Eighteen minutes, eight seconds.

That’s how close I came to realizing my Olympic dream. Well, OK, my Olympic Trials dream.

It was 14 years ago. I was at the apex of my powers as a long-distance runner, living at the ideal altitude of Canmore, Alta. Having just arrived in Canada year earlier, I was running the Vancouver International Marathon — sea level — and had a very, very good day, running PRs (personal records) at every interval: 10K, half marathon, marathon. Finished in two hours, 38 minutes, eight seconds, eclipsing my personal best by five minutes.

A U.S. citizen, but also a permanent resident of Canada, I had long dreamt of running in the U.S. Olympic Trials for the marathon. While other countries do it differently, the U.S. has always gathered the fastest men (and, since 1984, the women in a separate race) together three or four months before the Olympics to determine the three amigos americanos who will run at the Summer Games.

Truth be told, I never imagined — not even after that race in Vancouver — that I would be among them. All I wanted was to run at the trials. And for a couple of years after that day, I thought it was possible.

The trials qualifying time was, and still is, 2:20 or better. At 2:38, I was still a very loud shouting distance shy of the mark. But when you’ve just dropped your PR by five minutes, you start to think that with persistence, anything’s possible. Even at age 37.

That’s how difficult it is to become an Olympian: As doggedly as Ordinary Joe like you and me might try, our chances of making it are literally one in a million. You almost have to be groomed for it from an early age. Stories like that of Duff Gibson, the Calgary firefighter and one-time Olympic rowing aspirant who at age 33 decided to give skeleton racing a try, and wound up as an Olympic champ, are the exception and not the rule.

We ordinary folks can only dream — through the long, lonely training runs (or days in the workout room, or ski technique clinics, etc.) that one day we’ll get our shot. Far more often than not, we fall short.

That’s what makes actually being there — marching in wearing your country’s colours as you march into the opening ceremonies, then preparing with nervous excitement for the competition — so special. Mostly, those opportunities are reserved for youth.

The athletes who have descended on Vancouver and Whistler this month have all overcome those enormous odds. They, like so many others, have dreamt the big dream — and have climbed the mountain to achieve it. They all deserve our best wishes and most heartfelt congratulations — from Roberto Carcelén, the cross-country skier from Peru, that country’s first-ever winter Olympian — to American skiing sensation Lindsey Vonn to Mercedes Nicoll to Manny Osborne-Paradis.

Sure, we’ll cheer the loudest for the Canadians, reserving an extra decibel or two for our local athletes.

But they’re all champions, already. We’re here to celebrate their achievement, to share our understanding of the passion and commitment it took for them to make it here — and to celebrate with them and their supporters one of our most basic instincts: the burning desire to be the best we can be.