As part of our monthly OLT staff meeting today, my colleague Donna and I gave a presentation about our Olympic experiences. She was an attaché for Team Italy so hers was fascinating. I handed out uniforms, but did other kewl stuff. So I made a video (a filum as they say on the ould sod):
Please do not consider this evidence of best practices, in terms of multimedia pedagogy. Kthxbye
Last night was the wrap party for my volunteer gig at the Olympics and Paralympics. It was an exceedingly glamorous experience being a Uniform Distribution Team Lead. My life in teal, 4 real yo. But before I reflect upon the experience can I just say we’re not frickin’ smurfs–smurfs are blue people in white clothes and we’re (mostly white) people in blue clothes!!!!.
OK I feel a bit better now.
People need their uniforms before their first on the job usually. With a surprising number of workforce (volunteers, paid staff, embedded contractors) going “operational” in early January, we had to start distributing uniforms in mid-December. That meant all processes and setup for our team needed to be in place for early December. I worked my first “official” shift on 08 December; my last was on 21 March. Beginning in mid-December (up until then we were kitting out our own team), I worked 2-4 shifts a week until mid-March. You do the math.
We had 4 workstations (check-in, change rooms, collection, check out) and I only loathed change rooms. So I’ll say it now everyone’s wearing the same uniform. The colour, cut and flow of it doesn’t matter once the size is figured out. I had one person in a change room for an hour–just to pick a jacket size. I don’t mind shopping, but when there’s not much on offer, or if it’s largely about function I tend to blast through things. I got my sizing (leprechaun size: S across the board) done in less than 10 minutes. It’s too big? Try down a size. Too small? Try up. Can decide between two? Do the squat test and let your buttcrack do the talking. Great, here you go. Next!
At our busiest we were putting around 120 people an hour through. On 12 hour days that’s easily 1200 a day. Total uniformed workforce put through Vancouver was somewhere upwards of 20k people. That’s a lot of smurfs uniforms!
For the most part people were exceedingly patient and kind. Most people were just so excited to do something that made the Games real, tangible. “Are you ready to play dress up?” I’d ask many as I led them to the change rooms. “Hell yeah” or some version of it was almost always the response. It didn’t hurt that the uniforms looked great on a lot of people, good on pretty much everyone, and were well made. Running out of the smaller sizes though…that sucked. But our bosses moved heaven and earth and found solutions. For nearly everyone.
The minority of people who were unpleasant seemed to be trying to be the squeaky wheel. Squeaking didn’t make other sizes or colours magically appear: we gave you the very best fitting jacket, pants, vests and (2) long-sleeved t-shirts. When we couldn’t give you something that was a great fit we were almost as disappointed as you were. Really. We wanted everyone to be happy, ready to work, and proud of how you looked. And I think now, most of us BlueJackets™ are proud, even if we had to take our pants up 8cm. Like I did.
Some people wondered if working in an old hockey arena a warehouse in East Vancouver during the Games made me feel a bit removed from it all. Nope. Most of the workforce came through our doors. We met people from all over the world. People were excited. I feel lucky that my Olympics and Paralympics went “live” in mid-December rather than mid-February. I’ve been waiting all my life to attend a Games–the longer the experience lasted, the better.
Last night after the party ended we had the party after the party. The core group of us–mostly paid staff, but a couple of us volunteers–went across the street for a few drinks. As the party had cycled down we were sad to say good-bye after good-bye. But those of us at the bar were the ones who are now great friends. So we were laughing about different things that happened, who drove us crazy, who made us laugh. And what lucky, lucky people we were for the experiences we had.
I will always be very, very proud of what we accomplished as Team/Équipe 2010. If the Olympics and Paralympics are ever coming to your town–sign up to volunteer!!!!!
I’ve always wanted to attend an Olympic Games. In November 2008 I was even more excited when I was offered a job at Vanoc; a year later I came back to UBC a bit disappointed and very relieved. One of the negatives of being a member of the workforce for an Olympics is sacrificing up event time to ensure the events are delivered: you may work at the Richmond Olympic Oval for 13 days during the Games and see perhaps one race there in that time. Had I stayed in my paid role I would not have been able to enjoy as much of these Games as I did. Even on TV.
