Dear Sarah... again.

Dear Sarah,

In two days, it will be a year. A year since we heard that insane, magical laugh. A year since we saw your gorgeous face. A year since we heard a comment about how bad your fart just was and oh my god, if you could only text smells.

A year.

I don’t even know how this year went by so quickly. But then again, it does make sense. Because with you, every day was a week. Every week was a month. And without you, I guess the days have simply slipped by.

But wow. A year. We all miss you so much.

I’m sitting in a coffee shop writing and I just heard Phoenix ‘s ‘If I ever feel better’ – the song I’ve come to think of as our song. That song that you somehow magically insert into my life when I need to hear from you the most. Thank you. So yes, I’m writing you a letter ... again. And thank you for not dropping that hint on a Sunday. Writing no good Sunday.

You should know that something amazing happened after you left us. Your friends came together in a way that would have made you so happy. We bonded over our love for you and the crazy adventures we all had with you. At first, we would get together and simply talk about you but slowly, over time, we’ve formed our own friendships. But they’re based on our relationships with you so, of course, you remain the most important person in the room. Just the way you would have wanted it.

It’s sort of like you left this patchwork quilt behind. We all have pieces of that quilt that we’ve been trying to put together ever since. But that quilt will never be complete because you left pieces of that quilt scattered in everyone you met. Everyone you met holds this little piece of your story. It would be impossible to stitch your quilt back together. I was right when I said that you had left a trace on everyone you met. But your impact was far bigger and more important than I think anyone could have imagined.

The days after and before your funeral were some of the saddest - and most hilarious - days I’ve ever had. Because it was impossible to grieve the loss of you without also reliving the hilarity of the moments we shared with you. It alternated between take-your-breath-away sadness and laughter so hard it actually took your breath away. We still reflect on that time as surreal. Tears from being unbelievably, tragically sad and tears from laughing so hard, we cried. It was an endless cycle of both.

Oh man… the laughter. That’s what I miss the most about you. The way we could catch each other’s eye and go to pieces laughing.

I miss your brilliantly witty lines.

I miss the way you loved your kids.

I miss your beauty and the way you made everything around you more beautiful.

You flicker through my mind so often. I catch myself referencing you in conversation all the time. I don’t know if that will ever stop. I don’t know if I could ever stop it. You gave me an awful lot of material, after all. I feel like everyone needs to know your opinion of cottage cheese, the fact that you never ate a sandwich, the record you set as a junior runner, that you fully believed Rosholt to only be 45 minutes away, “you guys!” (and 4 hours later we arrived), and what a terrible loser you were at Yahtzee (because, "well, I can see you’re all giant cheaters and that’s it! I’m going to bed!")

All of your stories and one-liners and observations float through my head constantly. Every time I hear a new song that you would have liked, I think about you having it on repeat for weeks at a time. (although I can’t bring myself to download the new Lana Del Ray. Sorry. I still have Radio stuck in my head because of you. And I’m not pleased.)

On Thursday, we’ll have a memorial for you. It will be amazing, sad, hilarious, tragic, boisterous and quiet. All at once. Maybe we’ll piece together a bit of your quilt. Or maybe we’ll discover more pieces. I have a feeling it’ll be more pieces.

We’ll be celebrating you and missing you. But I know that you will be there with us. Because we all are carrying around a piece of you. And because of that, you’re still with us. And so, together, we’ll celebrate you.

Dear Sarah

I lost my dear, dear friend, Sarah Brucker on Wednesday night. Yesterday morning, it was impossible to comprehend. Yesterday afternoon, it started to sink in. This morning, it’s real.

Dear Sarah,

I hope this letter finds you well, with a summer ale in one hand and the most beautiful shade of lip gloss in the other. On your face, I know there is a smile. Because there always is.

Am I starting off too corny for you already, Brucker? Well, fasten your seatbelt because I’m about to go full corn on you. Remember, I’m a wriiiiiiii-TOR! (just not on Sundays).

