Masks, face shields, infrared thermometers, hand sanitiser, and nasal swabs greeting us daily. The only sights of Tokyo we get to enjoy are those seen through a hotel or bus window.
We're confined to our rooms unless training or competing. The dining hall is decorated with plastic panels.
We probably won't even mingle with other nations until we're head-to-head with them on the big stage.
It's a harsh reality. It's strict, intense and unlike anything I have ever been a part of before.
Images of the dining hall, Covid checkpoint and athletes village at the Tokyo Olympics. Photo / Getty Images
But it's part of the reason why opting out of the Games was never a thought for me or many other athletes.
We respect those who have chosen to sit out, but the lengths we are going to in order to keep ourselves and others safe are far more extreme than the public might realise.
It's been an incredible eye-opener too. We've been so privileged in New Zealand over the past year and from an athlete's perspective, the freedom we've had could become our competitive edge at these Games.
The usual expectations which come with an event such as the Olympics are somewhat non-existent because no one really knows what the standards are. The bulk of the pressure has instead been redirected to the nature of the Games itself.
I haven't competed against anyone for the best part of 18 months but I have been able to train fairly undisrupted. Athletes around the world haven't been quite as lucky.
Then there's the prospect of empty stadiums - not a big deal for the Kiwi athletics team, who are used to a few hundred spectators at most. But many of our opposition from around the world are used to the cheers and support of more than 5000 spectators at any given meet.
We're so used to hyping ourselves up and leaning on our own internal motivation that crowds might've even been a distraction.
Hamish Kerr competing in the men's high jump qualification during the IAAF World Athletics Championships. Photo / Getty Images
Being my first Olympics campaign, Tokyo is only part of the bigger picture. But I know what I need to do to get myself on the podium - and I know I'm capable of hitting the mark.
To make the final will be the first big hurdle and I'll have to jump close to my personal best of 2.31m to get there. But once you're in the final, it's all mental and anything can happen.
Let's just say, I'm capable of jumping in the high 30s at the moment - but whatever happens on the day, happens.
If Covid has taught me anything, it's that even in the lows, life still goes on. It's something I believe many athletes have come to realise recently.
Our jobs as athletes are to put plans in place, prepare for the "worst-case scenario", and control the controllable factors that lead to our desired result.
But not everyone becomes the Olympic champion and it's about understanding that the result isn't always achieved.
Covid has acted as an extreme version of that realisation.
So even if things do go terribly wrong in Tokyo, it's realising the world will still be spinning, a new day will come and within a month we'll all be back in New Zealand with our families with one heck of an experience to share.
Even if that experience is far different from what we ever anticipated.
This column was written before the official start of the Tokyo Olympic Games.