What follows is a disjointed narrative of my Games experiences as a spectator. It’s more descriptive than analytical: I’m trying merely to capture a sense of what happened and what it was like for me. Your mileage may vary; in fact you might find all boring…
Tickets
Tickets for the 2010 Games were allocated in 4 phases. In the first round (which was a lottery) I requested several “ city packs” for my family (10 of whom who would be visiting) and lots for me. Everything for them came through, but the only thing I landed were 2 tickets to the women’s aerials finals and 4 nosebleed tickets for the final night of short track speed skating. However, concerns about cost meant I didn’t give 2nd or 3rd choices for events—which probably cost me some tickets. I went for the cheapest seat for every event, as did probably a lot of Canadians.
In the second round I was extremely lucky: I was out of the virtual “waiting room” within 2 minutes of the start of sales. I grabbed tickets for my family to two marquis events: men’s halfpipe and ladies’ 1000m speed skating. I’m still not sure those folks realize how lucky they—we—were in landing those. Leading up to the Opening Ceremony both were being scalped for 3-4 times face value in the official “resale” (scalp) ticket site. I was even luckier for myself. I managed to get tickets for the gold medal events in men’s and women’s hockey, men’s curling, ladies’ figure skating, and ladies’ 5000m speed skating. In round three I got nuthin’. A month before the Opening Ceremony the headliners were announced for the Victory Ceremonies at BC Place: I immediately grabbed tickets for Nelly Furtado.
A couple of weeks before the Games someone tipped me off to the availability of seats that were partially obstructed for figure skating. Thus I was able to grab men’s short and free program and ice dance free program tickets, mostly single seats just for myself. That same week I happened upon a single seat for the women’s snowboard cross event, marked up a mere $35 (the admin charges, in other words) in the resale site.
So I had a lot of tickets to a lot of great events. There was a lot of luck involved, but I was also persistent in checking and rechecking the vancouver2010.com/tickets site, as well as calling the ticket box office from time to time. Persistence paid off, big time!
Nelly, Mäelle, Marianne et Clara
My friends Joseph, Anne-Rae and Josefina from work (UBC work not Vanoc work) and I attended the Nelly Furtado victory ceremony/concert on Sunday 14 February. Nelly sand for about an hour (great value for $50), most of her big hits. Wow that girl can sing! We also got to see Jennifer Heil receive her silver medal for ladies moguls—and were in the stadium when Alexandre Bilodeau earned his gold medal for men’s moguls! So on day two of competition, the Canuck Curse (two hosted Olympics; no gold medals) was broken. BC Place went nuts when they announced his win. I think that’s when folks here in Vancouver realized something amazing was unfolding. “The party’s just starting” was Bilodeau’s comment when asked whether he knew how significant his gold medal was. Too right M. Bilodeau!
Tuesday 16 February was ladies’ snowboard cross up on Cypress Mountain. Most folks know that the warmest January on record washed most of the snow off Cypress—those of us with seasons passes know this especially well (grrrr). But while the mountainside was bare, the field of play was in great shape—including the massive final jump on the cross run. When the sun came out, conditions were perfect.
Ladies’ snowboard cross was the only event I was willing to pay scalper prices for—I was considering going as much as 2X face value. Why? Two words: Mäelle Ricker. Ricker has represented Canada in snowboard for well over a decade. She’s had top 5 finishes in both halfpipe and snowboard cross at the Olympics, has been overall world cup champion for cross several times too. She’s won pretty much everything there is to win in snowboard cross—except an Olympic medal. In 2004 she was quite literally be knocked out (unconscious, in fact) in the final.
Her day on Cypress started badly. There was fog, a 2 hour start delay and then several pauses when the fog rolled in and out. Both she and the other Canadian in the event, defending bronze medallist Dominique Maltais, crashed on their first qualification run in the fog; those whose first runs were later got a clear course and much faster times. In cross each boarder races alone twice, with the faster of their two runs determining their seeding for the 4 racer heats later that day. Maltais, it turns out, had been injured on a training run earlier that morning and would crash out on her second run as well.
I was more than a little worried for Mäelle. However I heard an archetypal snowboarder dude said to someone else in the crowd “no worries, Mäelle’s gonna rawq it!” And did she ever! Her second qualification run was 3rd fastest of the day. After that she won the next 4 races—and Canada’s second gold medal and first by a Canadian woman on home soil. What makes the story even sweeter is that Mäelle grew up in West Vancouver and learned to snowboard on Cypress Mountain, where she earned her gold medal! It was Monday and I was already happy—I’d seen Canada get gold at home! Everything else was gonna be a bonus…
On Wednesday I had a ticket to the women’s 500m short track finals, thanks to an online Aussie friend who couldn’t use it. Two Canadians, Kalyna Roberge and Jessica Gregg, were ranked top 5 in the world; the third, Marianne St. Gelais, had been world junior champion in the distance in 2008. Short track is all about surprises and though all three made it to the semi-finals, only Gregg and St. Gelais made it to the final. And it was St. Gelais, the “rookie,” who earned a silver medal.
