I love the Olympics. Winter, Summer, Special, you name it. I love the work those athletes do, day after day for most of their lives, and the ridiculousness of competing in one particular week, blinded by the media's glare and watched by millions of people. If you asked me to dress up in a lycra costume and write a great poem as fast as possible while TV cameras caught every angle of my pen and commentators said inane things about what the expression on my face meant, I would probably have you committed. But when there's a steep hill and a bunch of hot-rod 20-year-olds involved, somehow the hoopla makes perfect sense.

The Winter Olympics differ from Summer in that they are mainly a chance to watch spectacular falls. In summer the gymnasts keel over, but this month we have skaters and skiers and lugers and hundreds of others all trying to manoeuver on slick surfaces, and quite a few of them failing.

The Olympics bring a new vocabulary into my house. Not just quadruple-axels and triple-"sow-cow"s (whatever they are), but phrases like "throw down a run" and "nail the landing." I love the way groups develop their own vernacular for what they do. Even as the announcers - many of them former medalists in the sports they're covering - mangle the English language on every other front, they throw down these magical terms like "corked 720" and "really big air," that draw you into their world.

I don't speak Norwegian well enough to figure out their skiing slang, and even if I did, I wouldn't hear any of it on my TV: U.S. coverage is as fiercely pro-American as ever. I wish it weren't. I wish the idea of winning for your country had never been invented, since it mars the larger wonder of getting all these athletes who pursue such a common goal united in one location. I also wish there were no ads, and the commentators didn't feel the need to fill every second with nonsensical blather.

But those are small prices to pay. The astonishing feats and dedication of the athletes make them insignificant. I especially love watching the women. Women came so late to the arena, and have worked so hard to be here. In Lillehammer, just 12 years ago, there were only 25 events for the women to compete in, compared to 61 for the men. This year, there are still only two-thirds the number of women competing as men. When I was in college, I fought for Title IX, the legislation that bans discrimination in school sports funding. I was on the first crew that got a new boat, one actually built for women, instead of the bashed-up, over-sized, hand-me-downs from the men.

So it means the world to me to watch female athletes compete at Turin, to see the joy on a snowboarder's face after she's hurled herself 20 feet into the air, swivelled around twice upside down, and then — it's such a miracle — nailed the landing.