OK ... so almost a year ago, I got this phone call at some ungodly hour of the morning (i.e. before 10 a.m.) asking if I would be interested in a paid position during the Olympics. The job description was a little unclear, but had something to do with identifying athletes for the camera guys producing the video feed at the sliding centre. The position was called "Spotter" and they needed two of us, one from the skeleton/bobsleigh side and one from the luge side.

After much hmmm-ing and haaa-ing, and weighing the pros and cons, I decided that a guaranteed position during the Olympics right in the middle of the action I was most interested in, media credentials that would let me get a look at a completely unknown part of the games to me, a paycheck that would cover an entire year's sliding expenses and, most of all, a free snow suit, were well worth any uncertainty in what exactly the job entailed.

After accepting the position and signing my work contract, I didn't hear much until just a few weeks ago, when I got my accreditation and some work start details in the mail.

The piece of paper told me to check in to the Whistler Fairmont hotel on February 6th.

Now, I didn't realize that they would be giving me accomodations, considering I live pretty close to Whistler, but not being one to ever question authority (or something like that ... ), I did exactly as I was told.

So, yeah, this is home for the next 22.5 days. I mean, the comforters are a little thin and sometimes I get lost because there is so much space in my double queen room at the Fairmont overlooking the ski hill. And the Visa card with our pre-authorized per diem on it for meals was a pain to activate. But I suppose I'll be able to make-do.

So far, I think I made an okay decision regarding how to spend my time during the Olympics. If my husband is nice to me, I might even let him visit ...

OK ... the parties in Squamish and Whistler were pretty cool ... but there is something totally unique and inspiring and moving about seeing one torchbearer pass on the flame to another torchbearer only metres away from you.

I was invited by the Pemberton torch relay organizers to give a short speech during their community celebration, and, not wanting to deprive a town of their chance to hear the tales of fame and fortune of a development skeleton athlete, I gladly accepted.

When it comes to public appearances, especially when you are ranked 31st in the world in a sport no one has heard of, haven't been to the Olympics and aren't technically the hometown girl, you win some and you lose some ...

Letting a classroom of grade one francophone students crawl all over your sled after you hack your way through a presentation in French: win. Hacking your way through a presentation in French to several hundred immersion students who couldn't be less impressed with your expensive cafeteria tray: lose.

Grabbing the class clown and dressing him in your spandex in front of 50 eleven year olds: win. Showing up for a presentation and instead being asked to ref the grade five dodge ball game in gym class: lose.

High-energy, three-minute interview with skilled MC in front of 5,000-strong home crowd after Olympic flame comes to town: win. Five-minute talk-about-anything-you-want at 9 o'clock on a Saturday morning while pancake breakfast is waiting to be consumed after Olympic flame comes to town: yeah ... uhhh ... not so much.

I think I might have to file this one in the "well ... it was a learning experience" category.

First, I totally misjudged my audience, which was small-town family, and went with the same theme I had used for a speech to a luncheon of business execs and sponsors. For the record, five year olds aren't particularly interested in being told that they make an integral contribution to the success of a high-performance skeleton athlete ...

Secondly, just like my skeleton starts (it's either balls-to-the-wall blazing fast or my-wheelchair-bound-grandmother-could-push-faster dirt slow), it seems I only have two public-speaking modes: the formal, thought out, well written and scripted speech, read aloud at a lectern. Or the casual, minimal-prep, improvised, shoot-from-the-hip talk, with plenty of running across the stage and jumping around.

The minute I pull out the index cards, or a bulleted list, or some kind of point-form reminder of what I want to say, I sound like Tim Calhoun trying to get a few votes on Weekend Update. Which is not pretty in any way.

Yeah, should have gone with the second public-speaking style for this one ...

So, uhh, to the community of Pemberton, I formally apologize for being kinda a dud on this one. I promise to do better next time ... or at least be an Olympian to make up for it ...

But, you live and learn right?

On the plus side, while hanging around afterward, signing autographs for my adoring fans letting a couple toddlers crawl around on my sled, I did get to hold one of the torch replicas ... which, I have to be honest, was pretty cool ...

You can't tell me that I don't pull off dork without vim or vigour ...

After hearing rumours at Thursday night's torch shin dig that the Whistler celebration the following evening was expected to be bigger than Ottawa's, we decided to get maple syruped up, try out the free transit system and check it out ourselves.

It was definitely a little bigger than the Squamish celebration, packed out with easily 10,000 people and pretty awesome. I mean, it didn't have a three-minute interview with a 31st world ranked development skeleton athlete or anything ... but, crazy Canuck Steve Podborski did ski down the hill with the torch, so that was alright, I guess ...