I also got to attend the women’s 5000m (long track) speed skating event. Clara Hughes came into the Games as the defending Olympic champion and defending world silver medallist. Most who follow the sport expected the amazing Martina Sablikova from the Czech Republic to win easily (and she did), but expected Clara to have a very good shot at silver or bronze. In the end Stephanie Beckert of Germany earned silver and Clara bronze. Clara Hughes is now tied with Cindy Klassen as the most decorated Canadian Olympian ever (1 gold, 1 silver, 4 bronze medals), but she’s earned both Summer (road cycling) and Winter (speed skating) multiple medals–something no other athlete anywhere has ever done.
Paddy boy, Mahler and heartbreak
The same day of Ricker’s victory I joined my UBC colleague Linda at the men’s short program. Our “obstructed” seats for the session—in a pattern that would be repeated for the other two events for which I bought these 10% discounted seats—were blocked perhaps 3% at the bottom left of our field of vision. I had to make my way from Cypress (the snowboard ended an hour late due to delays, so I had to skip the flower ceremony) to the Pacific Coliseum and missed about 8 skaters. I arrived just as Evgeni Plushenko took to the ice: the short program favours men like him who are technically proficient and who can cram some high scoring jumps into what is a very narrow window of opportunity. Canada’s Patrick Chan—or Paddy boy, as I call him (my Da’s nickname)—skated better than most but not his best. You can’t win a medal in figure skating just by skating a great short program…but you can certainly disadvantage yourself with even a small mistake. Sixth going into the free skate wasn’t impossible for him to make up (for 3rd; 1st and 2nd were well out of reach with a 10+ point deficit), but Paddy boy’s long program had a few bobbles—and only one of the men ahead of him floundered. So 5th place it was. L
Almost a week later was the Ice Dance free program. Going into the Games, Virtue and Moir were Canada’s only real shot at figure skating gold. In the compulsory dance and original dance all went to plan: they scored in the top 2 in the former and handily won the latter, giving them a clear lead. Barring a dramatic misstep on their part, it was between them and their American training mates Davis and White for gold.
For me dance has always been the figure skating discipline where few who demonstrate technical proficiency are able to actually move me. Both these teams are an exception: both skated brilliantly, but it might have come down to the music and what each team’s choice offered. Davis and White skated to Phantom of the Opera—beautiful, but somewhat hackneyed. Virtue and Moir selected Mahler’s 5th symphony, not only one of the most beautiful pieces of classical music, but one that matches their athletic, romantic, intense style very well. Just before Virtue and Moir skated, two of my Vanoc pals Virginia and Meghan (my bosses, actually) joined me and we watched Canada earn its first ever Ice Dance Olympic gold medal. As a bonus, figure skating holds its victory ceremonies on-venue the same night. So we got to sing O Canada! That’s a second gold medal for Canada I saw live!!!
By then we’d all heard about the death of Thérese Rochette, JoAnnie Rochette’s mother. Like everyone, I watched her skate her short program on TV holding my breath; like everyone I cried when she fell apart after skating so beautifully. Meghan and I were at the ladies’ free program and hoped for a fairytale ending to the story. We knew, however, that in mathematical terms it would be equally difficult for JoAnnie to move up to silver (no one could catch the magical Kim Yu-Na for gold); similarly JoAnnie could make several mistakes and still get bronze. The couple of jumps she downgraded were the difference between bronze and silver but who cares: her skating proved her to be a champion.
The mother lode
A couple of hours before JoAnnie’s bronze I attended the women’s gold medal hockey game with my Vanoc pals Virginia, Tronni and Susan. The atmosphere in Canada Hockey Place was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before—or since. The crowd was passionately, cheerfully, 100% in our team’s corner. It was a sea of red and white and hooting and hollering. And we bellowed O Canada as the girls were awarded their gold medals. Team USA looked glum, even sour, but the crowd chanting USA! USA! for them shocked several out of their torpor. “I feel kinda bad for them, but they look bitter,” said Virg. “Well if it had been our team getting the silver they probably would’ve looked the same.” “But it’s not!!!!!!!!” J Gold medal #3; singing O Canada #2!
