I love the Olympic Games! I can't wait till they're over!

Dear Olympics:

I love you. Really, I do.

Jumping, diving, spinning, running, grunting, bouncing, punching, spiking, sweating, throwing, splashing, bench-pressing, lifting, rowing, you make for a frenetic companion as you “verb” your way through life, yet you never seem to tire. I, though, over the years, have slowed down. Much like the characters in J. M. Barrie's classic tale (set, of course, in London--when not in Neverland), you, Peter, have remained young, while I, Wendy, have grown up. And though I won't yet say that I've grown old, I've become middle-aged. I'm tired, Olympics. I'm really tired. I just can't take your youthful pace anymore.

The last two weeks have been absolutely magical. Thrilling. Exhilarating. You have grabbed my attention and never let it go. I'ts been a heart-stopping, breathtaking adventure. That's why what I have to say next is going to come as a shock to you.

Please go away. Now.

You have wrecked my physical, mental, and emotional health. I have stayed up way too late ever since you came back into my life. I am in physical pain from sleep deprivation. You know how they say that 300 million cells in our bodies die every minute? Well, I can actually *feel* them dying. I didn't know that was even possible. They actually scream as they expire. I think that other people can even hear them. It's kind of embarrassing. I can also feel dying neurons as they crash into the walls of my brain, much like X-wing fighters leaving a trail of sparks as they are annihilated as they bounce off the Death Star and then into the darkness of space. You are--quite literally--killing me. When I was younger, I looked forward to your visits. But I could take it then. I could withstand a couple of weeks with no sleep. Not so anymore, dear Olympics. I am older. I've been worn down by years of sleep deprivation, worry, late-night study sessions, and all sorts of other foolishness.

Now, as I try to stay awake to watch one more dive, one more race, one more match, my body screams in pain. I've heard the expression before but only rarely experienced it: “Too tired to sleep.” I lie there, with the TV on, lest I miss one record-breaking moment of you, but willing myself to fall asleep. However, even when I can quiet my thoughts for a moment, I still hear a noise. It's a steady buzzing sound. And then I realize what it is. It's an alarm that is built into our brains as we form in our mothers' wombs. Most people will never hear this alarm. That's because it signals when we have reached our Lifetime Maximum Allowable Level of Sleep Deprivation. It's a frightening sound, my dear Olympics, because once that alarm goes off, it means that each minute of further lack of sleep in my life will bring dire consequences.

So, as much as I love you, it is time for you to go. Come back in a couple of years. I'll be well rested by then, I hope. I'll be waiting for you. But for now, please, just go. Let's meet one more time, perhaps tomorrow afternoon, for a goodbye celebration. And then we must part, neither of us looking back. You, Olympics, will go with a bounce in your step, looking toward a bright and energetic future. I...I will be in a coma.

With much love,

A lifelong devotee