The media tells us it's the biggest and most successful version of these games ever. Everything was sold out, just like the main Olympics, and they were covered daily in prime time TV. (Although on Channel 4 rather than the BBC.)
With just 48 hours to go 'til the closing ceremonies and the end of our magnificent summer of sport, I was lucky enough to get an invitation to the swimming final. (Thank you, Cisco!) Though I'd gotten to three Olympic sports, none of them were as jaw dropping and inspiring and this event.
We watched severely disabled people come out of the dressing rooms. Blind people led by their guides. Those with withered legs, or none at all, wheeled to the edge of the pool. People with withered arms, or none at all, striding with poise and shrugging out of their dressing gowns. Some had terrific scars. Whether from injuries that created their disability, or from surgery to repair birth defects, who knew? And, frankly, it didn't matter. Because the minute these people slipped into the pool to compete, you forgot everything that was wrong with them, and dropped your jaw at all that was right.
They all cut through the water with the same grace and speed as their able-bodied colleagues, leaving a spray of water in their wake as they cut down the pool with impressive speed. Turn your eye away from the disabled part and you see a beautiful body, ruthlessly trained and finely honed. An object of beauty, not to be pitied, but to be admired.
Of course, you can't forget the disability for long. Because that's what makes this all the more impressive. Backstokers without arms who get into the start position by bracing themselves on a towel held in their teeth. The freestyler with no arms who streaked down the whole length of the pool without ever taking a breath, using her legs to create an undulating kick that turned her into a dolphin. The blind swimmers who charge ahead and know to turn because their coaches knock them with a ball as they come up to the turn.
Even those of us who try to be open minded usually look at the disabled with pity. It was a healthy thing for the whole nation to spend two weeks looking at these people with admiration.
It was also an exciting opportunity to get into the main Olympic park. As we saw on TV, the architecture is grand, the gardens are lovely and the crowd control is efficient. Lord knows they needed the latter, as we were carried along with the thousands. The inside of the swimming venue was gorgeous; cleverly designed with high "wings" of spectator stands that will be dismantled after the games, leaving a more manageable building. The concourse around the main stadium had a distinctly Disney feel about it, with helpful volunteers making jokes as they steered the crowd, coloured lights playing across the buildings and the crazy sculpture of The Orbit looming above us.
And I had a very Disney feeling inside as I left. I remember as a kid being close to tears on the last night of a Walt Disney World holiday, taking that boat back to the car park from the Magic Kingdom, knowing it was all over and not knowing when, or if, anything so wonderful would ever happen to me again. It was the same as we left the Olympic park at our backs. Seven years of preparation. Six weeks of once-in-a-lifetime. For us, it was all over. In less than two days, London would return to normal.
Thanks to the Paralympians, however, some of us will never go back to the way we were. At least, I hope we don't. Because after watching 11 days of human spirit and sheer determination triumphing over adversity, it's hard to look at the problems in your life in the same way. Buck up and work for what you want, because no problem is insurmountable. If a bit of that inspiration stays with the British public, the Paralympic legacy may be far greater than that of the "real" games.
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