The next evening was the short track finale: men’s 500m, ladies’ 1000m and men’s 5000m relay. “You know, it’s not unusual for Canada to pick up 2, 3, even 4 medals the last night of short track” I told my seatmates. Sure enough in what was probably the wildest finish of any medal event at the 2010 Games, Charles Hamelin earned gold and François-Louis Tremblay bronze in the 500m. For a good chuckle find the ice-level view of the finish line: Hamelin crosses sideways, the silver medallist on his back with his skates in the air, and Tremblay several second later after having fallen. None of our women made the 1000m final, but the Canadian men dominated the relay, earning gold. Since BC Place was being reconfigured for the Closing Ceremony, all three events’ medals were presented that night on-venue. So we got to sing O Canada two more times—and got a bronze too! That’s five gold medals seen live!
Saturday was the men’s curling final. Unlike our women’s rink—who folded under pressure in the 10th end—Kevin Martin’s rink controlled play for most of the Game, but the Norwegians played very well. With a couple of stones left to throw in the 10th end the crowd broke out in a spontaneous rendition of O Canada. Which we got to sing again about 30 minutes later! Gold medal #6 seen live for me!
Leave no doubt
When I returned to Canada Hockey Place for the men’s final on Sunday morning, I expected the same vibe as the women’s final from a couple of days earlier. It was similar, but not nearly as exuberant. Perhaps there was less confidence about the result: the US had beaten Team Canada in round-robin play. Or perhaps it was the way so many of the guys in the audience—who grew up playing the game—were quick to critique the play of Team Canada when a pass wasn’t perfect, or a shot went wide. At the women’s final the crowd’s energy was high throughout—as was the chanting of Go Canada go!. Too often the crowd at the men’s final would go silent, which doesn’t exactly imbue a team with a sense of being supported by the hometown crowd. Of course every time Vancouver Canuck’s goaltender Roberto Lounge made a save the crowd chanted Luuuuuuu. The negativity got me more than a little bit pissed off: Team USA’s fans cheered exactly the same way throughout the game. Something to think about, my fellow Canucklheads.
“Sudden victory” overtime mean 4 on 4 (rather than 5 on 5) and makes for a lot of pressure—and something of a time warp. I thought Crosby scored his goal a couple of minutes into overtime; I was surprised to find out the next day it was almost 8 minutes in. But even before the horn blasted signifying the goal the crowd did! Everyone was yelling and hugging and jumping and more than a few were crying! Probably like most of Canada, for me it was 50% joy, 50% relief.
About 5 seconds after the goal, my phone buzzed. “Happy birthday, how’s that for a present?” said my brother’s text message. He’d been watching in New York and though he’d hoped for a different outcome he was gracious when it counted most. “Was a great game; could’ve gone either way” was my reply. A week earlier I had passed on joining him and the rest of his family—all 10 of them—at the preliminary Canada-USA men’s hockey game. Part of it was not wanting to sit in the middle of a large, loud (but very good spirited) posse of Team USA fans. But a bigger part was what the game meant to folks on either side of the 49th parallel.
“If you guys win it’s just one of several sports you’re team’s great at, Tom. But for us up here, hockey’s a religion. It’s our game.”
After Team USA’s victory in the preliminary game what impressed Tom and the rest of the family most was how gracious Canadians are regardless of the outcome—save the odd eejit, of course. “So many people congratulated us and said what a great game it had been. Had we been in Salt Lake in 2002 I don’t think our fans would’ve been so gracious.” Perhaps, perhaps not.
That was the 7th gold medal for Canada I saw live. Pretty frickin’ kewl, eh? Eventually my pal Ed (“Aren’t you glad we didn’t sell these tickets for enough $ to pay our mortgages for the year?”) and I made our way out of the Canada Hockey Place. I met my Vanoc pals, who had found me a comp Closing Ceremony ticket. On the floor of BC Place. Best. Birthday. Evar
The end
I expected to be gutted when the cauldron was extinguished. But really I was too tired. Between hosting and volunteering (4 shifts in 17 days, nothing compared to most volunteers) and attending events and trying to maintain some semblance of married life, I was knackered. I wasn’t glad to see the Games end…but I wasn’t sad either. They weren’t perfect operationally—nothing is—but they were perfect.
I started out as a kid hoping to go to an Olympics just once. I ended up writing much of the core volunteer training materials, carrying the torch, helping deliver the Games, sharing them with family from away, and attending every single sport I cared to that was offered in Vancouver (the hoops required to leap through to do any Whistler events just wasn’t worth it to me). And I got to sing our national anthem.
