Super quick check in, you guys, because I am off to the Olympic Park again for another night at the athletics, at which I expect to see precisely no British people win medals. Well, maybe Holly Bleasdale. But ultimately, I think I'll cope. And I'll cope because I was in the stadium on Saturday night to see possibly the greatest night in British athletics history.
Jessica Ennis. Pretty much in the bag before we even got into the stadium, but God love her, she finished in unbelievable style. She is amazing.
Greg Rutherford. Wait. Greg Rutherford? YEAH GREG RUTHERFORD! While all the excitement about Ennis was unfolding on the track, Greg had gone into the lead and then not just stayed there but extended it. He is amazing.
But this made us nervous. And by "us" I mean me, my Mum, and everyone else sitting around us with whom we had by this point formed a bond based on triumph and fear. We had two golds in the bag. Surely we couldn't win another. Surely. Which could only mean bad things for Mo.
Mo Farah. What a man. What a run. I thought last Wednesday that nothing would top the crowd noise at Eton Dorney. Then I went to the velodrome on Thursday. Surely nothing could top that. The sound produced on Saturday night by an emotional, incredulous crowd as Mo poured it on in that final lap was like nothing I've ever heard before nor will ever hear again. I looked around after he had won that magnificent gold and everyone around me was in a total state of shock and excitement and exhaustion. Amazing. Oh, and then we all had a big singalong. Apparently Paul McCartney was there and conducting us, but I didn't notice and I didn't need him and neither did anyone else.
I'll have more to say about the stadium itself another time (I've got a few more trips there this week, oh yes). For now, let's just bask in the glow of Jess, Greg and Mo.
Bonus occurrence: nothing to report from the athletics (other than me hauling my Mum into a surprise hug when Mo won, which made her laugh her head off), so let's backtrack to the rowing last week when I was sitting only about ten seats away from rugby hero Mick Skinner and DIDN'T ask him for a photo. I hate myself.
Bonus photos: Our golden girl and boys.