My new favorite Olympian

I'm a sucker for the Olympics. 

I'm not exactly sure why.

It might be the epic soundtrack that accompanies every event, or perhaps its the juxtaposition of crushing defeat and exhilarating victory. Or maybe its the record-breaking feats of athletic prowess that inspire me to personal achievement. 

It is, after all, the greatest sporting event in the world.

And yes, every 2 years I miraculously grow a spirit of patriotism...that lasts until about a week after the closing ceremonies. 

I think the real reason I buy into the Olympic hype is because of the athletes themselves. I love being able to live vicariously thru their journeys to greatness. The countless interviews that piece together their individual stories, tell of their dreams come true, and describe their dedication to their sport make me feel as if I was with them all along. The three-kleenex featurettes that dramatize the athletes' humble beginnings, personal struggles, and super-supportive families are relatable and ring true to me. 

For instance, during the 2008 summer Olympics in Beijing, you couldn't find a bigger Michael Phelps supporter than I. His quest for gold became my quest. Every race he swam felt like the greatest moment in history. I screamed at the television. I jumped up and down. I bit my nails to the quick. And I loved every moment of it. 

But the thing about Michael was, well, that he was Michael. His interactions with the media were a touch awkward, and he wore a blank expression (if not a sullen scowl) thru many of his interviews. He was standoffish, quiet. All arms, abs (wow, what abs), and feet, with precious few smiles offered to those of us watching his rise to the top. And once he was there, on the Wheaties box with his 8 gold metals displayed on his bare chest, he almost immediately tarnished his image. No one could blame the kid for his "party-hearty" rampage shortly after the games wrapped up, but when somebody took his picture while he was sucking on a bong, there was fallout. Sure, he still does the occasional Subway commercial, but personally, I've lost a lot of respect for the guy. Accurate or not, the Olympian that I was introduced to on TV was not the same Michael away from the pool. An amazing athlete, of course. A god among men, perhaps. Somebody I'd like to hang out with...probably not so much. 

IN CONTRAST, my new favorite Olympian would make a great best-buddy. In many ways, he is equally famous, equally dedicated to his sport, and equally physically fit. At 27, he is one of the oldest of his peers, and still consistently wins races. At this year's winter Olympics, he made history by collecting the 6th and 7th medals of his career, the most of any American winter Olympian. (know who I'm talking about yet?)

Besides this, Apolo Anton Ohno is a genuinely nice guy. 

With a quick smile and infectious giggle, Apolo has managed to bring publicity to a previously forgotten sport. Chaos has followed him in his three consecutive Olympic games, drawing attention to the volatility and drama of short track. He is the first to point out that anything can happen during a short track race, and his persistence has won him a few lucky medals, the latest example being the silver medal he won at these 2010 Olympics when the two Korean skaters ahead of him tripped each other up, turning his 4th place into 2nd. 

And I have to say, though he's sticking to the soul patch, he has finally decided it's ok to do an interview without a bandana on his head. Thank God. 

Did I mention he can dance? Well, he can. He fricken' won Dancing with the Stars. Now that's a guy who is secure in his masculinity. 

He's a well-spoken, glass-half-full maniac riding a pair of 17-inch knife blades at 40mph while wearing a butt-hugging lycra jumpsuit. What more could a girl want in a 7-time Olympic medalist? How about making that 9 medals, Apolo? 

Two more races to go, and you better believe I'll be watching them. And screaming. And jumping. 

No shame here. GO USA!!! GO APOLO!!!