 

We were at your place one night, bantering about nothing as always, when I realized there was something I really wanted – and needed - to tell you. I had to make sure you knew how much you meant to me. I don’t know what brought it on. It wasn’t like we were doing anything unusual. It was just another night for us. But maybe that’s why I felt the need to tell you this. Because it was just another night - and yet it was so comfortable and easy and wonderful and lovely and nothing made me happier than simply spending time with you.

I took a pause and looked at you and with a hint of drama said, “you know, you make everything brighter for me.”

You paused and then smirked, looked at me and said, “you regret saying that right now, don’t you?”

I looked at you and sighed and said, “yeeeessss….” And we both died laughing. I thought you would never let me live that down. 

But you never brought it up again. And I have to think it’s because you knew I absolutely meant it.

Sarah, no one has ever illuminated my world the way you did.
You made colors brighter, laughter louder, tears richer.

You had a way of making everyone feel like they were so special. You could make every woman feel more beautiful. And not just because of your makeup skills – because of your words.

No one dished out compliments the way that you did. I knew that no matter what I looked like when I saw you, you would find something to say about me that would make me glow. Whether it was my shoes, my bun, a random shirt you’d seen a million times. (“ummmmm, are you going to wear another v-neck t-shirt this weekend?” “Yes, I am.”)

And all I keep thinking about is a quote from Ionesco’s play, “The Chairs”

We will leave some traces for we are people and not cities.

Sarah, no one, NO ONE, left a bigger trace on people than you did. The trace you left on me changed my life. I hope you know that. And the trace you left on everyone you met is beyond measure. People would meet you once and be smitten forever. I don’t know how you did it but you would draw people in and immediately make them feel like the most important person in the room (even though we all knew that, by far, the most important person in the room was, and always would be, you.)

Whenever I’m in a room full of people I don’t know, I think to myself, how would Brucker handle this? And the answer is always that you would flash your megawatt smile, say something completely off the wall and strike up a conversation. And that person would remember the night as the night they met that hilarious, gorgeous, wonderful character by the name of Sarah Brucker.

You called me your best friend almost from the start. It's not a favor I could return right away because I thought, “wait, wait! There's still so much more to know about each other! It’s too soon.” My heart was putting on the brakes because… I don’t know why. But your heart already knew everything you needed to know about me and it was decided. I wish I could've allowed my heart to run as free as you let yours run. 

And Sarah, yes, you were, are and forever will be my best friend.

I went to see the sunrise this morning after a night of no sleep. I don’t know why but I think it's because I needed to prove to myself that the world would still have color without you.

It does. But it's lost a few shades of brilliance.

 

Remember when we were listening to Bon Iver one night and I mentioned how much they had grown on me and how I was now obsessed with that song Skinny Love? Your eyes lit up and you asked, “ohhh! Who’s your skinny love?” I was so thrown by that because it hadn’t occurred to me that I needed to have someone to relate the song to in order to love it.

But I get it now. You lived so big that every second, every moment, every day was imparted with such significance. There were so many songs that you felt explained your thoughts, your experiences, your loves – every lyric was speaking directly at you. Music was such a powerful force for you. (My iPod is almost off-limits right now because half of the songs are connected to my experiences singing them with you in the car or at your place.)

I knew who your skinny love was and Sarah, I now know who my skinny love is. 

It is you. You are my skinny love. I know that for the next month I will put Bon Iver’s and Birdy’s versions of the song on repeat and cry every time I hear it. It will be my soundtrack for grieving you and trying to figure out what will make the world bright again.

I love you so much. The world loves you so much. We are all better for having known you.

Kisses. 

Olympic quick hits

If you want to experience the Olympics backwards and in a series of snarky, inside-jokey quick hits, here's my twitter

The hardest transition I'm going to have when I get home is laying off the twitter. Because I literally Can't. Stop. Tweeting.

It's been a very, VERY social olympics and everyone here was living on twitter. It became the place to share the experience - with people back home, people at the venues, and, more often than not, people sitting 5 feet away from you. ("oh, that's SO going on twitter")

But twitter was 100% the way I kept up with everything that was going on in the Olympics. (I would say "and the world" but other things stopped happening, right? I mean, I can't imagine anything important going on during the high holy weeks of the Olympics!) I would wake up in the morning and check my twitter feed while still in bed.

