It’s day 11 and I’m sitting in McDonalds for the 15th or so time, eating fries because they cost 99p and I don’t have a fancy expense budget. I’ve spent the afternoon conducting an interview at Africa Village; I have a couple hours to write another story while I wait for the swim finals to begin. It’s Phelps’ last event ever, and I want a good seat so I’ll head over about an hour early.
I’m exhausted. I’m too tired to even think of another way to say it. I’m exhausted.
What am I doing here? Am I doing this right? Do I belong in the Olympic Media Center?
As I look around the McDonalds, I think about everyone sitting around me. The Swedish reporter, the Australian producer, the Brazilian journalist. The guys from Moldova, Gabon, and all the little countries I rarely hear about. Some of us have barely traveled to get here; haven’t suffered jet lag. Others have flown thousands of miles, losing entire days to get to London.
But in this moment we’re all just human beings sitting in a McDonalds, with bright orange and purple lanyards around every one of our necks, each of us powering through the fatigue. From newbies to veterans, I’m comforted by the fact that we all needed a quick break to enjoy some fries before we head back to our computers and cameras and continue with our jobs: bringing the Olympics to the rest of the world.
I wrote this last night before heading to the swim final. Here’s my report on Phelps’ and his 18th gold medal: http://bit.ly/PW7QSJ
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