I cannot speak for my wife, but the Summer Olympics are a nostalgic time for me.
As you may or may not know, I met my wife at my birthday party almost 8 years ago.
Here’s our “meet cute.”
Jib & me. Adulting just before that party.
But our first real date (40+ people, a keg of Lone Star, and a ball pit does not qualify), was having dinner at a friend’s place.
The 2008 Olympics were in full swing by that time. And as we sat awake and drank wine late into the evening, we watched Michael Phelps secure his 795th gold medal live. (The games were in Beijing that year, so the middle of the night was prime swimmin’ time in China.)
As a result of that evening, I have a special fondness for the Summer Games. Because they remind me of the night my wife and I started figuring out that we really liked one another.
My friends make every picture amazing.
Fast forward a couple years, at roughly the same time, and you’d find us here:
A year later, we were here:
They’d just handed us the keys to our new house.
And almost exactly 5 years after that, we’ve arrived here:
But each time the Summer Olympics rolls around, I’m reminded of that first night I spent with the interesting, smart and beautiful girl that, at the time, I had no idea would eventually become my interesting, smart and beautiful wife. And who would later become a fantastically loving mother to our wonderful little girl.
Yeah. I get all this from some lithe people flailing around in a pool.
Memories are weird things.