Road Trip to the Olympics: The Dream of a Lifetime!

Having grown up in the snowy Midwest on the tip of Lake Michigan, I learned to ice skate at a young age. We drove up to the Iron Mountains of Northern Michigan to ski regularly during the winter and eventually out in Colorado a few times. My parents lived near a golf course, which was perfect for cross country skiing.

So when the winter Olympics rolled around every four years, our family was as happy as a teenage boy at an all-you-can-eat buffet. We were allowed to watch TV on school nights (a rare privilege) and during dinner (a very rare privilege.) Like many families, our talk was dominated by one subject during those two weeks. I swear our skiing and skating improved after watching too. My ski posters were my prize possessions along with the book, How to Ski with the Big Boys.

Decades later, married and living in Seattle, you can imagine my delight when the Winter Olympics were to be held in Vancouver, BC in 2010. I vowed to go up, even if I could only get tickets to the curling event, which I’ve since discovered is a cool sport. But when the time for the Olympics came around, I somehow lost perspective. To go up to Vancouver seemed too expensive for the budget and impractical with all the unknowns of traveling in an unfamiliar big city with young kids in tow.

Just in the nick of time, my innate Olympic passion shook me out of my passive sensibilities. On Sunday night of the final week, I was having coffee with a friend. I said to her and myself: “I’ve always said that I would go to the Olympics if I ever had a chance. I think I’ll regret it the rest of my life if I don’t at least go up there—even if I just see the Olympic Cauldron and take in the ambiance. I don’t care if we don’t have tickets. We’ve gotta go!”

Having chosen the right friend to go to coffee with that evening, she replied, “Of course we have to go!” We planned our Olympic road trip for the coming Tuesday. My desire was coming true!

The picnic was packed, maps printed off the internet, and excitement was running high. One child was tucked into bed in preparation for our early trek to the border when the second child came to me with those ill-fated words, “Mom, I don’t feel so good.” Eight hours later, my Olympic dream had gone down the toilet, replaced by an all night vigil in the bathroom and a trip to the store for Ginger Ale and Gator Aid. By morning, both kids had been bitten by the flu bug. We weren’t going anywhere.

All through the sleepless night and into the next day, I had a positive attitude that surprised even me. Was I drawing strength from all the perseverance I’d been watching nightly on the Olympic coverage? Somehow, I held onto hope for a quick recover throughout the whole flu ordeal. And by the grace of God, our delayed, but not destroyed Olympic Road trip began 48 hours later!

Tomorrow’s post: The Dream Comes True!

-posted by Donna Detweiler, who watched lots of Olympic coverage with her kids during those sick days.