I think the results for Team Canada were awesome. From having never earned gold at home to earning more gold medals at a single Olympic Winter Games than anyone in history is a remarkable achievement on $11million a year. That’s what our share of the costs of 5 years of Own the Podium was folks, $55 million over 5 years. About $1.35 a year per Canadian. At these Games many winter sports powerhouses (Russia, Austria, Italy) underperformed: one, the US, performed higher than even the most overinflated predictions could have anticipated. We didn’t lose to anyone. We earned what we got and we got a lot.
For Canadians—and especially British Columbians and Vancouverites—we got much more. We got permission to be proud and loud. But we didn’t become mindlessly nationalistic. We simply found our voice. We celebrated ourselves. But we also celebrated everyone else’s successes too. We demonstrated that it’s possible to be solidly behind your own team while making all the others feel welcome. We showed that quietly just making sure it all gets done is the best way to ensure success. Canada’s Games had two different mottos in English and in French. We certainly had glowing hearts, but we also demonstrated des plus brilliants exploits, our greatest feats.
We did that regardless of the hardware collected by our athletes. But it sure is shiny and pretty and I’m glad it’s all ours. Ours.
This was written on the wall of Team Canada’s dressing room in GM Canada Hockey Place:
LEAVE NO DOUBT
So let the world be warned on February 28, 2010, we will …LEAVE NO DOUBT
Gangked from here.
…are, like, totally impressed with my torch run:
Porteur du flambeau
We went to Canada yesterday, where I got to run with the Torch.
Ready
When I found out I’d won a spot in the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Winter Games Torch Relay, all I knew was my segment was on day 100, somewhere between Whistler and Merritt British Columbia. Folks familiar with the area would know that’s a route that covers over 300km—one of the longest road segments in the entire relay. Then in mid-December I learnt my segment was in Logan Lake.
Logan Lake is Canada. It’s a small community compared to Vancouver (about 3,000 people), largely reliant on the resource sector for its economy (a copper mine). It’s the kind of place everybody knows everybody. “Downtown” is a cluster of shops, restaurants, the post office and the community recreation centre. It’s at this last building we were to meet the folks from Vanoc. The “rec” centre was also to be the site of the community celebration prior to our run.
For a small town, Logan Lake’s got a big rec centre —mostly to accommodate what looked like an international size (30m x 60m) ice rink. The hallways and rafters show the mark of pride this town has for its hockey: banners, trophies, photos, things of that sort. Go down the hallway and you’ll find 3 sheets for curling (dark tonight), a gym ($3 drop-in fee), and the offices of the folks who work there. Ten minutes in the building and it was clear to me: this centre is probably very much the centre of the community of Logan Lake.
Set
I was the first torchbearer to arrive, but the local host committee was already on top of things. Over the course of several hours they arranged a small stage, a table to buy souvenirs of day (I got 5 pins and a tuque), and had begin deploying thousands of paper lanterns to mark the torch route. I got into my torchbearer’s uniform and started mingling: these folks had done a lot of work and it seemed only fair to get to know them a bit. Everyone was friendly; lots of folks wanted photos. My favourite was the group of stoned 15 year old guys (they reeked), one of whom rested his head on my shoulder like a little puppy!
Kim, our host from Vanoc, was lovely. She communicated all the important information succinctly, showed how to hold our torches. Oh, and she gave us each our torch—me my torch! First impressions? Beautiful, heavy, and heavy. With a full fuel canister they weight 1.7kg. My only concern has always been big torch, leprechaun hands (I wear women’s small gloves usually). Our red mittens have a textured grip in the palms, but it was still a stretch to hold it in my hand. But it was gonna be fine…and I was gonna carry it in my teeth if I had to.
With our torches we returned to the crowd so folks could get photos. Lots of photos. Photos, photos, and photos. And then photos. Then, after a few photos we boarded our shuttle bus. Each of us roared for the others as we were dropped off. Soon I was standing on the side of the road, chatting with a couple whose daughter had just graduated from SFU and who lived in Langley. Like most parents whose kids are away, when I asked how often they got to see her they said “not nearly enough.”
I was runner #2 (well, my assigned number is 100-084, the 84th runner on day 100), so I could see and hear the community celebration. Soon we were singing “O Canada,” which brought the first tears of the day. On cue, when we got to “we see thee rise, the true North, strong and free” fireworks were launched. After we finished singing we knew the first runner had started because more fireworks were going off. This. Is. Happening. The large RBC and Coke trucks (they knew my name) were a bit of a giveaway too.
