No one was catching her!

As one gender leaves the stage, another, one more beautiful swims and dives, dunks and flips, spikes and headers, runs and vaults into the limelight. It is a theme of these pages that the male gender is played-out and the female is more than just in the ascent, they’ve ascended.

It is possible, watching these Olympics, to jump too far while  faulting, for doesn’t Michael Phelps and Usain Bolt stride the earth? I’m not saying that my gender has disappeared but we’ve lost our relevance, our glow. We’ve had our chance and all in all, have not done as well as we might have. We have, though, certainly bragged enough.

I have the U.S. Women’s Olympic Team in mind – how could I not? – but I am thinking of all of them: the U.S.  Women’s Soccer Team and the noble Japanese, Misty May and Kerry and the beautiful, emotional Italians, Felix and Jeter and the Jamaicans, an American swimmer going to bat for a young Chinese girl under the glare of doubts.

Hat’s off Ladies, take the stage and do us proud.

In the 200 Back I was comfortable from the beginning. This is my best stroke and I felt really long and tall and young and when I was swimming a thought did cross my mind about what I would text my girl friends back in Colorado.

I was the only one who thought I would win the 50 Free, the splash and dash, and I had thought I won when I touched but that Frenchman, who was outside my peripheral vision, just beat me. I think that if he swam next to me, I’d have had him. But I’m not such a nut that a Silver bums me out.

Now in the 800 Free, I figured that this being the Olympics and me being 15 years old, that I’d just get blown out of the water by some person with a name that I can’t pronounce but they let me go and never came after me. I may win this race for the next 16 years but I’m only saying this to myself, so as not to seem conceited.

Yes, all in all, 3 Golds and a Silver, it was a good day.

Sir Kenneth Branagh, among green hills read Blake and then brought in Will Shakes. to remind us what country is  boss in the word biz.

Sir Edward Elgar’s Nimrod Variation swelled as only it can, as Sir Ken finished his piece.

Sir Simon Rattle, baton and the London Symphony Orchestra in hand, led us through the theme from Chariots of Fire and though the movie is sacred to me, I was able to abide by the joking.

Sir Paul, well, he was sometimes my favorite Beatle.

The Industrial Revolution lost me but I had already set a personal record for sticking with Opening Ceremonies. The more pyro, the less I am interested.

Now, onto rooting for Natalie and Missy and Michael and Ryan and beach volleyball.