Before I met my wife, the Olympics were some obscure event that happened every four years somewhere in the world. I have now been through 10 Olympics with her, both summer and winter, watching nearly every event from swimming and gymnastics, to luge and curling. While I enjoy the games, I have not quite met the level of excitement my wife and daughters have for the games. When Michael Phelps won gold by a fingertip, their excited shouts woke me from my sleep. I did not share their excitement, as I yelled for them to keep it down.
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"Did you see Phelps last night?" I asked at work the next morning.
"Yeah, that was something," my coworkers replied, not realizing it was a question instead of a comment.
My sports enthusiasm reached new heights when, in 2002, we traveled to Salt Lake City to watch the winter Olympic games in person. My coworkers didn't bat an eye at our journey, and it was then I realized how much progress I had made in fitting the stereotype of the male sports enthusiast. "I owe all my success to my coach, my friend, my wife," I would have to confess if I won gold for being a sports fan.
Over the years, we have learned to share our interests and it has made our marriage stronger. Yet there are still times I find myself preferring to be in the kitchen instead of watching a game. On those days, I rely on my wife to give me the highlights of the game so I don't have to go to work the next morning and say, "Hey, did you see the cake I pulled out of the oven at the buzzer?"