The great thing about twitter is that you 'can' keep up with everything. The bad thing about twitter is that now you sort of 'have' to keep up with everything.

Because otherwise, you're this guy

Team Gymnastics!

Team Gymnastics is not amused. We've been doing the McKayla since before it was a thing.

(and yes, working the Olympics really IS that glamorous. Pretty sure the walls are made from styrofoam)

Off to find a proper British pub and some proper fish and chips with team gymnastics. We're celebrating surviving the Olympics in one piece and relatively sane of mind. Last night I wandered the streets trying to find a good pint of beer. It was late. It was dark. I only 'sort of' knew where I was and my mother definitely would have killed me. But I got a great beer so, hey, worth it!

Bolting - it's a thing

I thought getting to see track on Tuesday night was a once in an Olympics type thing. So imagine how out of my mind I was when I was handed THIS. The Golden Ticket. Track and Field the night that Usain Bolt, David Rudisha, Nick Symmonds, Ashton Eaton and Trey Hardee will be bringing their beasty Olympic selves. Some of my absolute favorites competing in the biggest night of track and field and I get to BE there?

Are. You. Kidding. Me.

And it wasn't just any old ticket. Oh, no.

It was a twelfth row seat.

Twelfth row.

I'm sorry - what? Yes, I read my ticket correctly. That seat, right down there so close to the field that I could feel Usain Bolt sweating, that's where I'm going to be sitting.

You could have pushed me over with a feather. In fact, I think I sat down right away just in case I DID fall over. I went with the other gymnastics producer and she looked at me laughing and said, "you're going to die, aren't you?"

Yes. Yes, I am.

They intersperse medal ceremonies throughout the evening and typically do the last event of the night before first so we got to see the amazing Allyson Felix get her gold medal. I definitely got teary during the national anthem.

And I had to get used to feeling teary while the national anthem played because I think we heard it another 4 times that night! America = really fast at running.

One of the things I was most excited to see was Nick Symmonds of the U.S. race in the 800m. I've been cheering for him since Beijing and I'm a huge fan of his outspokenness and candor. And of course, his amazing Milwaukee connection.

Looking good, Nick!!

During the first lap (can't believe I got this pic with my phone. It was instagrammed immediately, of course.... although I did at least wait until after the race.)

David Rudisha isn't quite human. But what a face. He has an almost regal presence. Never seems to get too worked up, never seems to get too upset, just calm, even, steady. And then he unleashes his run and you can't believe that what you're seeing is real.

Will Claye taking his victory lap after winning the silver medal in the triple jump. I was screaming my head off and I actually made eye contact with him. So, now we're best friends.

But all of that amazing was just the warm-up to this. The Bolt.

When he entered the arena, other events were still going on but the whole place immediately erupted with flashbulbs. And that was how you know Bolt was in the house.

He oozes charisma. Charm. Magic. And he's awfully fast too.

The place went nuts when he took his victory lap with the other two Jamaicans who went 2-3. Jamaica sweep!

The next morning I saw the BBC interview with Bolt that happened right before this victory lap (or right after? I don't even know) They were live on the air and were trying to talk to all three but they timed the interview to happen right when Rudisha was getting his medal. The Kenyan national anthem started to play right as the BBC broadcaster tried to begin his interview (the bad timing was likely due to the huge, extended celebration that happened after Bolt won, but still)

The three Jamaicans turned towards the flag to pay their respects to Rudisha and the national anthem. But the BBC was live and the broadcaster panicked a bit - or really, showed his complete lack of morals. He grabbed Warren Weir who had finished third and pulled him forward towards the mic saying, "I know you’re listening but we just need a few words." He tried to play it off like it was funny but it was horrible. Weir didn't know what to do so he answered the questions.

Bolt though - he stayed with his back the broadcaster the entire time (and no way was the guy grabbing BOLT like he grabbed Weir). Extremely classy. Jamaica 1. BBC 0.

