Knitter Down!

Wow. As I typed that I had the oddest feeling that I’ll be writing it lot over the Olympic period.

This is overwhelming. Completely overwhelming. Half of the knitters are now on the Athletes page, and the remaining ones will be added…as fast as I can. When I have it all up (with the help of the remarkable S.Kate, comment princess and database genius) I’ll have you guys look it over and tell me about errors. Until then, hold your water…I’m working on it.

I was doing OK too. Tuesday I felt hopeful. I was coding the emails and comments as they were coming (well…I was behind, but I felt good about my chances…) even though every time I clicked “get mail” I realized that I had really, really seriously underestimated the knitterly urge to be an Olympic Athlete. About 4:00 I quit for a little bit for a visit to the doctor about a sore spot on my leg, and after a thirty second visit with him…


I was in the ER. (Doesn’t the knitting look sort of nervous?)

Turns out they felt I was experiencing a DVT (a very scary way of saying a blood clot) and I was appropriately frightened. Seven hours later (non HTML coding hours, I swear I could feel my inbox filling) I was given a shot (in my stomach…how inhumane) of “low-molecular weight heparin”, and sent home, with strict instructions to lie low (I suck at that) keep my leg up (you can’t spin with your leg up. I tried.) and return the next day for an ultrasound.

I laughed when the Dr. said that because they thought I had a DVT I should return to the hospital if I had “shortness of breath or the symptoms of a stroke”. Dude. With or without a DVT wouldn’t you go anyway?

I did go back the next day and the bizarre hour long ultrasound revealed that while I am far from perfect, my leg veins (at least the ones on the right) are the picture of perfection. (It’s good to know that part of you is perfect.) Best part? Maybe it was the Heparin, maybe it was the rest, but my leg feels great. (My stomach, where I got the shot, feels like I was hit by a car…but you can’t be picky.)

For the record. This:


is exactly how much of a Dale of Norway baby sweater you can knit during that time in the hospital. We’re all set if it’s ever a question on Jeopardy. The upshot is that all the time at the hospital was time that I didn’t handle adding names to the Athletes list…so bear with me. If you’re not on the list, I’ll get there. Losing 24 hours was easy, making it up? My first Olympic challenge. I can do it. (I’ve already given up cleaning the bathroom. See that? The sacrifices I make?)

Word on the street is that some knitters are calling into question the sanity of the Olympic knitters.

It’s 16 days of dedication to a sport hobby we all love.

Knitting Olympians (unlike real Olympians, who don’t get to decide how high the ski jump should be) set their own goals. It’s only as crazy as you make it, and a little self-directed inspiration can change your idea of what you are capable of.

I’ve been really proud to see people interpreting the challenge within the context of their own lives and searching for their own personal best. Knitters deciding to learn lace, knitters trying to finish something, knitters attempting one sock because they know that they have other obligations. Lene, a very good friend of mine who had to give up knitting because of the challenges of Rheumatoid Arthritis is taking part in the Knitters Olympics. She’s going to knit one stitch a day. One stitch. It’s her personal best, it’s her best effort…and she’s an Olympian. At the risk of encouraging more people to sign up (thus leading to more HTML…) I find this inspiring.

You other Olympians? Do your best. Aim high. Push yourself within your limits. Set an attainable (but challenging) goal and be all that you can be. (Wait, that’s the US army isn’t it?)

For people who aren’t interested knitting as a sport, get your cheer on. The Olympics are nothing without the roar of the crowd. We’re going to need you sometime around day 12. Bring chocolate and encouragement.