Watching the 2018 Winter Olympics is mind blowing to me. Seeing such extreme athletes who dedicate their lives to training for sports that are incredibly taxing on their bodies, psyches, and livelihoods. The downhill skiers who twist and turn to maneuver their skis 75 miles per hour down a snow covered mountain; ice skaters jump triple sow cows and pull their feet backwards so that it touches the back of their heads while spinning like tops; skeleton racers hurtling head first 100 miles per hour down a curvy, ice covered track.

Seeing so many personal triumphs and wins while simultaneously witnessing devastating falls and spills is breathtaking, awe inducing, and inspiring. The Olympics is a reminder of how people come together to root for others and share heartbreaks and triumphs without having met that person. All the demographics fade away as we anxiously watch and hope that that athlete completes his or her event flawlessly and to the best of his or her ability.

It's incredible to watch. And it makes my knees hurt. This is a new reaction for me watching the Olympics. Maybe that's a sign that I'm old now. Because I have the awe and the appreciation for the skills and talents that these athletes have, but now all I can think is: "My body would never recover from bending that way." or "Dear sweet God, if he crashes, he's going to break his neck." It reinforces the notion that I am not a thrill seeker, that I have a keen awareness of my own mortality, and I know that I am so uncoordinated that to attempt any of these winter sports -- even in a safely controlled environment where I might be wearing pads and held upright in a safety harness -- would end in disaster. But obviously this is why these trained athletes are at the Olympics, and I'm watching from the warm and safe position on my couch...