by Louisa Cohen

With every climax, depending on what you are referring to, there is: a resolution, a come-down, a fall, a deflation, an exhale, a reprieve, a cliffhanger, a downdrop.

Anti-Olympics or cheering all the way, one cannot deny that this city has never reached such a pinnacle of excitement and energy than during the past few weeks. We experienced fireworks on the regular, people partying in the streets, boozing, cruising, winning, losing (Sorry, I can’t help a rhyme) A dense 70,000 people in our downtown core. Criz-azy.

Vancouver has a pulse, which is normally akin to the yogi state of ‘shavasana’; with our metropolis glowing in light, packed with people from all over the world, it felt like a seaside New York.

My heart swells, a little bittersweet, as we say good bye to this event which inconvenienced our cab drivers, liquored our grass, and weighed down our taxes – but gave us the Canada Line, international appeal, and Canada’s first on-soil Olympic gold.

When I was fourteen, my family and I went to Costa Rica for two weeks over Christmas, and I fell in love with an eighteen year old named Jeffrey who worked at our resort (a la Dirty Dancing). Much like this two-week love affair, the Olympics were so wrong, but somehow felt so right…the Olympics made us swoon out of our minds, and behave with wild abandon.

My tryst with Jeffrey definitely left a lasting impression, though it’s hard to say what it was, and only time continues to tell. The same can be said for the 2010 Olympic Games and our city of glass.