Oh, and I did a bit of breakdancing in Olympic Park due to a dare issued on twitter.

What?

Everyone was doing the Bolt. Everyone.

Morgan Uceny

If you want to what Olympic sized heartbreak looks like, watch this video of Morgan Uceny as she falls during the finals of the 1500m

VIDEO

For perspective on why this was so devastating, Morgan was a prime contender for the gold at last year's world championship when she was clipped and fell during the final, ended her chances at the podium. Less than a month later, Morgan went on to an invitational stacked with the same level of talent as worlds - and won.

For this to happen again at the Olympics is unbelievably cruel. She was again a favorite for gold - to see her land on the track like that will be one of the saddest images of the games for me.

Fancy Horse Prancy

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you Dressage. Taking the gold in the category of fanciest Olympic sport. Making it even fancier? It’s not pronounced “dress-edge”. It’s pronounced “Dress –ASSAGE” (like massage)

Watch as the horse prances forward! 

And now sideways!

And now backwards!

And now in place!

And now even fancier with the prancing! Come on girls, lift those heels!

The swim researcher on dressage:

Really? This is what we’ve come to? We’re giving out medals for this? The same medal that Michael Phelps won? “You just know that horse is saying, ‘ok, let me get this straight. You’re going to give me a carrot to walk around in a circle and then you’re going to get a gold medal?’”

At least the British team won. So that brought happiness. But mostly fanciness.

(ok, horse, go jump something now)

Track Attack

This happened and I could not be happier.

I have become a giant fan of all things running since Beijing and more than anything else, I wanted to get to Olympic Stadium to see some track and field. I've only ever been to one track meet - a high school meet in Wauwatosa which featured good buddy Mike Miller, famed coach of the Whitefish Bay track team. He spent that meet doing a series of calf raises on the side of the track while he encouraged his runners. "I'd PREFER that you ran faster." Now, don't get me wrong, anytime that I get to see Miller is a fantastic time. But my enjoyment was limited because there was no shot-put at that meet.

However, for my second ever track meet - I think I did pretty ok.

It was a gorgeous night - although probably a bit chilly for the athletes.  And my dream of seeing shot-put came true. A very beautiful man from Belarus won - oh wait, it was the women's event? Ohhh...never mind.

That's terrible. And unfair. It's hard to focus on grooming when you're constantly covering your neck with chalk and throwing boulders.

The British were out in full force to cheer on their own.  It is FUN to cheer for that team. I find myself pulling for them as much as the Americans. The Brits are so supportive of their athletes, win or lose. They applaud almost as loud for a fourth place finish as they do for a gold. I love it. Warms my heart.

 Belgians were everywhere.

Seriously. Everywhere. There were a LOT of Belgians there. They had two finalists in the men's 400m and would go nuts anytime a Belgian would compete. 

Allyson Felix of the U.S. in the starting blocks for the heats of the women's 200m.

Kirani James easily winning the men's 400m. He's only 19? Unreal.

Michael Tinsley taking his victory lap after the 400m hurdles.

Medal ceremony for the men's 400m hurdles.

THAT'S what I'm talking about!! Bawling on the medal stand! Yes!!! More, please!

This is Felix Sanchez from the Dominican Republic - he has very unfortunate facial hair habits. When they showed him on the screen before the 400m hurdle final, I thought his vertical mustache would, for sure, be a hinderance. But he overcame and persevered through the unfortunate face situation. Olympic spirit - it's everywhere.

After he won, he let out a huge scream which you couldn't hear but you could feel. The whole place went nuts because of the emotion he showed right after winning and then again on the podium. He started choking up a bit when he received his medal but then completely broke down during his national anthem. When he did, the entire place went crazy - screaming and yelling and cheering for him. At first, I was thinking, 'whoa! whoa! whoa! you can't cheer over the national anthem!.' But you can and, in fact, it's awesome. It was so uplifting, I felt like I was in that scene from the grinch where his heart grew too big but it was like everyone was the grinch and all of our hearts just exploded.

