The Olympics are my exception. I love the Olympics. I love the ceremony. I love the competition. I love the fact that (suspending disbelief somewhat) there are young people pursuing their sport for simple love alone.

Yes, many of the hockey players are NHLers, with multi-million dollar paychecks. Yes, many of the athletes are supported by some government plan somehow, other wise they wouldn't have the time to train, and be able to compete at an international level. But they are at the Olympics representing their various countries and vying to be the very best. I think that is cool.

It is my partner's price for a lack of sport at other times. I don't watch Monday Night Hockey. I don't watch Sunday Afternoon Football. There is no televised sport that I watch with any regularity. Or at all, really. But I watch the Olympics at every opportunity. The next two weeks is dedicated to the TV. Sorry. I don't think I would actually attend the Olympics. As much as a rush as that might be, I would be able to see as much as I can watching the TV coverage.

Summer or Winter Olympics doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what sport, either. I may have no interest in it. Damn, I may never have heard of it before. (I mean, what is a skeleton anyway? It's a luge, but lying on it the wrong way, correct? And "snow board cross"? Why not just televise roller derby?) But I watch them all. And they are all an inspiration to me.

I'm slightly overweight, slightly out of shape, and just hit 50 years old. But I have a very small exercise routine, and the barest excuse for a diet. Part of my 2010 New Year's resolutions. Those resolutions are easy to keep during the Olympics. I am inspired. Last night I did my entire routine of 9 push ups and 18 sit ups, and felt great. I had one less bourbon and coke than usual, and my weight is down - again.

I need to find some way of carrying the Olympics with me through this year. And next year. Until the Summer Games come along in 2012.

My partner and I even did our own Olympic tribute. I explained to her what the biathlon was. Last time we went cross-country skiing, it was a disaster. And she had never fired a gun in her life. So Sunday night, we went through the gun cabinet, and I gave her a safety lesson on the 12 gauge and the old Winchester lever-action 30-30. Monday morning, we strapped the skis on, threw the guns over our shoulders, and did our own little competition.

Thankfully, for the sake of wedded bliss (or our equivalent thereof) we called it a tie. I was the slighly stronger skier (with those "freaky long legs"), but fell down once and she didn't. (I know from the Olympic short skate program that that's a 1 point deduction.) And we both shot well enough to kill the very large red disks I had set up. Some shots more successful than others, but no outright missing. After all, it was a 12 inch disc. Biathletes shoot at something the size of a loonie.