On one of the roads leading into Atlanta, there is a sign celebrating the Olympic spectators. It says: 

"Ever see an entire stadium out of control?" 

Tonight, I did. 

I had the extremely good fortune of witnessing what likely will become the most remembered moment of the 1996 Olympics. I watched U.S. Gymnast Kerri Strug ignore pain and throw her second vault to help win the United States its first gold medal ever in women's Olympic gymnastics. 

By now, you probably already have seen the images on your television screen. You've seen the pictures of Kerri being carried to and from the gold medal stand by her coach, Bela Karoyli. And you've seen the pictures, again and again, of her landing the second vault, then having the will to salute the judges before crumpling to the floor in pain. 

But what you did not see is the reaction in the crowd. You didn't see the woman near me jump up in joy, only to send the camera in her lap flying down the stairs. You did not see total strangers high-fiving each other. You did not see men and women alike with tears flowing down their cheeks. You did not see little kids stamping their feet and dancing jigs of joy. 

You didn't see 40,000 people, in a sea of humanity, all walking down the main Olympic Avenue afterwards, talking about nothing but "The Vault." You did not see how the normally quiet and packed transit busses came alive with people of all countries talking about Kerri. 

As I sat through all of this, I kept wondering how many people really understood what they had witnessed. Not too long ago, I was at a history making event, and it wasn't until later that I realized the weight of what I had seen. 

Five years ago, I had the good fortune of being at the World Gymnastics Championship in Indianapolis and watching U.S. Gymnast Kim Zmeskal become the first ever American to win the gold medal in the all-around at a World Championships. 

The funny part is that I don't remember a whole lot of what I did when Kim landed her final floor pass to win the all-around title. 

It wasn't until HBO aired a special on Kim that I saw exactly what I did. I had seats very close to the competition floor, so when a gymnast was shown on television on the floor routine, you could see me in the background. On the HBO special, when Kim is shown landing her last pass, you can see me in the background, jumping extremely high into the air. 

Then I jumped several more times, mouthing something to my friend, even high-fiving him. I was still standing and cheering and waving wildly when Kim was walking off the floor. I was witnessing history but didn't realize it. 

Tonight, though, I did. And that has made it all the more special. 

It is now nearly 2 a.m. as I write this, and I'm still wide awake and flowing with adrenaline. I feel extremely privileged just to be at the Olympics, but to see Kerri do what she did tonight makes my Olympic experience all that more wonderful. 

Somebody once said, "May you live in interesting times." It was meant as an insult, a way of saying you hope somebody would face hard times. But that quote has always intrigued me. I like to think of it as a way to wish somebody well. 

After all, wouldn't it be great to live in times that are ever-changing, ever-challenging and full of wonder? Tonight, I experienced just a tiny slice of such a life. It's something that will stay with me always. It's something that I wish everybody could experience. 

May you live in interesting times.