I've a confession to make. It's something I probably knew, but couldn't admit, not even to myself until now.
And the best way to describe this crisis in confidence, or in sporting parlance, the yips, is through the words of the much-loved and fondly remembered US Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld:
"As we know, there are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns - the ones we don't know we don't know."
Confused? So was I at the start of the week.
Before the Olympics started, I'd have described myself as a pretty rock-solid sports fan - but that belief has been shaken to its core.
There were things I knew I knew.
I knew I could explain the football off-side rule in simple terms, I know what position silly mid off is in cricket. I could even have a stab at explaining netball (it's basketball for girls, right?)
But a week spent following the epic extravaganza that is the Olympics has opened my eyes to the "unknown unknowns".
I didn't know that I didn't know how the scoring system of women's team artistic gymnastics works. From the TV is always seemed so simple (NB: it's not!).
I didn't know that I didn't know how brutally physical, complex and enthralling handball is - it's truly vicious.
I didn't know that I didn't know how exciting watching a horse jump over British-themed fences could be and I certainly didn't know how much creative thinking could be packed into one man's head. The opening ceremony will live with me forever. From making Britain's industrial past appear to be rock 'n' roll, to popularising the NHS bed, Danny Boyle did it.
If there's a single person in Britain who can honestly say they weren't impressed by the efforts of Boyle and all the volunteers, I want to hear from them. Please, convince me otherwise.
As I write this blog, I'm peering over my laptop at Montenegro versus Serbia battling in a water polo grudge match. Apart from watching a lot of very well built fellas swim after a ball, I've got no further insight than that.
In my slight ignorance as a (very lucky) accredited member of Her Majesty's press at the Olympics, I assumed I'd waltz into venues, pick up the thread of what was happening and get writing. That's how it normally works.
But it hasn't been like that at all, and were it not for the help of some extremely helpful fellow (specialist) journalists, I'd have packed up and gone home.
However, as the week has gone on I've realised that it's not really the technical intricacies of an individual sport that matters most. It's not even having a complex knowledge of scoring systems.
What I know now that I didn't appreciate before, is what matters at the Olympics is boiled down to something very simple.
A saved goal, a grimacing face, a well-landed punch, the perfect arrow hitting the target, a first place swim, a world record-winning race.
What matters is emotion and feeding off the energy of the crowd and the athletes.
It's for this reason there was such anger at seats not being filled in the first few days.
It was the sense of unfairness that those privileged enough to enjoy the games appeared to not care that sparked protest.
For me, experiencing my first Olympics, it's moments like these that tell the real story of the games.
And now I know that, I'm ready for week two, confidence re-built and proudly admitting that I've got an awful lot to learn about sport.
London and Britain have been given the opportunity to shine and after the first seven days there's something I definitely know: we all deserve a gold medal for putting in a heroic performance.