By Jennifer Feldmann

I hopped onto the shuttle bus that would take me to the “start house” at the top of the mountain. Three others were already on the bus, all donned in bright yellow jackets with AUSTRALIA emblazoned on the back. 

“Hey Australia,” I gestured toward the three women, “what event are you in?”  

“We’re on the bobsled team,” they offered.
“Do you have a race today?” I asked
“No, just training runs.”

We parted ways at the end of the line, and I went in search of the volunteer chief. The majestic mountains surrounded me, and the formidable sliding track curved its way down the mountain. I wondered to myself: how did I get here?

It had all started with the 1980 Moscow Winter Olympics, which was to be my Olympics volunteer debut. At the time, naively perhaps, I had simply planned to show up in the Soviet Union and find a volunteer position at the Games. Simple, right? I’ll never know. The US boycotted the Games, and my dreams of volunteering were dashed…until now.

Here I was 46 years later in Cortina, Italy. I was one of 18,000 volunteers chosen out of 130,000 applicants. How did I make the cut? And did I really want to spend my own money for airfare and accommodations for the privilege of volunteering at the Olympic Games? Yes! Yes, I did!

I learned pretty quickly, however, that a volunteer must have a high tolerance for ambiguity. Before the games even started, the Olympic volunteer Facebook page was riddled with daily inquiries:
“I’ve been accepted as a volunteer; when will I get my schedule?” 

“It’s coming, just be patient.”

“Will there be shuttle buses for volunteers?” 

“They are planned; just wait for more information.”
“How long are the shifts?” 

“Six hours, maybe more. Just wait, you will be notified.”

Day One: My job was to simply get my uniform in the neighboring town of San Vito de Cadora. I was to look for the address #9 on the main street. I found #7 and next to that, #13. I walked around the buildings, went into a few of them, but no luck. I WILL not, I CANnot leave without my uniform, I thought to myself. An hour later, having asked at least six people where #9 was, I stumbled into the uniform site and was quickly fitted with boots, snow pants, wind pants, two shirts, two middle-weight top layers, a heavy jacket, a neck warmer, gloves, a backpack, a hat, and a watch–all in shades of blue. All the gear was stuffed into a gigantic bag. 

I endeavored to tote my tote bag back to my rental apartment. It should be noted that I am not very adept at bus riding. Turns out just staying on a bus to the end of the line is not the best strategy. That I managed to get back at all is thanks in part to a couple of Slovakian journalists with a good sense of direction.

My first day of volunteering: I had nervous diarrhea all morning, but was able to make my way to the volunteer bus (yes, it had become a reality). I got off when I saw a sea of blue-clad people walking down the hill toward the sliding center where the bobsled, luge and skeleton events took place. Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it’s off to work we go, I sang to myself.

I gave the man at the check-in center my name, and after consulting the computer, he stated that I would either be at the “start house” or the “finish house.” 

“Okkkkkkay. Do you know which one?”

“No, I’m not sure.”

“And who is the volunteer chief for today?” I inquired. 

“I don’t see anyone listed. Just look around when you get there,” he replied. 

Wherever ‘there’ is, I thought. 

Ambiguity? Check!

My job title was ‘access control.’ I assumed that meant I would monitor the comings and goings of the fans; help them to their seats and answer questions. Much to my delight, I was actually tasked with assisting the athletes. One day I was assigned to an area in which the bobsledders were prepping for their races, and I kept out the riff-raff, aka the media. Another day, I checked credentials and made sure that errant fans did not accidentally come into the ‘athletes only’ area (they did). Sometimes, I guided athletes fresh off their race to the awaiting media. I witnessed both tears of frustration and tears of joy. So much pressure for these young people, I thought, for whom I felt a maternal tug.

About a week into the gig, the volunteer chief asked me to cover the north side of the sliding area and offhandedly offered, “Princess Anne will be here shortly.” 

Wait, WHAT?!

Sure enough, within five minutes there were four bodyguards escorting Princess Anne into the area for visiting dignitaries, which actually looked more like a corral for small farm animals. It was only later that I found out the volunteer chief had specifically wanted me at the north side because he thought I was British and would appreciate seeing Princess Anne up close and personal. I wonder how disappointed he was when I told him I was American. 

My two weeks of volunteering ended all too soon. After taking countless bus rides, enjoying shift meals with hundreds in a large mess hall, struggling to communicate in both Italian and German, yet also trying to appreciate every moment of my volunteer stint, I stopped to look at the Olympic rings one last time, and I couldn’t help but smile. It had taken me 46 years, but I had finally gotten my Olympic volunteer debut. 

© 2026 Jennifer Feldmann

Jennifer Feldmann taught ESL for a number of years and very much enjoyed her students, who often provided fodder for her writing. She has also traveled widely and finds that writing about her experiences helps to keep them alive. But mostly she dabbles when it comes to the written word and does so for her own enjoyment.