Ok, but Felix. Now that you're an Olympic Champion, shave that off please.

Is anything more fun to watch than steeple? Every lap you get to inch towards the edge of your seat, hold your breath and hope for someone to take a header into the water pit. I mean, hope someone 'doesn't' take a header. Yes. That's what I meant.

American's Bridget Franek and Emma Coburn were in the final - Emma did really well, finishing 6th, I think? But Bridget quickly fell off the pace and was in last place almost from the first lap. And not just last as in, straggling off the end a bit, but last as in a half-lap-behind-them last. I kept watching to see if she was going to surge and try and move up but I'm guessing she was racing with everything she had in her - it just wasn't enough to stay with the pack.

She went to Penn State so I would see her whenever I watched track or cross-country coverage on the Big 10 network. She always came across as so hard-working and likable. It's incredible to think that a few years ago, she was winning the Big 10 cross-country title - and now she's a finalist at the Olympics. A massive achievement which has to such a huge thrill. But still.... Olympics or not, it can't be fun to be running in last place. These athletes are way to competitive to be ok with that.

This is a VERY British Olympics

I think this is British too. It reminds me of their teeth. Just going any which way they feel like.

Life Lessons with Usain Bolt

Yesterday, I couldn't stop thinking about the Sikh Temple shootings. It's hard to comprehend that type of hate in any circumstance but sitting in London, surrounded by the things that I truly believe make people better, it's especially hard.

I will profess all day long that the Olympics are where you see the best of the human spirit. True, we have our doping scandals and our illegal dolphin kicks  - but for the most part, the Olympics are where you go to see the good.

The BBC reported on it as I was getting ready for bed on Sunday and although I had already heard the news, it stopped me in my tracks. I couldn't shake it out of my head.

So on Monday morning, I started thinking about what the world could learn from the Olympics. This is what I ended up writing.

Life Lessons with Usain Bolt

it's with an E

He spelled my name wrong – twice. After I’d spelled it for him – twice. And yes, they’re both for me. Hands off.

Zombie land is upon us.

Golden Gabby

Best thing about the women's all-around competition? I didn't break my chair.

Ha. I'm kidding. That's dumb. The best thing was, duh, GABBY!!!! OH. MY. GOD.

Gabby has absolutely skyrocketed this year. Last year, she was an unpredictable mess. When she made the world team, I was very very nervous - and very very surprised. She didn't have a strong mental game. At. All. But something started to change between nationals and worlds. You could see her confidence starting to grow. It wasn’t clear where it was going to lead but you could see her starting to mature into not only an athlete, but a competitor. 

Things started to get interesting at the American Cup in March. That was where the new Gabby really showed herself. You qualify for that event based on your world ranking and she hadn’t qualified. However, because America was the host country, they were able to enter someone in as a exhibition performance. And wouldn’t you know it, Gabby Douglas goes in there and wins the whole dang thing, beating world champ Jordyn Wieber. Her scores didn’t count but everyone’s eyebrows were raised to the possibility that it could be Gabby, not Jordyn, who would win the crown in London.

There’s something to be said for confidence – believing that you can is half, no, 90 percent, of the battle. From the beginning of the year, Gabby believed she could and you could see it even in the way she held her head. 

I got a chance to interview Nastia Liukin after the competition and we talked about Gabby and what her life looks like from here. She mentioned that the next time Gabby takes the floor for competition, it will feel very different competing as the Olympic champion. I loved how Nastia’s eyebrows raised a bit when she said that. It was very revealing.

It must feel very odd to spend your whole chasing something, get it and then try and figure out how to wear it. You spend all your time wanting it, but not a lot of time planning how you’ll use it. 

And not only will things be different gymnastically - but how does her personal life change? Winning  gold is one thing. Making that gold rain cash is another. She has the potential to be as big as Mary Lou but there’s a certain magic combination that has to happen and although she’s adorable and cute as heck and perky as can be, the question is will she be endearing? 

