Well, lots of drama on the ice last night in Torino -- an apparently disastrous fall by this couple, Zhang Dan and Zhang Hao of China, when she crashed onto the ice and hobbled off, only to come back on again a few minutes later, bloody but unbowed, and finish their long program. I confess that I had tears in my eyes, watching her get up and go back on. Very courageous.

The Russian pair, Tatiana Totmianina and Maxim Marinin, had survived a rather spectacular fall themselves, when in August last year he had lost control during a lift and dropped her so hard that she suffered a severe concussion -- my heart went out to him, as NBC showed the clips of him skating over to her as she lay unconscious on the ice, and him talking later about losing his confidence, and the months-long struggle to regain it.
The Russians eventually won the gold medal last night, with Zhang and Zhang surprising pretty much everyone and getting the silver (ruffling a few Russian feathers in the process).
For myself, I was leaning towards this pair, Shen Xue and Zhao Hongbo of China, who came in third, who seemed to have a nice rapport with each other (despite the completely unmatched costumes)
(Photos from Torino 2006, with more stories to be found there as well.)
There is a handy little guide to pairs skating here, from the BBC, bless 'em.
As for me, I turned the heel of the first sock on Sunday night, and to my surprise did the whole foot yesterday!
The colors are lovely indeed, rich and ever-changing. I had prepared myself for the fact that I might have to rip out the toe and adjust the fit, as I've heard so many knitters talk about, but this was perfect the very first time. I am so pleased with it that I just had to make a new button --
for those who are knitting an Ann Budd pattern for the Knitting Olympics, or, gosh, who just admire the woman!
My first sock might not get high marks for execution (to carry on the Olympic metaphor) -- I put sewing thread in the heel as suggested, but had a tendency to hold it looser than the wool, so it pooches out here and there, and I completely forgot it at the toe, and my grafting is a bit, well, humorous at the end. But I am still very pleased with it. I can see why sock knitting fascinates so many people!
I'm a little embarrassed at the average everydayness, the sock-ness, of the project I chose for these Knitting Olympics. These socks are nothing that requires the kind of preparation and fortitude that some do, Estonian shawls, Fair Isles, complicated Norwegian cardigans, and so on. I've been knitting for a long time, but have always passed on socks, "too complicated" and "too fiddly" I guess (which is funny, really, when you consider that usually I love complicated and fiddly things, I'm a library cataloger through and through, after all) -- and so, inspired by the Yarn Harlot's confidence in all of us knitters, this is my project, albeit a modest one. In a way, Stephanie is Bjørn Dæhlie and I'm Philip Boit, the Kenyan cross-country skiier who never really had a serious chance of medalling in '98 but plugged away anyway, and made it to the finish line long after everyone else, with Dæhlie there to greet him with open arms, for the love of their sport.