True, I once abandoned my home country for France and Switzerland, but that doesn’t mean I can’t muster up a bit of national pride as the Olympics get under way. I like to back a winner and Canada “owned the podium” at the Vancouver Games, so I expect good things again. This year, there’s a lot of “we are winter” chatter. I’m more than happy for the Russians to take on that mess.

Even I, apathetic about athletics at the best of times, have a strong desire to see our young Canuck snow boarders and skiers and skaters swoosh and swish their way to the top. I can’t explain it, it just is. In general, I like for all to be included in the glory. But given that the games are being held in a place where persecution persists for loving a person with the same parts as your own, inclusion doesn’t seem to be high on the priority list this time.

At least some strides have been made in terms of equality. This year women will be graciously granted a ski jumping competition for the first time, a battle hard won after the International Olympics Committee shut them out last go around. Sounds like a strategic ski pole thrust would’ve been helpful as that debate raged. If a bunch of women are foolish enough to hurl themselves toward a mountain of ice at breakneck speed, praying to land upright on two skinny strips of fiberglass, and do it in a spandex jumpsuit, I say throw a bunch of medals at them and call it a day.

Of course, I won’t grow roots to a couch and watch every event until my eyeballs are seared from the glare of HDTV snow and ice. No, that task will fall to my husband. I can’t fully embrace the Games, probably because I can’t fully relate to all the events. Like the ski jumpers so sensibly excluded (everyone knows that ovaries render one useless for speed and strength), I too feel left out in the cold. Again, perhaps ovaries are to blame, in this case glands that have long been useless for sport of any kind.

My rambling point is this: The theme at Sochi is “Hot. Cool. Yours.” Well, fine then, where are my events? How can I possibly support a celebration of humanity that doesn’t include the feats I’ve spent a lifetime mastering? When the Olympics FINALLY recognize the oft pooh-poohed events like Reading While Reclined on a Luge, the Alpine Chair Lift Ride, Ski Lodge Brandy Sipping, maybe then I could really get into it.

I think what’s needed here is a Middle-Aged Lazy Arse Games. I just know if only I was given the opportunity to compete, I could be a contender for gold. As long as I don’t have to travel too far or get up too early; as long as I get to wear a cellulite minimizing suit and have thick, expensive moisturizer for my face that looks like lizard skin from October to April; as long as the medals are dark chocolate discs wrapped in shiny gold foil, then I’m ready to lead Team Canada to greatness. First up, the Pie-athlon.

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