One part I missed the night before was the First Nations Fire Keepers capturing the flame from the cauldron that burns through the evening, to light the next torch in the relay the following day.

Once the Olympic flame is lit in Athens, it doesn't go out until the end of the closing ceremonies, and so for the Vancouver torch relay there were twelve First Nations youth chosen as Flame Attendants (reflecting the significance of the Aboriginal role of being the Fire Keeper), making sure the flame is passed from torch to torch and keeping the backup lanterns burning. How's that for a job description?

"What's your job?"

"Well, I am the keeper of the Olympic Flame."

"Yeah? So, uhhh ... what do you do?"

"Well, I make sure that this fire in this jar here, which represents the universal spirit of peace, understanding, and sportsmanship, the unity of mankind, and the hopes and dreams of all of humantity, never goes out."

Sounds a little bit more important than my job, which essentially boils down to keeping track of which athletes are currently in the crapper and unavailable for video at that particular moment ...

We also discovered that devil fingers are much less sinister, and the hang loose sign far less cool, when clad in fuzzy, red, knitted mittens donned by people wearing hats in the shape of maple leafs.

Well ... uhhh ... THAT was pretty freakin' awesome.

So tonight the torch came through Squamish, and, gotta be honest, there is pretty much nothing in the world quite like being right there within an arm's length of the Olympic flame.

Don't tell anyone ... but I might have almost cried ...

There was a whole evening of festivities, including a bunch of wicked performances. There were fire dancers who were hoola-hooping and juggling a lot of toys engulfed in flames, a Bhangra dance group, several joint-effort community choirs, an award-winning First nations band and ... uhhh ... me ...

I mean, because, really what would this extremely symbolic Olympic celebration be without the inclusion of your local non-Olympian development skeleton athlete ... ?

They interviewed me and a REAL Olympian, snowboarder Dominique Vallée who did half-pipe and raced boardercross in Torino. As far as cool factor goes, she wins hands down.

I did however manage to get a pretty big cheer from the home crowd when asked about why I moved to Squish and answered that as a skeleton athlete my choice was between Calgary and Squamish, which ... well ... wasn't much of a choice ... (sorry Calgary ... but it's true. Also ... I am not really sorry ... )

All in all ... a pretty cool night to be a part of ...

Yeah ... ummm ... you kinda do ...

Note: The husband demands a shout out to acknowledge his role as event photographer. Consider him shouted at ... except that last shot. His goatee took that picture.

So, on Friday I went and got my Olympic accreditation authenticated, validated, activated, laminated, and whatever other -ated I needed to officially be inducted as a member of OBSV's Production and Tech Personnel for the upcoming Olympic Games.

The process was surprisingly quick and easy - no problem finding the Whistler Accreditation Centre, no problem finding parking, not even a single line to stand in.

I walked right up to to the registration desk, and was like "Hi, I assume you know who I am ... " (which, surprisingly, she did not) and handed her my accreditation to authenticate, validate, activate and laminate.

Ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom. She hands me my credentials, all -ated to the max, and sends me on my way.

I'm totally tickled pink that the process was so easy, and I skip out the door, my accreditation gleaming in the sunlight, when something catches my eye.

No ... it can't be. I go in for a closer inspection.

Oh no. No. No, no, no, no, no. All of the sudden the horror sets in.

Of ALL the things that could be wrong ... name mispellings, wrong venue access, improper punctuation, someones pinky finger caught in the blades of the machine and accidentally laminated into my accreditation ... of ALL the things that could have happened ...

... the evil registration lady has laminated mine crooked.

Of the possible 30,000 plus Olympic volunteers and employees to hand a misaligned Olympic accreditation to, and the gods choose ME?

Okay listen.

I can't benchpress if I lie down and the bench isn't lined up with the ceiling tiles.

I can't cut vegetables if the cutting board isn't lined up with the counter, and I certainly cannot wash dishes if the bakers cart isn't lined up with linoleum.

The deepest book on my shelf dictates the distance that the rest of the books are from the back, and I use a straight edge to make sure that all books are equi-distant from the front of the shelf.

My cereal boxes must be wedged togther between something sturdy enough to keep them from leaning to the left, as they are wont to do on my unlevel pantry shelf.

I have probably lined something up on your desk when you weren't looking. I have definately lined up the magazines on the back of your toilet.

And now, everyday, from February 7th to the 28th I am going to be forced to daily parade around with a permanently misaligned piece of identification draped around my convulsing person.

To my therapist: You win. I will stop lining up the chair with carpet pattern before I sit down for our sessions.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some trimming of some plastic to accomplish.