The Olympic flame has been extinguished in Vancouver, British Columbia. For sixteen days we were treated to spectacular athleticism, stunning beauty, and the raw power of sport. It was marvelous to watch and to feel, however fleetingly, a kinship with so many countries around the globe.

Years ago, when I skied with a ski club, I would feel great excitement at the time of the winter games. I could only imagine what it would take to push the body to that level of competitiveness. This year, watching from a body depleted by illness, I had a different perspective on the games.

I watched skiers popping through the mogul field and wondered what their knees would be telling them years hence. I saw bobsledders eject onto the course and wondered what that was doing to their backs. I listened to the list of injuries athletes skated, skied, and raced through and thought how terrific to be at an age where it was possible to forge through injuries in that fashion.

All in all, the games were an amazing spectacle. The heights snowboarders reached were incredible. The speed at which bobsledders hurtled down the track were amazing. Who will ever forget the image of a figure skater sending kisses to the heavens after a performance following her mother’s sudden death? Who can forget the U.S. goalie’s collapse on the ice after hockey team Canada sent the winning puck into the net?

How quickly the games got to be an old friend. I shall miss their company and the lift to the spirit they provided.