PARIS OLYMPICS 2024: From the Cathy Freeman, Mollie O’Callaghan, Kaylee McKeown highs, to Harry Garside low

Striding into Sydney’s Olympic stadium, it was as if she was transformed; metamorphosed from the giggling, shy, kid next-door, to a Marvel superhero.

The look in her eye was calm but intense. Her lips were dry, her heart beating like it was about to push through her chest.

As though she was wearing a mask, she looked hypnotised, knowing the next few minutes of her life would be an out-of-body experience, that would alter her life forever.

The Australian-packed stadium held its collective breath as Cathy Freeman crouched at the starting line, the weight of a nation’s hopes resting on her slender shoulders.

The distinctive green and gold bodysuit hugged her frame like the thinnest of wet suits. Her superhero costume carried the dreams of millions — let alone her own.

In that moment, she was more than just an athlete — she was a symbol, a beacon of reconciliation and hope, a bridge between Australia’s past and its future. A young woman pursuing a dream that was more than just an Olympic gold medal.

Imagine the pressure. Truthfully, I can’t. Who could?

As the starting gun exploded, Freeman blasted into motion. Her powerful strides ate up the track, each step bringing her closer to destiny. The roar of the crowd swelled, a tidal wave of sound washing over the stadium. Poetry in motion for us watching.

But for Cathy, the world had narrowed to the lane before her and the burning in her lungs. Silence would have infiltrated her concentrated mind.

Rounding the final bend, the legend found another gear. Her arms pumped furiously, legs a blur beneath her. The finish line approaching, a final surge took Freeman through the ribbon, with her arms raised in triumph.

For a heartbeat, time stood still. Cathy Freeman had done it — Olympic champion in the 400 metres, on home soil, the whole world watching.

As the realisation dawned, the champion sank to her knees, overcome by emotion. Her chest heaved, lungs burning, as the magnitude of her achievement began to sink in. She pulled off her hood, revealing the face of a warrior — fierce, proud, and utterly spent.

Then, like a bursting dam, emotion flooded through her. Her body trembling with the release of years of pressure and expectation, tears streamed down her face, as she pressed her palms to the track.

Around her, the stadium pulsed with electric energy. Aussies leapt to their feet, strangers embracing, their faces streaked with joyful tears. The air vibrated with a collective exhale, as if the entire nation had been holding its breath for this moment.

The image of Freeman, wrapped in both the Indigenous and Australian flags, became an indelible part of Olympic history.

It spoke of identity, of belonging, of brilliance, of beauty. In those 49.11 seconds, Cathy Freeman had not just won a race — she had written her own narrative into the annuls of greatness.

Years later, the memory of that night in Sydney still sends shivers down our spines.

I remember exactly where I was. Initially I was on a beanbag, feeling nervous as the sun set through the windows, praying, and hoping for a Cinderella moment. By the time the superstar had crossed the finishing line, I, like most Australians was jumping up and down in triumph.

I must have looked silly in my family room as I was there alone, lost in the moment. But who cares, it was bloody brilliant.

Freeman’s gold medal run was more than just an athletic achievement. Most of us can’t understand what it takes to be an Olympic athlete, but what we can identify with are the emotions that accompany success and failure, the feelings that are part of being a human being

As the tingles subsided, I remember the lump in my throat as I watched the reaction of Australia’s newest hero. The relief, the utter relief, on Freeman’s face left me mesmerised. Her reaction was as captivating as her race.

When we win in life, we feel elation and disbelief. There can be tears of joy, overwhelming relief, pride, gratitude towards, family and supporters, in sport our coaches.

Losing brings disappointment and heartbreak, frustration or anger, shock or numbness, self-doubt and questioning, tears of sadness, regret, we seek comfort and often determination to improve for next time.

The intensity of these reactions is often proportional to how much is at stake and what the outcome means to us.

The raw reactions and emotions, and how they make us feel, is what I have most loved about these games.

After producing a stunning 100m backstroke swim, all-time great Kaylee McKeown stared down the camera lens and said: “Expectation is a privilege and if you get the privilege, it is special.”

She followed up with: “I like to think I have a super power and that’s my Dad. I believe he was with me tonight.”

After Mollie O’Callaghan held her nerve to beat her teammate and friend Ariarne Titmus to a gold medal she invited her mate up onto the top of the dais to share the Australian national anthem together. Incredible. The image makes my skin tingle all over. A simple but powerful portrayal of team and mateship.

Then there was Chloe Clovell the teenage skateboarder. What a dudette. What an inspiration. Who would have thought of skateboarding as an Olympic sport? I am so glad they did. She didn’t win a medal this time, but she has won so many hearts.

“I’m super proud of myself. I tried my best. You know, the crowd is really amazing. So that’s all I could do,” she said. “I was trying to have fun. Just do everything to 100 per cent. Just try my best.”

All from a 14-year-old kid in an Olympic Games. Her smile was golden, her tears told a tale. Beautifully, she was so authentic, so real.

If skateboarding was an outlier, when the BMX came across our screens, my WhatsApp group with my oldest and most loyal mates came to life.

“How flippin mad good is the freestyle BMX!!”

“Insane, my new go-to sport to watch.”

“I used to run with the mongoose with the red mag wheels.”

Our BMX athletes made us feel good, taking us back to the freedom of our youth.

At a different level, and talking of being authentic, I was enthralled by boxer Harry Garside’s post-bout interview. He didn’t try to hide his disappointment, instead he said it as it was.

“Honestly, I feel like a failure right now . . . I don’t even know what to say. Australia is such a sporting nation and I’m so sorry.”

Seconds later he collapsed in tears. One minute, he is fighting in the ring, the next he is reduced to tears. Of course, he, and we, would have loved a medal for him, but his honesty and raw emotions defined him as a man, as much as his fighting ever could.

Garside talked about the dark places he fears he will enter over the next few months. Mental health and honesty don’t always go hand in hand. Garside punched that theory in the face. Thank you for your courage inside and outside of the boxing ring.

When Jessica Fox won her gold medals in the canoeing, her tears were of pure joy, as were those from her parents and her support staff. Fist pumps, screams of elation, hugs, and high fives. Winning can be so much fun.

In Garside and Fox we are reminded that tears can reflect joy and heartache and shows me that there are no stronger indicators of human emotion than tears rolling down one’s face.

Once an athlete, and now a commentator, former Australian of the Year Dylan Alcott, has been a pleasure to listen to on our screens. His insights are commanding as he takes us into the world of an athlete.

More impressive is his infectious enthusiasm. His happiness makes me feel happy, surely the sign of a ripping Australian.

My Dad once told me: “Accept me as I am, or you will never truly know me.”

These Olympic Games, as so many before, have given us moments when we have seen people in their rawest states, as they react to the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.

In a world where we are often taught to suppress our emotions, and play by the book, we are reminded that being true to yourself, and having the courage to express your emotions, is not only good for your soul, but for others as well.