Do you love the Olympics?

There's probably no event in the world that I love more than the Olympic Games.

What I love most about the Olympics is that every single participant's shared mission is so crystal clear.  Each athlete, regardless of where they are from, must apply all of the years of training and hard work to accomplish something beyond the ordinary.  They seek a goal that once probably seemed unreachable.  It is the ultimate test to see if they have the necessary skills to achieve what they have set out to do.  They have prepared so much, all for this moment in time that they may never be able to experience again.

Most people are not Olympians, but everyone that is serious about something has their own personal Olympics.

For nearly two decades, I have practiced capturing photographs and creating artwork.  Sometimes, these skills must be tested, and I was excited to do just that.

This past trip to Canada was my Olympics.

I've dreamed of visiting this  magical place since I was a kid.  Ironically, the first time I saw it was during the 1988 Winter Olympics in Calgary.  Helicopters would fly over the amazing mountains and I was captivated by it all.

My personal Olympics was about to take place in Banff, Yoho, and Jasper National Parks in Alberta and British Columbia.  For me, a great and unique challenge loomed ahead.  Unlike normal Olympians, I didn't know when my race would begin.   It could be when I least expected it.  To prevail, I needed to be ready at all times.  The start of the race could be the sudden dazzling light on the beautiful lake.  It could be the break in the clouds that lights up the majestic landscape.  It could be a gigantic moose walking along the trail.  I could have the chance to run many races this Olympics...as long as I was ready for the race to start.

Was this the big day?

I woke up once again but this time the chilly mountain air felt a little different.  I knew that potentially something special could happen as I analyzed the clouds which awaited the morning rays of the sun.  I smiled as I made my way into position.

I arrived and sat on a rock, eagerly awaiting for that special something that might happen as I had done every morning.  The light seemed to dim and it appeared as though the passing rainstorm might block all of the morning early light afterall.

A seeping feeling of defeat crept around me before the race even began.

My training of two decades, however, taught me that patience is part of the game.  The exhausting anticipation is only part of the race and a hurdle that most people fall over.  

Suddenly a splash of light appeared just above the magestic mountains, the Valley of the Ten Peaks, overlooking Moraine Lake.

"On Your Mark."

A tiny capsule of light then appeared on a mountain peak.

"Get Set."

The stormy clouds behind me then split open to unlock a sliver of glorious light like a crack in the door from the heavens above.

"Go."

This was the moment I had been training and preparing for.  Was I dreaming?  No.

This was my Olympic moment.

My biggest race would start at 5:37am on the very last morning of our week-long event.  Every waking minute before that primed me for this moment.  In fact, the last few days allowed me to explore every single inch of what would later become the site of my biggest race.

I crossed the finish line at 5:41am when the race disappeared as quickly as it arrived.  The race would last about as long as the fastest human could run a mile.

As I sat there thinking about what just took place, raindrops began to fall.  

And more people began to arrive--not quite fully aware that they already missed the race.

But not me.  This is what I train for.  This is my Olympics.  What is yours?