Author:  Laura Glover, luger and student-athlete at National Sports School

Those words are like knives and heavy blankets smothering me.  My brain stalls, my eyes burn as I feel my heart sink inside my chest. My throat swells, strangling my words until I can finally muster; "He died?"

I knew about the crash. I knew before anyone else. My mom is volunteering at the games at the Whistler Sliding Center, she had been out there for a few days already. So in the car sat my Dad my sister and I driving out to watch the games and of course we had been texting her the whole drive. Can't talk. Horrible accident during men's training runs. Not good. It's funny how it's never the changes we want that change everything.

In that moment I thought of my accident. It was only a little over a year ago that it happened; it was just one of our normal training sessions on the track in Calgary. I came out of the final curve at my top speed of over 100 km/hr only to hit a sled sitting in the out run. The track hadn't been properly cleared from a crash previous to me. To be honest, I must have been in shock because the next thing I remember is being in the drug store and passing out as the pain finally kicked in. I was lucky. Really, really lucky - only devastating injuries to my tail bone and severe trauma to the surrounding area, and bruising to the point where I couldn't believe that was my own body.

I was lucky.  Nodar Kumaritashvili was not. That was one of the things that hit me most. That could have been me. That could have been any of us. There aren't very many of us lugers. We really are like a big family and though I had never met him, I think all of us felt the loss. So needless to say that by the time I reached Whistler it didn't feel like a time for joy and celebration. It seemed that in the luge world at least, things continued to go downhill with all the controversy and backlash that at times almost made me feel sick. The starthouses getting moved down was another big blow, and the empathy I felt for the athletes through all of this I really can't describe.
But these were the Olympics after all, and Olympic spirit prevailed. Before I knew it there I was standing in Curve 16 on the first day of the men's race, tattoos of Canadian flags and Olympic rings on my cheeks, and smears of red war paint under my eyes. I had never seen so many people at the track! Our track! I'll be honest: normally at a race in Canada the only people watching are our parents so if we're lucky there will be fifteen people. But I was surrounded by hundreds!

Of course I could pick out the family and friends: the Sweeneys (U.S women's slider Megan Sweeney, whose younger sister happens to be on the junior circuit with me) with their hot pink hats handing out pins, or Walker/Snith's ( Canadian doubles luge team Tristan Walker and Justin Snith) friends with their names painted across their half-naked bodies (and yes it was freezing that day).

Then there were people there I really had never seen before: spectators. The Germans with their noise makers, the Americans wearing giant cowboy hats, and the Austrians belting out their national anthem and then the Canadians. Oh the Canadians! I'm positive that my eyes must have been glazed over with Olympic glory for the entire week. And yes by the time the doubles race arrived I had already lost my voice.

But don't worry I still tried my hardest to cheer for Justin and Tristan who not only were my teammates but my schoolmates (at National Sport School) as well. I have to admit it was a bit surreal to see "one of us" compete in the Olympic!. I mean it's not as though the other athletes didn't stand exactly where I stand now, but I've always known all them as Olympians, while Tristan and Justin I have known before. So seeing them finally add Olympian to their names (and permanently have that Olympic afterglow) was incredible to see, in so many ways, I wish I could explain to you but simply can't find the words to do it justice, and to do them justice.

I must admit I am in Olympic Withdrawal. No longer is painting my face and yelling "Go Canada!" (only to be greeted with high fives, and cheers) in the middle of town really acceptable. Running up to anyone in a team jacket (San Marino alpine team?) or even strangers and striking up a conversation and getting a round of high-fives and pictures. Painting the faces of little boys with American flags - because they were jealous of my face paint - might no longer be appropriate.

 I think what I miss most is when one of us (because at the Olympics all Canadians are suddenly an "us") won medals. In the streets you would hear the cheers and screaming of "GOLD!!!! GO CANADA!!!!" and the air would crackle with the electricity of it all. I'll have deal with my symptoms until 2014 when hopefully not only will I be able to experience the games again, I'll actually be a part of them.  I'll get to live them. For now the experiences, lessons and friendships I have taken away from the Vancouver Olympic Games will be etched in my heart far beyond the moment that Olympic Flame was finally extinguished.