We need to leave at 8am, so M advised. Just as well as I would've been none the wiser that the Olympic flame was coming through our neighbourhood.
I put on my red jacket, sporting the most popular colour in Vancouver, zipped on my boots and decided to forgo a scarf and gloves. After M's customary rush out the door, we were on our way for a glimpse of the flame that has Vancouver and Whistler abuzz.
The excitement mounted as we made our way down Lonsdale. The Quay was crammed with people. We wanted to see more than the heads of strangers and headed further afield. At Waterfront Park there was standing room along the route. I found a good spot and waited.
M explored and I knew to keep my eyes on him. Yip, his hand went up and he motioned for me to join him at the war memorial. He'd found where the torch was going to be passed on to the next runner. I moved as close to the front as I could.
"Here it is!" Sooner than I expected, through the score of handlers, I saw the famous flame. I jostled to get a picture. Height would've been an asset here.
With the flame passed on to the next Olympic runner, the black-clothed handlers started to push for a path through the throng. I pushed with them forcing a path out for myself. I broke into a sprint to get ahead of the flame, score a few more photos and savour the excitement. I saw M and relished his surprise at seeing his wife lead the way.
I was now officially infected with Olympic fever.
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