CBC's Andrew Chang in Rio: quirky rituals of Olympic athletes

From the stands, Jayne & Tony knew they could only do so much for their daughter competing in Rio.

They had given Shallon Olsen, a Canadian gymnast and vault finalist, everything she needed to keep her cool, stay focused, and perform at her very best.

But they had a secret weapon as well. 

Olsen's dad, Tony, joked to me that he would have liked to plant the loonie just underneath the vault but couldn't get close enough.

• CBC's Andrew Chang shares his Rio experiences

Such has been the storied legacy of the so-called 'lucky loonie' ever since one Canadian coin was embedded at centre ice at the 2002 Olympic Games in Salt Lake City.

Both the men's and women's hockey teams went on to win gold that year and ever since the Royal Canadian Mint has released a 'Lucky Loonie' for every Olympic and Paralympic Games. It actually says 'lucky loonie' on the coin.

Canadian skiier Jan Hudec would continue the tradition in Sochi in 2014, planting a loonie at the finish line of the men's super-G race.

He became the first Canadian in 20 years to win an alpine Olympic medal, taking home the bronze.

But unfortunately, the luck didn't carry over for Shallon. She finished eighth in her final.

Whether they work or not, quirky rituals and practices are all-too-common for athletes at the elite level.

When Canadian swimmer Santo Condorelli mounts the starting block at the pool, he finds his dad in the crowd and gives him the middle finger.

He's been doing it since he was eight, and believe it or not, it was his dad's idea.

"[He said] 'You've got to build your confidence yourself and say eff everybody else that you're racing," Condorelli explains.

"He said 'Every time you're behind the blocks, give me the finger and I'll give it back to you."'

Condorelli had to tone it down for the Olympics, but he's still been doing it at every race in Rio. Now it looks more like a middle-finger-forehead-scratch, than an outright "eff you."

And while not every pre-race ritual is as unique, it seems even the best in the world have routines they stick to religiously.

One of the most dominant female swimmers today, America's Katie Ledecky, claps three times at the starting block before a big swim.

The one-and-only Michael Phelps can almost never be found before a race without his headphones on: head down, hands in pockets, lost in the music but focused like a razor blade.

But perhaps the most charming ritual I've seen so far at these Games didn't happen before competition. It came after the event.

Armenia's Houry Gebeshian has fought an uphill battle to get here.

For starters, she has a full-time job as a physician's assistant, balancing 16 and 24-hour shifts with her gymnastics training.

She saved up her vacation time to compete at the Olympics and had to figure out for herself how to pay for a coach and plane tickets. She even crowdfunded a part of her journey.

She was so appreciative of her opportunity to compete here in Rio as Armenia's first and only female Olympic gymnast that she hugged and kissed every apparatus she competed on.

And we're not just talking a little pat on the shoulder or a smooch from a distance. She got right down on that floor exercise mat and kissed it the way a wrecked-at-sea sailor might kiss land.

"I just wanted to thank the sport. The only way I could do it was by hugging and kissing the apparatus … that's not something I normally do. But it's the last competition of my life. Gymnastics has given me so much."

It was definitely an unusual and quirky thing to witness as she moved from apparatus to apparatus.

But these are the world's best athletes in their sports, working tirelessly for years just to take a shot at Olympic glory.

If they want to hug the balance beam or flip their dad the bird — I say let 'em.