I’m no Michael Phelps.

I can’t stand 20 feet behind a pingpong table and hit it over the net consistently.

I’m not comfortable doing twists and flips on a trampoline, and my BMX days, which consisted of me and the neighbor kids trying to clear garbage cans, are long gone.

But I do have an Olympic story, which I thought I’d share in light of the Beijing summer games wrapping up today.

In 2000, I was the sports editor at a twice-weekly paper in Oregon, spending my days laying out pages and making phone calls and my nights covering games and making macaroni and cheese.

I was thinking about covering the 2002 Salt Lake Olympics, primarily because I wanted to do a service for the readers by capturing moments they couldn’t see on television.

I wanted to write about what it’s like to see dozens if not hundreds of American flags being waved at a hockey game. Or what it sounds like when speed skaters go whooshing by the stands. Or what it’s like to see someone win a gold medal live.

There was only one problem.

How could I get there?

In a matter of hours, I called my aunt in Salt Lake City and asked if I could crash at her house for the week, which would cut down on hotel costs and make the bosses happy.

She said I could.

I then talked my dad into going with me as we had often discussed taking in an Olympic games together.

I then started the paperwork for a press credential to ensure I had as much access as possible, while my dad of course would buy separate tickets on his own.

Well, better luck next time.

I had missed the deadline by six months, even though the games were still roughly two years out. I also found out that the Olympic Committee rarely, if ever, awards a press credential to non-daily media.

It was then on to Plan B.

I persuaded one of the committee officials to let me send an e-mail once a month as a reminder I was still interested, just in the one billionth of a chance a press credential came available.

It was a fool’s errand, I had thought. Why attempt something you know is not going to work?

Well, first of all because even though sending an e-mail once a month takes consistency and a memory, that’s about all it takes. And second, there was nothing to lose.

The first time I sent an e-mail, I received a nice reply that said something like, “Sorry, there still aren’t any available.” For the rest of the year, most of my e-mails didn’t get any reply at all.

Time passed and grass grew and then the phone rang.

With six months or so left before the opening ceremonies, a press pass came available and for whatever reason, I was offered it.

Perhaps it was my e-mails or 9/11 scaring reporters away from making the trip. It didn’t matter, I was going.

I spent a week there, taking it all in. I interviewed a gold medal speed skater from Germany, had my picture taken with the Bulgarian figure skating coach, who I also interviewed, and watched as many events as humanly possible.

I was there when the U.S. women’s hockey team won its first game, a 10-0 victory over Germany. The third period ended, and the home crowd went crazy for the home team.

On the outside, I sat calm and collected in the press box. On the inside, I was tempted to head down a couple of rows and into the crowd and ask someone, “Do you mind if I wave that for a little bit?”

The bottom line is that for two weeks every two years, the Olympics offer an amazing experience for many people, including the Olympians, the coaches, the families, the friends, the fans, and yes, even the media.