CARRABASSETT VALLEY – Penny Smith is a snow-walking, fast-talking, one-woman promotion department for the Maine Special Olympics Winter Games.

Spend a few minutes around the 32-year-old Auburn athlete, and you find out a few things.

She seems to know everybody.

Everybody seems to know her.

And she’s got pretty near everything about the 32nd annual Winter Games figured out.

Like snowshoeing, her Monday specialty. Some snowshoers start slow and finish fast. Others start fast and finish slow. And then, there’s Smith, who gives new meaning to the term “Olympic flame.”

You want the secret? Here it is.

“I’m gonna run like my butt’s on fire,” Smith says.

On Monday, that isn’t really necessary: Smith won’t compete for a medal until Tuesday, and her first 100-meter race will merely determine her heat for the medal round.

On Sunday, about 500 athletes and hundreds of coaches and volunteers arrived at Sugarloaf/USA for the Games, which provide a sports program for people with developmental disabilities. They run through Tuesday.

But as soon as the Games opened on Monday, Smith was prepared, smile intact, quotes at the ready.

Quotes? You bet. Smith, you see, knows she’s a media magnet. And she’s going to have her say, no matter what.

When a race official wants her to take a seat so she can have snowshoes attached to her boots, Smith goes … reluctantly.

“He’s writing down my statement,” she informs the official, turning her back on him.

Later, as she settles onto a bench, she keeps on talking.

“He’s a good expert at [putting on these snowshoes]. Aren’t you, buddy?” she says, buttering up a volunteer.

And eventually, she apologizes for her earlier stubbornness. … almost.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asks, an impish grin curling the edges of her lips even higher than normal.

What they’re going to do is what everyone does around Penny: They’re going to smile, point her in the right direction, and hope they don’t get burned by the flames.

Want fire? Give Smith a spare moment, and she’ll take charge.

On Monday, she and five fellow competitors line up for the start of their heat, and the starter doesn’t immediately give them the signal. Smith looks around, recognizes a potential audience, and starts teaching.

“We can’t be over the line,” she says, edging everyone back a few inches.

Then, just before the flag drops to finally start the race, Smith turns to the rest of the athletes one final time.

“We’ve gotta run,” she tells them. “It does the body good.”

Braving the bitter cold

On Monday, athletes braved chilly temperatures and winds that gusted nearly 40 mph, moving from venue to venue to skate, snowshoe or ski.

For the most part, they did so in good cheer – and with plenty of colorful team-oriented winter clothing to keep them as warm as possible.

One team of particularly snappy dressers was from SAD 50 in Thomaston: They sported bright green jackets and long, multicolored stocking hats that made them easily identifiable.

One SAD 50 athlete, Tiffany Carter, 12 (“going on 13”), knows exactly what the team garb reminds her of.

“We look like the Grinch,” she says with a grin.

She has a point … but that doesn’t keep her from having fun, and supporting her teammates.

Before her first snowshoe race, she stands and patiently waits for an official to call her forward to receive her shoes. She comfortably drapes an arm around 11-year-old teammate Asa Myers, and eventually, their time arrives.

While most athletes eagerly await their events, Asa is a bit different. This, you see, is his first Winter Games. And he’s not sure he’s having much fun at all. In fact, he’s pretty sure he’s not having any fun at all.

“Naw,” he says. “Because I hate doing this. It’s so hard to run.”

During the race, Asa reiterates his point to a coach who offers encouragement at the midway point.

“This … is … such … a … long … run,” he says, puffing out the words between labored strides.

But 50 meters later, it’s a lot shorter: Asa has completed the race, and can go inside Carrabassett Valley Academy for some relief from the cold.

Inside the school? One of the Special Olympics’ trademark warmer-uppers: Hot chocolate.

Plenty of it.

Penny Smith, spokeswoman

After entertaining coaches, competitors and officials alike with her whirlwind of prerace activity, Penny Smith gets down to business.

Smith lets you know that her second-place performance in her heat was acceptable.

“That was good,” she says. “I’m happy. We’re all winners.”

Then, as she works her way back toward the starting line, she punctuates her original statement with a series of war cries, critiques and pop expressions.

“Woooo, baby!” she says to one friend.

“Cool beans,” she says to another.

“My [shoe] came undone, but I didn’t want to stop in the middle of my race to fix it,” she tells her coach.

After catching her breath, Smith lets you in on a secret: She’s not just a talkative woman. She’s an official talkative woman.

“I’m a global messenger,” she says, proudly, explaining what that special job entails.

“It’s someone who speaks about Special Olympics and tries to get people involved,” she says.

Smith is, of course, perfect for the job. Flames or no flames.

Back in the warming hut

Every time there’s a Maine Special Olympics, it seems, there’s a team that can’t help but catch your eye.

Sporting lime-green coats and a variety of colorful hats, the Madison Bullfrogs make a fashion statement every time they arrive at a starting line.

But next winter, they won’t attend the state Winter Games: They’ve volunteered to miss the event (like other teams have done in the past), so the number of athletes doesn’t become unmanageable.

Still, when the Madison Bullfrogs don’t show up, it won’t look quite the same.

Bullfrog Tim Coffin, 56, is a Special Olympics fixture. He knows how to snowshoe. He knows where the fans are … and how to wave to them after he reaches the finish line, just like they do in Salt Lake City. And he knows where the hot chocolate is kept.

“Try some of it,” Tim says, slurping down a cup of the tasty sweet brew. “You might like it.”

Later, you obey. Tim, you find out, was right.

Changing his tune

Penny, the global messenger, can recite the Special Olympics motto. She can answer your questions. She can snowshoe like the wind, even if her butt’s not on fire.

After her first race, she shares a sentiment that makes the event … special.

“I might not win,” she says. “But I have fun.

Nearby, a few minutes later, Asa Myers, erstwhile snowshoe-hater, strolls by. His race is over. He’s all warmed up. He has also had time to rethink his original position.

Maybe Penny cornered him at the hot chocolate dispenser and showed him the light. Maybe he’s getting used to his first Winter Games. Or maybe he’s just relieved that his 100-meter race is over.

The question is simple: What do you think, Asa. Are you having fun now?

“Yesssssssss,” he says, sheepishly, swinging the long tail of his stocking cap from side to side.

“Yesssssssss.”