Go
While chatting away, out of the twilight comes an RCMP officer on a mountain bike. Which means he’s going to turn on the fuel in my torch. Which means it’s very nearly my turn. And sure enough I can see torchbearer 100-083 slowly making his way towards me. Or perhaps not that slowly. The RCMP fella gently tugs my arm so I’m in position for the “kiss”—the moment when we raise our torches to one another so his passes the flame to mine. The very flame that was lit in Olympia Greece on 22 October.
We kiss and I’m off! People are cheering from both sides of the road, but I’m paying attention to what’s in front me. My segment is a bit twisty and bit uphill, starting at the local RCMP detachment and continuing past several homes. In front of me is a massive truck with floodlight—the media truck where the live webstream is coming from. My former Vanoc colleague Denyse is the social media person for the Relay; I shout hello to her in case she can hear/see me.
One way to put this in perspective: 1.7kg is a decent sized roast beef. So I’m running with a long, thin, flaming roast in the twilight, slightly up a hill. I am perhaps the most uncoordinated person I know and pretty soon my leprechaun right hand is aching, so I switch the torch (carefully) to my left. And then back to my right. And then back to my left. Somewhere along the route Max has my video camera mounted on a tripod. Vanity thy name is John: I’ve decided not to wear my glasses, so every time I see what is perhaps a tripod I’m squinting in case it’s him.
I now see 100-085, the only local running today. And I see Max. And I see my segments coming to an end. “OK slow down to a walk” one of the RCMP escorts advises; that’s fine by me. And now I’m kissing the next fella, we high-five, and he’s off. The RCMP mountain biker is waiting and comes to turn off my flame—but graciously waits so I can visit Max. The flame in my torch slowly dies out.
The finish line
The pick up shuttle is there in an instant, so I hop on board. First order of business is to remove the fuel canister and disable the fuel line (“It’s an Olympic torch, not a barbecue lighter” I remember Kim saying). As each of us is picked up, there’s a cheers and applause and we’re all happily chattering away. The last runner—a Paralympian—gets the biggest cheer, since he was dropped off from an empty bus before he ran.
We’re given boxes and tote bags for our torches, then we’re dropped back at the rec centre. The crowd is much smaller than before the torch, so the photo taking is relatively brief. I make a point of finding Elaine, the woman who organized all this (like a deer in the headlights I can’t recall her name).
“Would you like a photo of yourself holding it?”
“Could I?”
“Absolutely—you’ve earned it. Thank you so much for making was already going to be a great experience even more special.”
Instant replay
So that’s sort of what happened during my torch run: most folks want to know how was it? It was…amazing. I was a bit nervous when we arrived at the rec centre, but once I put on my uniform and had my torch, I felt awesome. I was on the verge of happy, happy tears for much of my run. I was very much be in the moment. And I could sort of see everyone watching it all via the webstream. Before it began I was afraid it would be too short. Once I got going I was afraid it was gonna too long. It ended when it was supposed to. It was perfect.
I loved that all the attention at the celebration wasn’t really about me: it was about the Games, about this community, and about Canada. A couple of years ago a gamer (someone who works multiple Olympic games) said “just you wait…when the relay starts it’ll feel real—across Canada.” So I’ve been following the torch on its journey around this wonderful country of ours.
Many folks watched the segment via the live stream. A couple of colleagues from work captured it and loaded the video up on Youtube:
I set up my laptop to capture the stream in our hotel—and it largely worked. That footage, combined with what Max shot, is here:
Full set of photos here.
When I found out I’d be a torchbearer I made a decision to hold back the essay I wrote to “win” my spot. To be selected as a torchbearer via Coke’s competition you entered a random draw multiple times (I did nearly 100 times). If you make it past the first round you are asked to submit a 200 word essay about how you’ve changed your life for the better. Then a panel decides if yours is one of the best 4000 entries.
I thought long and hard before submitting this–even longer about sharing it. And not only because I find it hard to say anything in 200 words or less: the core topic isn’t something that I talk about very much. Not so much out of shame, or concern about being judged; mostly because folks tend to notice I don’t drink during social situations and I don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable (or worried about me).
…ok, here goes:
Start moving
“I want to carry the flame for those whose alcoholism took away everything. In February 2010 I will be excited about the Games, but I’ll also think about where I’ve come from in twenty years. Starting in February 1990 I lost it all: job, home, family, and health—all gone in a few weeks. I found myself trying to figure out where it had all gone so terribly wrong. I could see where my life was headed—and I was terrified.
