I confess, like many, I’ve been consuming hours of Paris Olympics coverage on TV.

Of course, there’s the alluring and romantic backdrop of Paris, from illuminated Eiffel Tower to the constantly flowing Seine. Examples of how the games honor tradition while always evolving (skateboarding and sailing events have expanded, kayaking and artistic swimming competitions are new), makes for compelling TV.

I also have a personal connection with the mindset of an Olympic athlete.

When I was going to college, for the first three years, I worked fifteen to eighteen hours a week in the dish room of our only cafeteria. A small liberal arts college in the Midwest, our whole student body consisted of fourteen hundred undergrads.

While probably not the best strategy for generating hook-ups (my public persona involved wearing Oshkosh B’Gosh overalls and a colored bandana), I earned my own beer and books money. I figured my parents were already on the hook for plenty.

There were many specific tasks involved in this type of work, from collecting tray laden carts from the dining room to retrieving hot as Hades plates and silverware from the dishwasher after a completed cycle and putting them in order for next day’s food lines.

Loading the dishwasher, arranging things on the continually moving conveyor belt was my favorite job. (Just ask Katie Ledecky how she feels about the 800 meter freestyle.)

This was a job that had to be done alone. The conveyor belt did not stop. The dishes were many different sizes and I had to make many adjustments on the fly.

This job was monotonous, but it challenged me to invent new ways to stay engaged.

In my head, I created Olympic style dishwashing events. Loading the large stainless steel dishwasher involved not allowing big gaps to form between dishes and between different types of dishes, like dinner and salad plates. I beamed when I could load row upon row of tiny, shallow dessert bowls without leaving an empty row on the ever-moving rack.

Degrees of difficulty were always worked in. The highest and lowest score, usually given by a Russian judge, would be thrown out. (Hey, it was the seventies.)

I was only competing with myself. I only wanted to do my best.

Over the years, I have created Olympic-style contests in my head for all sorts of things. The more unappealing the task, the more this brain trick, creating a Olympic state of mind, seemed to help.

I’ve never thrived on the idea of crushing or shaming competitors for satisfaction. I think of competition only as potential motivation to do my best. I also appreciate the understanding that one’s mental state, not just execution, makes something a positive or negative experience.

I think I love watching the Olympics because you can see so many different skills on display along with so many different types of motivation.

There are so many athletes that desperately want to excel on the world stage in honor of the place they call home. I was overjoyed when Julien Alfred was able to bring a gold medal back to the island nation of St. Lucia, its first ever, in the women’s hundred meter dash.

Others want to prevail as redemption for perceived failures in the past. And maybe some want to carry the feeling of being a warrior for their own excellence as long as they can. They seem to thrive on always needing training, always needing new goals.

I love how the Olympics celebrate individual achievement blended with team identity. I love seeing the highest levels of sportsmanship, how, even after devastating defeats, athletes will congratulate the winners. After all, who knows better what they had to do to prepare?

What looks like effortless triumphs — Simone Biles inventing a new tumbling twist or Leon Marchand figuring out how to stay underwater for a few more seconds following a turn in the pool — is the result of repetition and love of the sport.

I am heartened by how so many athletes are motivated by the thought of inspiring future generations, how despite war or poverty, unrelenting doubt or other personal challenges, the best want to encourage all children to own their dreams and put in the time and effort to achieve them. To believe in themselves.

I’m not an athlete and have never pursued this kind of excellence, but I believe all lives can be inspirational. Anyone can live as if their life is an example (of love, courage, compassion, resilience…)

Living one’s life like an example to future generations is no small thing.