Eight years ago I sat enraptured in a tiny hotel room in Texas while watching a 12 inch television screen unblinkingly. I was away for work in the States and all eyes were on Michael Phelps as he dominated his competition on the way to winning eight gold medals. I remember it as if it were yesterday and am indeed reliving it, as Phelps is still crushing his competition almost a decade later at Rio 2016. As a Canadian, for a while I found it a little odd that I was cheering SO intensely for an athlete who wasn’t even representing my own country. As I’ve been glued to Olympic swim coverage once again, I’ve been pondering why it is that I have such a veritable man-crush on Michael Phelps. I don’t aspire to swim competitively, or even look like Michael Phelps, as that goofy-looking big-eared guy would not hold up very well under the crushing weights of strongman, but there is something about him that resonates with me. There’s a fire in his eyes when the pressure is on that I’ve rarely seen before.

He’s got the motherfucking eye of the tiger.