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To a certain extent, volunteers were very heroic in this area. Realizing the water stations would be insufficient in the heat, they walked the course with water bottles offering to anyone who needed it. While they were heroes in this area, they were a bit useless in other regards. No one seemed to know where the race actually started, and I missed the start of my race by two or three minutes because I was sent in the wrong direction five or six times. Ah well. With unbelievable heat and a late start, I probably wasn't even going to set a personal best, but what I lack for in speed I try to make up for in style. I blew kisses at all the women spectators along the course, and when I got too tired, they begged for more. They really kept me going. I finished in just over two hours. But no time to dawdle. Time to go skating. A couple hours later, I was in the bathroom at Macquarie Center, a large mall that is home to one of Sydney's few ice rinks, changing from my triathlon suit to normal clothes. I was hungry and couldn't get enough food. I had that post-race mental fuzziness. I am really, really tired. I manage to sit through the meeting, barely. The main controversy is around sanctioning, a constant problem for Gay Games figure skating. Amsterdam failed to have proper sanctioning at all. This competition has been sanctioned by the Ice Skating Institute, but it's still far from a perfect situation. Higher-level skaters are chafing against the ISI program durations which are short when compared to those of other organizations, and many Australian skaters have been effectively banned. ISI has no relationship with Ice Skating Australia. That organization told their members -- from the coaches to the skaters to the parent volunteers -- not to participate. I'm really, really, really, really tired. I skate for about 30 minutes before I decide I am a danger to myself and others. Time to go home. I sleep very well. Nov. 4: Day off. I'm a spectator. I sleep late, and I get a massage from a beautiful blond who, unfortunately, does not provide additional services. She's strictly legit but very good. I wander around watching various sports. Sydney is so alive and friendly. People wander around town with their accreditation tags and team jackets and shirts and great big smiles. It all feels like one big, happy community. Nov. 5: I guess I'm a figure skater. For someone who is only performing a one-minute beginning-level figure skating program, I appear to have acquired quite a large staff. I get the mall masseuse to get me a massage before and after my practice time. I hire a hairdresser who puts my hair in ringlet curls with so much hairspray that the next day it takes me two showers to get it all out. My skating coach is home in Chicago, but I have my "rinkside coach," a fellow swimmer who will be taking care of me for that precious hour before I go on. He doesn't actually know how to skate, but, for this job, that's optional. What I need is someone to talk me through stretches, keep me moving, keep me calm and let me know if my underwear is showing. He does a beautiful job. I do my own make-up, but the general consensus is that I don't have nearly enough. A drag queen skater puts more make-up on me than I have ever worn in my life, and he warns me that when I look in the mirror, I shouldn't be scared. I keep getting asked if I'm nervous. I'm not. I have been skating enough with my fellow skaters to feel comfortable with them, but I am tired. This surprises me. Physically I'm much more tired than I should be. I only did the sprint triathlon -- 750-meter swim, 20km bike, 10km run -- a couple days ago. I shouldn't be this tired. But I am. This is the way I felt five days after the marathon, and I realize that it isn't just the tri that is making my legs shake from exhaustion. I still haven't quite recovered from the marathon. I do as little skating as possible. I'm saving it all for my big moment. I've skated my program better, but it's not bad. I'm wearing a skating dress covered in rhinestones and sequins, long black gloves, a huge rhinestone ring, fishnet stockings and a red feather boa that sheds like crazy. I'm skating to "I am a very stylish girl" by Dimitri from Paris, and I add a move that the audience loves. I unzip my costume partway and rearrange my tits. At the end of the program, I re-zip. I may not skate well, but I know what an audience wants. My swizzles are slow and the two-foot spin is wobbly, but I feel like I gave it my all. It was a lot of fun. I win the gold because I am the only one in my category but I feel like I deserved it. I worked hard for it. The other skaters tell me they loved the number, that I know how to work a crowd, that they respect me for being out there. That means a lot to me. Nov. 6: I'm really a swimmer, honest. When I first saw, the Sydney Olympic pool, I thought how lucky the city was to have this pool, but Australia is a country of swimmers. Its ice rinks are neglected, crumbling wrecks, but every neighborhood has a gorgeous 50-meter pool. The pool stops feeling so special, especially after I see the lockers. It's a beautiful pool that can host hundreds of swimmers, but there are only three showers in the locker rooms and the locks are broken. It's far from crumbling, but the seams are starting to show. Today, I swim the 100-meter butterfly. I have been neglecting my swimming, and