Last Monday night, judges downgraded the start value of her floor-exercise routine, possibly denying Bhardwaj a chance for a bronze medal. Her coach argued for her afterward, without success.

Bhardwaj could have been angry. Hadn't she scraped by the last few years, just to be able to make a run at the Olympics? Hadn't she filled up her credit cards? Wasn't this a no-more-chances destination for her?

Well, yeah. It was. Instead of carping, Bhardwaj took a gold for dignity. Let the rest of her sport lose its collective nut. "I guess the judges didn't catch it" was Bhardwaj's reaction. It was a verbal shrug. You could tell she was pleased enough with herself just being here - and with earning a silver medal in the women's team competition - that she wasn't going to let smaller minds and bigger egos mess it up.

"This is the way the sport is," Bhardwaj said.

Twelve local athletes leave the 2004 Olympics with six medals, and a richness of experience that can't be draped from their necks. They swam, they rowed, they fought. In Mohini's case, they flew. None was heard to utter a discouraging word.

That's what I'll take from these Olympics, the dignity of the locals. Jason Parker, the Xavier graduate, a pre-Olympic medal favorite in the 10-meter air rifle, had his rifle's trigger break in the middle of the finals. The utter hopelessness and sheer lousy luck of that couldn't be described immediately. Parker waited a few days.

Then he called me, apologized for the delay and said, "These things happen. Let's get ready for Beijing" in 2008.

There was Nate Dusing. I snagged Dusing on the pool deck, in the notorious Mixed Zone, where hordes of journalists, stuffed behind fences, beg for words from jocks who have just finished competing.

Dusing swam a heat in the 400-meter freestyle relay. He was exhausted and the sun was cooking him like a turkey.

He talked for 10 minutes before excusing himself, saying he didn't feel well.

I wrote about him, about his last Olympic race and what his life might be like now. He read it online, and e-mailed me thanks and apologies for cutting our chat short. Understand: Athletes don't thank sports writers. Or apologize to them. Not ever. Not for anything. Dusing did.

Maybe there is something about dedicating yourself to a solitary pursuit that makes you a better person for the experience. "Thanks for coming out to watch us play," said soccer player Heather Mitts.

"Sorry I didn't talk to you all week. Thanks for understanding my focus," said rower Greg Ruckman.

Maybe the character that Olympic sacrifice demands carries over into their real lives. "I'm so glad you made it" said synchronized swimmer Becky Jasontek. Time after time, I heard this. Thanks. Sorry. Appreciate it. The sincerity of it struck me dumb. Every time. Uh, well, sure. I am getting paid, you know.

These are great athletes. But that's not all there is to being Olympian. Being Olympian ought to come with a presence attached, a carriage. Something that says, "I am forever ennobled and enriched by this experience." I think the local 12 all see it that way.

Kelly Salchow has been twice to the Olympics. Now, she will teach school in Kansas City, one dream satisfied, another waiting. Bryan Volpenhein will coach rowing at the University of Washington. Ron Siler Jr. will feel the uniquely human warmth of children who love him. Heather Mitts will do whatever she wants most.

The Olympics are more of an end than a beginning, a glorious culmination of all that went before. You don't jump into the pool one day and win a gold medal the next. You get up at dawn to row a boat, or you run miles on a road so your legs are still strong enough to throw a punch in the fourth round.

You fall down, you get up. In Olympic fashion. Jason Parker will be on the shooting range at Ft. Benning, Ga., Monday morning.

At the Olympics, the athletes feel what it's like to be a human being, good and bad. They never feel more alive. Or grateful. Or, ultimately, fulfilled. If the rest of us are lucky, we watch them and feel a little of all of that ourselves.

We'll give the last word of the Athens Games to Cincinnati's last performer, Becky Jasontek, who finished her Olympics Friday night, with a bronze medal around her neck, dashing away tears that slid impudently down her nose:

"This is the culmination of so many years of hard work, and support from different people that have allowed me to get to this position. I thank them all," she said.

All of us thank you as well.

See you in 2008.

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E-mail pdaugherty@enquirer.com