I’m about to embark upon a massive journey. No, it won’t compare physically to Di‘s marathon training or mentally to Shelley’s science-class-loading or emotionally to Sam‘s wedding.

But it will challenge my skills and my sanity (and maybe Rudi’s).

I’m going to take part in the Olympics, starting this weekend.

Why, sprite, you say with surprise, you’ve never given any indication that you partake in a winter sport. What do you do — ice skate? luge? curling?

Nope. Nope. And nope.

I’m entering in the knitting category.

Huh?

You read it right. I’m going to be a knitting Olympian.

Yarn Harlot decided to launch a knitalong to take place during the Olympics. I’m not sure how many people she thought she’d get to take part, but it’s obvious from her recent entries that it was not the 3,000+ who’ve signed up to knit their way through the real Winter Olympics.

I’ve debated joining for the last several weeks, and finally decided for certain tonight that I’m in. My project will be two pairs of baby booties (for D.C. friends who are expecting twins this summer). The rules dictate that I not cast on before the Olympic flame is lit on Friday (not possible, since I won’t be buying the yarn until Sunday anyway) and that I finish before the cauldron’s flame is extinguished on the 26th.

I don’t yet have yarn or a pattern, so if you’re a knitter and have suggestions, I’m open to them. I haven’t swatched. I’ve never knit one bootie, let alone four.

But I have faith that I can finish the task I’ve chosen for myself. It won’t be easy. It may not be fun. But I bet I will learn a lot. I will grow as a knitter. I will take pride in my accomplishment when it’s all over. And I will relish being part of a community that crosses international boundaries and languages and abilities.

And, in the meantime, I’m limbering up by finishing the socks that I started last year. It’s good to go into the Olympics with a final win, you know.

Wish me luck. Wish me speedy fingers. Wish me sleep. (And think nice thoughts for Rudi, too, who will have to be my one-man support team/cheering squad.) And, when it’s all over, wish me two finished pairs of baby booties.