I have absolutely loved this Olympics. I knew I would. Well to be honest I hoped I would. But the signs weren't good a few months ago. I felt disconnected from the event I'd hoped to compete at eight years ago. Yes it is eight years ago when the Olympics returned to its roots: a pre-euro stricken Greece for the fabulous Games of the XXVIII Olympiad.
I had dreamed about competing at the Olympics since the spine tingling performances of Carl Lewis, Ed Moses, Seb Coe, Steve Cram and Steve Ovett. When the likes of Merlene Ottey-Paige and the now disgraced Flo Jo had sprinted to medals in the Los Angeles Games the summer of 1984. I was 12, the Olympics loomed large in our house and we won medals. The atmosphere seemed electric. The games were beamed from what appeared like another planet to my front room in Chester. LA seemed a long way away. Our athletes breaking through in middle distances miles and miles from home.
We did well in track and field...my sport. Would I one day emulate the likes of Valerie Brisco Hooks and do the sprint double 200m and 400m? This was before the immense Michael Johnson bounded onto the track 10 years later to dominate those distances. This is when Eastern European countries were never far from the podium on the track. Stopped only by a dominant USA in the shorter distances. 83 gold medals for Team America in LA.
I dreamt big. I trained hard. I loved running. Of course now life, love, work and then children relegate training to the grabbed moment on the edge of a week or weekend. But then I trained whenever I could.
Midway through my twenties an idea came to me. I was a little younger than I am now. Still completely gung-ho about my body and what I thought it was capable of. And what I was prepared to put it through. During a chance meeting with a television production company I found myself saying "yeah I think I can still run under a minute for 400m." It had been a few years. And yes of course I had been a lot younger then. And fitter. And I had just spent the last few years working as a DJ for Radio 1. But surely my inherent fitness and speed would carry me through?
They bit my hand off. A Radio 1 DJ prepared to work and train for the Olympics alongside her job. I'd try out for the Greek Olympic Team to compete in Athens and search through my ancestry for my right to a Greek passport. Documentary land beckoned. Fledgling BBC3 were hooked.
The reality was hard hard work. I set out at the end of 2002 to regain the fitness which I'd shelved for my record bags for weekends DJing round the country. That bit was fairly easy. A run, a weights session, a track session, a swim...I loved to train. This was going to easily fit around my weekend shows on Radio 1. But then the biggest opportunity in my career to date presented itself. The boss of Radio 1 called me into his office and offered me five days a week on BBC Radio 1 with an audience of 3 million. A daily show on Radio 1. It's what radio geeks dreams are made of. Of course I wondered how I might be able to train for the Olympics and work everyday on Radio 1 from 4-7am but, hey, why not give it a go?
And I give it solid go I did. A bloody good, eat-sleep-broadcast-train-sleep-train-eat-sleep go every single day. Every day for a year until Athens. And as the BBC3 documentary My Big Fat Greek Olympic Dream attests I didn't make it. In the end I proved I was Greek enough but not fast or fit enough. And I'm not surprised. Training for the Olympics is a full time job. Was I mad? It's every waking moment every full nights sleep you can get. It's a four year gig. Not something easily fitted into the schedule alongside another full time job and trying to DJ at the weekends.
I look at our athletes in 2012 in awe. I salute every bloody one of them. Medal or not. It takes guts, hard work, determination, overcoming adversity, good luck, a forgiving family and friends, a team of people who support your every move. The marginal gains spoken of by the incredible British Cycling team are key obviously. It takes serious self belief and iron will to get you to an event like the Olympic Games. Even then you might only make it to the start line to have injury blow your dream to pieces.
I know there's been serious emotional outpouring all the way through at Team GB's efforts is year. In a good way. We've needed a collective event to bond over and the occasion of the XXX Olympiad on our doorstep has provided ample distraction from the untoward events in the real world.
I lost count of the number of athletes I saw interviewed during the Games so far who have been apologetic about their performance. Saying sorry to everyone who was expecting a medal from them, sorry to all of us who were expecting them to perform better. No need. Your toil and exploits have lent the summer a hazy glow. A summer when we're lacking things to smile about generally you have entertained a nation and beyond. Regardless of where we end up in the final medal tally, Team GB have triumphed.