It's a stomach swirling combination of excitement and fear. And it's got nothing to do with these security blunders, ticket shenanigans (give them to the kids for free dammit), or the McDonald's chip monopoly (to be fair, they do fry the best fries).
The thing is, on the one hand, this summer is a once in a lifetime opportunity to experience the Games on home soil - I can jump on a train in Cambridge and see Usain Bolt tear up the 100m track less than an hour away (if, that is, I had a 100m final ticket and Network Rail felt like cooperating - neither of which are within the realm of reality, but you get the idea).
On the other, much shakier hand, the pressure is unbearable.
Watching the world's most talented put on the display of their lives should be an incredibly easy and entertaining thing to do. These are professionals, there should be no a missed steps, relay-related fumbles, or full-blown disintegrations of an athlete's ability to move, let alone function like a world class fitness machine. This isn't just an extra spangly sports day after all.
It won't be as emotionally draining as watching the England football team hack their way into the early stages of the World Cup either. Surely?
But actually, I find athletics even more harrowing than Andy Murray getting overcome by salt water on Wimbledon's centre court (which was pretty upsetting). I've already been blubbing over BBC2's Faster, higher, stronger series, which has been looking at the history of the Olympics and the athletes that have shaped the greatest sporting moments of all time. I was in floods of tears even though some of the moments were decades old and I already knew the outcome.
So, in a few weeks time, it's probably going to be almost intolerable watching snippets of sporting heroism like that unfold live. This is what most of these athletes have been working towards their entire lives. And it's agonising to know that and it will be agonising to watch them do it; how could it not be agonising to live it?
Don't get me wrong - it's also probably the best feeling possible, but for every astounding moment of victory, there will be that fear of failure edging in, and inevitably closing over those who miss out on a podium spot.
Doesn't the thought of it make you feel just the littlest bit queasy? Especially when you know you'll be adding to the pressure by screaming at the screen or from your stadium seat as the lycra-clad ones fight for their scrap of gold.
I reckon they all deserve a medal, just for braving the whole thing. And for putting up with us all moaning about the tube/ticket/pint price fiascos.