I really feel it. I've never competed in a 50-meter pool before. I'm usually in 25-yard ones. That wall is so far away, and it doesn't seem to be getting any closer. Usually I swim like a fish. Today I swim like a brick. Miraculously, my teammates were all doing something else and didn't see my swim. Thank God! Soon, it's off to the rink for "Cool on Ice," the grand ice show featuring the best of the competition programs, a few group numbers and some random Australian skaters. My solo did not get picked to be in the show, but I am totally OK with that. I have my gold medal. Nothing can take that away. Besides, I'm in a group number, which I'm more comfortable with. The secret to being in a group number when everyone else is a better skater than you: Smile Get the arms right Skate fast Know how to stop at high speeds The number goes off beautifully, and no one notices that I'm the only one not doing a spiral. The other secret to being in a number with everyone jumping and spinning when you can't is that you should always attempt to look as if you've just jumped or spun. Too bad the audience blinked and missed it. I really shouldn't go out tonight, but I did. I have to swim the 400-meter freestyle in the morning, but I need a break. I'm on vacation, and I really need some vodka. At this point, I realize that I've bonded with my fellow skaters, and I'm going to miss them. I haven't really bonded with many of the swimmers. I've been hanging out with swimmers I already know, but I haven't really met new ones because It's a 1300 swimmer meet over six days. Figure skating is 64 skaters over three days. It makes for a much more intimate experience. Also, most swim meets have team scoring in addition to individual markings. It's one thing to give up a medal or ribbon or personal best. It's much harder to sacrifice points for your team. Modeled on the Olympics, the Gay Games does not have team scoring. I go out with my fellow skaters. They're a bit different from swimmers primarily because they smoke. Also, they're better dancers. As the night wears on and the vodka flows, I realize, I will not medal or ribbon in the 400, and it certainly won't be a personal best. Not showing up will not hurt my team. I decide to sleep in. Nov. 7: I feel like an athlete. I arrive at the pool late. I've already missed the 400 meter freestyle. Will I make the 50-meter butterfly? I'm wearing my gold medal from figure skating. It's vain and attracts a lot of attention, and I?m loving it. I'm stopped by a nuclear family. I let the parents and children touch my medal, and they ask me if it's real gold. For once, I do not say that I was the only one in my category. They look at me like an Olympian, oohing and aahing over my gold. And I ask myself again: who am I to accept these accolades? Then again, who am I not to? I've worked hard both in the training to become better in my sports and at my job to earn the money to pay for them. I may not do anything well, but I really may be an athlete. Who am I not to accept what I've earned? I make it literally just in time for the 50-meter butterfly. I haven't had a shower. My hair is dry so my cap falls off in the water. I'm wearing a new suit, and I later discover that the hygiene liner is still in. Whoops. But my swimming isn't bad, and I'm feeling like I'm where I belong despite all my detours. I also swim a 50-meter freestyle and take part in a relay. Both are okay. Nov. 8: I was swimming how slowly? Today is my big swimming day. The longer distance events are mine. I may not swim faster than anybody, but I can outlast them. Based on the number of competitors, I know I will at least bronze in the 1500 meters unless someone doesn't show up. Then I will get the silver. My stroke is steady and strong, but my flipturns are a disgrace. I add a full five minutes on to my usual 1500-meter time swimming it in 37 minutes instead of 32. I win the silver because someone didn't show up, but I have to admit that I feel less good about this medal. The motto of the Games is: participation, inclusion, personal best. I'm participating. I'm included, but, in this case, what I swam wasn't even in the same ballpark as my usual personal best. To paraphrase one of my favorite swimmers: "If you're going to swim well, you have to swim and not be running marathons a few weeks before a meet." Point taken. Nov. 9: Time to say good-bye. The closing night party is gigantic and marvelous. The Gay Games has taken most of Fox Studios meaning that we have several restaurants to choose from and four gigantic warehouse size dance floors. The drink is freeflowing. The toilets acceptable, and we dance until 4 a.m. desperately trying not to lose ourselves in the 30,000-strong crowd. We run into a few people we know, but with such a large crowd, it's hard. Bye-bye. Nov. 10: Party is over Overnight, Sydney has changed. It feels tired. The sun has been shining all week, but now it's gone behind clouds. Most of those who have flown in for the Games have fled off to home or the Great Barrier Reef. No one is walking around with their accreditation or medals or team jackets. Locals seem subdued. I go to the nude beach with my rinkside coach. I swim naked for the first time since I was a kid, and I feel cleansed and reborn. We fall asleep on the beach. It's time for this athlete to go home. Victoria Stagg Elliott has decided to learn roller racing for Montreal as soon as she figures out what it is.