Sex, as the saying goes—the saying Steve Lowery devised at a bar one day a few weeks back—has become an Olympic competition. It’s got trainers, psychologists, standards of performance, professionals, amateurs, instant replays, awards and even doping. Lots of doping. Which is why photographer John Gilhooley—a Catholic boy if ever there was one—shot Olivia Tafoya (religious affiliation: unknown) waving the Stars & Stripes over a high school track. John and Olivia did their jobs; we were supposed to do ours—were supposed to write about the athleticism (or maybe athleticization) of sex. But we didn’t. We wrote about whatever the hell we wanted, but managed to work sex and drugs into nearly every story, even if the drug is the one that occurs most naturally in the brain, the one that tells us we’re engaged in something more than a merely animal act: expressing the most profound of human feelings, the desire for reunion with the Other. Or maybe it’s just sex. Olivia’s wristbands: Target. Body: Made in America.