Terrified enough to change everything. I learned how to take care of myself: certainly no more alcohol, but also eating well and moving more. That first year I walked all over Vancouver. Then I learned how to cross-country ski. Over the next several years I added downhill skiing, ice and inline skating and snowboarding to the mix. My body recovered and got stronger; so did my mind and spirit. I even I went back to school, eventually earning a PhD. Life’s funny. Twenty years ago I was sedentary and wasting away. Today it’s me who organizes the gang to do stuff!
I’ve been so lucky; I’ve tried to give back. Over the years I’ve mentored others facing challenges like alcoholism. I tell them that for me it all started with two decisions: change everything. And start moving.”
As an instructional designer, storyboarding new courses/materials is very important. As a busy professional myself, I loathe it when someone imposes an administrative process on me that seems burdensome. So I try to get the conversation regarding the new course going for a fair while before talking about storyboarding.
Almost every organization I’ve worked in uses templates of some sort. Templates are designed to help get things moving, support folks a bit confused, and imbue consistency between projects. Most of my course authors aren’t educationalists–most, in fact, have no training in teaching. So if I want to use a template, it has to be one that will be easily uptaken, is user friendly, and is flexible.
So I use PowerPoint. PowerPoint (along with Word) is an ubiquitous tool in higher education: every single one of my course authors is familiar with it and pretty much all of them currently use it. Unlike Word, PowerPoint works using a graphic (slide view) or text based (slide/outline view) interface. It’s easy to move things around in it as well: just drag slides around and reposition them. Ditto adding detail as the course is built out: insert new slides to drill down a level or two.
Storyboarding is important; at some point it’s important to move towards course building and leaving it behind. But it’s always good to have it on hand to refer as needed. But the course is the thing, not the storyboard…
This week I spent a couple of days in Ottawa with the folks at the Canadian Aboriginal AIDS Network (CAAN). A few years back I helped their team develop a grant proposal; back then I had an academic appointment and was trying to leverage my position to support CAAN’s community-based research activities. Three years on and I’m now a “staff” person, which paradoxically frees me up to work on things like this as a community member. You know, in my free time.
The study’s not currently described on their site, but it’s about the intersection of alcohol, Aboriginal persons with HIV/AIDS (APHAs) and access to care and treatment. Two patterns of community experience inspired the project:
In the former, someone whose first language isn’t English or French, or who has some condition or disability that impairs their ability to speak clearly–or someone whose experiences with persons in authority makes them stammer, stutter or become stressed–but are perceived to be drunk. In the latter, someone who has consumed alcohol is denied service because of their consumption–which means persons with an alcohol abuse problem experience de facto exclusion of care.
This is an ambitious, comprehensive, sophisticated community-based research project. Mixed methods (questionnaires and interviews) of data collection will be used. APHAs and service providers will both participate.
I am pleased and honored to be a part of a great team.
Just had a former student pop onto to Skype to say hello from Jamaica. She really enjoyed ETEC565A, which was nice to hear. When I told her it was 9C, pouring rain and howling winds she replied “It’s 85F and sunny here.”
The paperwork to change her grade to a zero would be onerous at this stage….
At a recent conference I attended a presentation about the beta testing of an mLearning software suite. mLearning is eLearning for mobile devices–mostly smart phones, but conceivably netbooks as well. The presenter had developed both a server and client (i.e. for the mobile device) application. It looked rather rudimentary, but the idea of it is timely.
Many users aren’t aware there’s an iPhone apps for Blackboard. Don’t get too excited, it’s for Blackboard Learn (the app is called, unsurprisingly, Blackboard Learn for the iPhone) not WebCT Vista, which is another Blackboard product. Not compatible with UBC’s LMS set-up, in other words. In fact, the hundreds of institutions that became “Blackboard” customers when Blackboard bought WebCT must either upgrade to BbLearn or live without iPhone compatibility.
Just to make it more confusing, there are apps for both the iPhone and Blackberry from Blackboard called Blackboard Mobile. It isn’t, however, an app for connecting to a Learning Management System: it’s more of a suite of apps for connecting to specific components of a university’s web presence. Yet another “app” that really just is wired to specific web sites isn’t news; Blackboard appearing to deviate from the LMS sphere is. I think they’ll find in the long run this isn’t a great road to hoe…particularly when the iPhone’s SDK (Software Developer’s Kit) is readily available to most anyone willing to sign up.
This morning I was en route to campus when I received a call about a Vista site problem. After initially responding that I’d have to wait until Translink deposited me at work, I remembered my iPhone. And, after a fair amount of futzing I managed to do what I needed on my iPhone. It wasn’t fun–the iPhone and javascript-driven sites like Vista don’t always get along well–but I got the fix done.
