Olympic Memory #2

I thought soul was something inside of you...where you believed in God, and the part of you that lives on forever...oh, and what helps you dance and jive with flava.  The summer of 1988 gave me a new meaning...Seoul is also a place.

The 1988 Summer Olympics were the first time I really sat up and took notice of diving.  Oh.  My.  GOSH!  So much twisting in the air!  The water came at them so fast!  And, I learned QUICKLY the smaller the splash, the better.  It was the water equivalent of the gymnastics I learned to love in 1984: such grace and athleticism was needed...so much patience to train and persevere.  Diving was to me as an 8 year old, and remains, simply breathtaking.

Soon, ALL I could talk about was Greg Louganis.  ALL.  I.  COULDTALKABOUT.  He was my new athletic hero.  I was obsessed with his dives and that cloth thing he used to dry himself off.  What was this sammy thing?  I wanted one.  It could soak up all the water off of you in, like, a second.  Oh, and I also wanted to hang out in the little hot tub in between dives.  Now THAT seemed like a good time.

Do you know where I'm going with this?...My little self, sitting on the edge of the couch, waiting for Greg's next dive...and he hit his head on the spring board!  Oh my no!  I was SO scared!  "Will he be okay?" I relentlessly kept asking my mom.  I was so worried.  And, of course, they had to keep showing him hit his head over and over AND OVER again.  If you remember...he was okay.  It was all okay.  He also got to walk away with some hardware of the golden variety, too.  

I was having a time the other night with the synchronized diving.  Joyous.  So awesome.  If I could even be half as good at something as these athletes are at diving, I'd be happy.  

More Olympics memories to come later...I know you're stoked!