, I have never quit running, never quit the gym. It's in my blood, in my bones. It is almost definitely a hindrance to my social life - if I wasn't so anal about going so often, I'm sure I could find more time for dates, friends, hobbies. But when I don't go, I feel off, ugly, soft and atrophied, and that's no way to present myself.

There is no real point to this post. Or, at least, I am too tired to make one. Just my stream of thought as all of these gymnasts and athletes have been in the news this week, while I slave away at the gym working off last weekend's indulgences. I say that like it's a bad thing, but I wouldn't have it any other way.