Almost precisely 28 days before my run I received my torchbearer uniform yesterday. To say I was a bit, you know, excited would be an understatement. If the above silly photo doesn’t scare you off, there are lots more here.
And I hope whichever of my former Vanoc colleagues sent me the XS uniform is enjoying the joke. But if I come bustin’ out during my run, I’m namin’ names!
My colleague Afsaneh Sharif and I wrote an article for the most recent edition of Think Equity, a publication of UBC’s Access & Diversity office .
Here’s the first couple of paragraph:
Have you ever received an email or an online message that you found insulting or even rude? Have you ever sent someone an email, only to learn that you offended them unintentionally? Have you thought about the role that culture – and cultural diversity – plays in our online interactions?
As we spend more and more time online, the importance of effective, clear communication increases. With over 300 online courses at UBC, students from around the world are contributing to UBC’s online community. This brings a richness to everyone’s educational experience, but it can also have the potential to create conflict, anxiety, misunderstanding, and missed opportunities.
You can download the entire edition of Think Equity here. Thoughtful, collegial feedback always welcome!
This morning an article came out about me being a torchbearer in the Oswego Alumni Association’s Lake Effect e-newsletter. Which is very exciting, even if they picked perhaps the most unflattering photo of me in my Flickr account.
You can read all about me it here. Apparently I’m a torch escort. 🙂
Tickets are $22 or $54 per person:
Date Scheduled Headline Performer Presenting Territory/Province
Feb 14 Nelly Furtado British Columbia
Feb 15 to be confirmed Québec
Feb 16 Barenaked Ladies Nova Scotia
Feb 17 Paul Brandt Alberta
Feb 18 Hedley Prince Edward Island
Feb 19 Theory of a Deadman Northwest Territories
Feb 20 Stereophonics Yukon
Feb 21 Trooper and Loverboy Nunavut
Feb 23 Billy Talent Saskatchewan
Feb 24 INXS Ontario
Feb 25 Burton Cummings Manitoba
Feb 26 Great Big Sea Newfoundland and Labrador
For more info or to purchase tickets visit vancouver2010.com/tickets.
As I’m working through the tweak of ETEC565A, I’m getting excited to teach it again! However this time it’s one section only, not three. There’s also the Olympics (and my volunteer and spectator commitments) to factor in. Suffice to say FREN111 will have to attendre until May.
A few assignments are being dropped; others are being rejigged. But we’re also emphasizing Moodle much more this time around. So my question to you Moodlers (not to be confused with meddlers), what Moodle plug-ins do you think are absolutely necessary?
Add your comments below…no more than 3 a person please!
Hvala….
Had dinner with some friends last night, who gave me a wicked early birthday prezzie:
This is the new workforce bag for the 2010 Games. It’s optional (you want, you buy), and it compliments the uniforms nicely. One of it’s very kewl features is how it’s repurposed for the Paralympic Games: just unzip and stow the Olympic emblem in the pocket!
Being the first kid on the block with something is always a thrill; when it’s Olympic in nature, OMG OMG OMG. Even the husband (who’s not an Olympic supporter) loves it.
As of today the 2010 Olympic Winter Games are 100 days away. The Torch Relay is up North, the Olympic Village was handed over to VANOC today, and I’m wearing my special shirt:
Yes it’s hideous. It feels even more hideous…it’s made from 5 recycled pop bottles! But I got it because I’m a torchbearer so I love it and am wearing it proudly.
But I’ve also got my can of Static Guard in my left hand at all times…
One of the aspects of BC hosting the 2010 Olympic and Paralympic Games that’s not received much bandwidth is the joing VANOC/UBC venture /EDU. /EDU is a program designed to support teachers in K-12 schooling across Canada who want to integrate aspects of Canada’s Games into their classrooms. One of the things I love about /EDU is that it’s not a controversy-free zone. Many people have perspectives–concerns–about spending, civil rights, the environmental impact of venue construction, or other issues. So long as they’re brought into the space in respectful, collegial language, it’s all good. Trashing the Games, its partners, or the government? Not so much.
There are any number of resources on the /EDU site, but one I think has the potential to be especially valuable is the Teacher’s Forum. It’s a space where educators can share materials, offer advice, and develop a genuine community of practice. However, it’s not been well publicized–and it could be much better utilized.
Anyone with a school district email address can set up an account quickly; persons wanting to use another email address will have their accounts verified manually. So sign up, eh?
