The Spirit of Competition

As I sit here the Olympic flame is about to be extinguished. Beijing 2008 draws to a close. It's a strange feeling; a wraithlike, bittersweet, nostalgia. It feels as if I'm mourning for someone I barely knew. The music has been exceedingly well chosen.

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It is gone. The ashes of the torch lie dormant, settling in for another four years of solemn repose.

These Olympics have been significant for me. Neither Sydney nor Athens really interested me. But my outlook on sports, on athleticism itself, have changed dramatically.

No longer is physical prowess the pursuit of uneducated proletarians. No longer is human fitness and strength irrelevant, despite paling - as I oft reminded myself in my younger days - besides that of much of the animal kindgdom.

I am an athlete myself now, a martial artist. Kung fu has slowly stirred in me a respect and deference to those with speed, power, endurance and agility. The grapes are no longer sour, I have recognised them for their sweetness. And I long for them.

In four years' time, the Olympics will come to London. I will have six and a half years of martial arts experience when they arrive. I get the very strong impression that my appreciation for Beijing will be dwarfed by what I see, what I savour, in London.

Goodbye, China. Your Games were truly impressive. Your ceremonies were spectacular. I have seen in your Olympics what your kung fu has wrought. It has stirred a part of me that slept within for seventeen years. Deep within me, with a rippling, surging energy . . .

The dragon awakens.