Carly Patterson looked every bit the part but in the end, didn’t capture the public’s imagination and faded away. Nastia and Shawn were far more marketable - Shawn more so than Nastia in the years immediately following Beijing. But Nastia is proving to be the one who has longevity as a public persona. (Also, I’m calling it now, Shawn is going to be the hottest mess ever by the time she hits 30.)

So the next month will make or break Gabby’s potential as a “celebrity”. I think she has it in her but she’s going to have to ditch some of the godspeak (too polarizing) and hire a speech a coach (complete sentences, please!)

Oh yea, and for the competition itself – my random thoughts.

• The Russians were totally overscored. But so was Aly. 
• Gabby was divine. 
• I was on the edge of my seat and about died waiting for Komova’s score to come up. Mustafina’s bar routine is one of my favorite things ever. 
• I almost don’t hate Gabby’s floor music anymore. 
• I definitely still hate Komova’s floor music. But her mom is a legend and Komova is a doll. 
• I love, love, love the fact that she and Musty actually show emotions. So refreshing. Especially considering the American team gives the worst, most canned, boring interviews ever.  

Today is bar finals and I’ll be rooting hard for GB's Beth Tweddle. She’s an old lady in the sport the one who has led Britain’s resurgence in the sport. Nothing but respect for that woman. Her bars routine looks like a monkey got a hold of a mocha frapacinno and found a jungle gym to show off on.  I LOVE it.

One more thing -

If you want to know what it looks like in the NBC compound when an important gold medal is on the line, watch that 7 minutes of terror video of the crew for Curiosity as they're trying to land it on Mars. That’s about right.

why we care

I was in the commissary getting my daily feeding tube of coffee inserted when, from down the hall, came a huge set of girly screams (which is weird in itself because normally it’s dude yells … NBC – still an old boys club.) Everyone did that "what are they watching” thing and I thought, "oh, nice! This this really IS going to be equestrian!" Because, you know, girls love ponies. And rainbows.

But as I checked out the monitors, I realized that they were actually watching field hockey. 

A fan for every sport, I guess! Field hockey? That’s a thing?

(To be fair, it was the U.S. team.)

This is what is so fun about the Games – suddenly table tennis is fascinating! (and guys, can we agree it’s ping-pong? Don’t be thinking you’re all fancy because you give yourself a classier name. Ping-pong, I’d know you anywhere.)

I read something about the games in Sports Illustrated on the way over here – it was in the issue with the U.S. gymnasts on the cover – you know, the one you all ran out to buy 2 weeks ago because you were so excited that it featured gymnasts. Oh, that was just me? Ok.

Anyway, there was an article talking about why we care about the Olympics and it contained what I think is the best summary of why the Olympics matter. It made the case that when we watch professional sports like baseball and football, we’re invested because of how they make us feel and what they say about us. You proudly wear your sports team paraphernalia and it becomes a reflection of who you are. Oh, you’re a Giants fan? Well, you must be loud, proud and new york’ish. Oh, you’re a Packers fan? Well, you must be hard-working, fun-loving and like cheese. Oh, you’re a Cubs fan? Well, you must be a total idiot.

When “our team” loses a game or blows a touchdown – they deliver what feels like a personal blow. They did it TO us. It’s a personal attack. “You’re getting paid all this money and you can’t even catch that ball? What are you thinking?!!” (and then you’ve got to go face Jimbo in the office the next day and deal with his ribbing.)

But with the Olympics, it’s different. We don’t care because of how they make US feel. They aren’t a reflection of us – just a reflection of who we wish we were. We see our best selves in these athletes. And we care because of how we want them to feel. Because you know that behind every athlete, there’s one hundred falls, a thousand early morning practices, and a million sacrifices. And thanks to the P&G commercials, we have an incredible visual of a mom who did their laundry.

So when a gymnast falls or a swimmer gets out-touched at the wall or a wrestler gets pinned, our reaction isn’t the same as it is when our favorite baseball player strikes out.

When a football team blows a touchdown, they break our heart. When a swimmer misses the gold by a fraction of a second, our heart breaks for them.

Ahh… so Olympic.