Two world apart ...one ambition

Two worlds apart….one ambition.

I stood in the middle of two other skiers. We were standing on a small elegant raised platform. Starting from the left hand side each position on the platform was raised to denote the importance of the person standing. My position was in the middle denoting that I was considered the most important person. I leaned forward, bent my head slightly and a silk ribbon with a medal hanging from it was placed around my neck. As I rose my body to my full height I heard the Stars and Stripes. For a fraction of a second my mind went blank. Then I heard the clapping. Slowly a smile crossed my lips. In a state of excitement I threw my arms into the air and let out a cry of joy. The two skiers beside me extended their hands in congratulations. This was my second winter Olympics. It was at that moment I saw in a flash of memory recalling the triumphs and disappointments I experienced to reach this stage.

The next two to three hours disappeared in a mist of people surrounding me, microphones trusted at my face, hugs from people I had never met and finally the embrace of my mother and father. When I looked back I had difficulty in realizing that on this cloudy day I had become the fastest downhill skier in the world. All those years of dedication, of practice in all weathers, of single mindedness, of allowing skiing to completely dominate my life had paid off.

It was late into the night when I finally opened my bedroom door and threw myself onto the bed. I did not immediately fall to sleep. The cause, no doubt, was all the excitement. My blood was rushing through my veins as though I was still on the ski slope forcing myself forward at breakneck speed. I got up from the bed, undressed, put on a bathrobe, and sat in a chair endeavoring to calm myself. At this point the memories of my whole life seemed to flow through my brain like the small brook in my parents’ home. Funny, it was at this brook while watching my father fishing as he talked about the mountains and skiing that had a profound influence on me. I must have been five years old. We had just spent the morning at a ski station where my father had introduced me to the sport. On our return home for lunch mother found me in an uncontrollable state of excitement and happiness. My father proposed that in the early afternoon, although cold, we would change the pace of an active day with a quiet period of fishing. My father had been a champion skier but unfortunately in the early part of his career he had a nasty accident that had put an end to his skiing ambitions. I remembered that afternoon so well he deeply sowed the seeds of my future dedication to the sport. His stories of the mountains described the incredible sensation of sliding across the snow with the speed of wind. His talk opened up dreams that later turned into a deep desire to be champion skier.

I was twenty three when I was selected for the first time to represent the USA In the Olympics as a member of the downhill team. This selection cost me my private and personal life. It meant hours of training on the slopes, in the gym, watching videos of the techniques used by the world’s great downhill skiers. As for any acceptable social life it was non existence. Early to bed, special diet, and constant massages. At times I questioned whether all this dedication was worth it. My dear father was there to refocus me on my ultimate goal of the gold medal at the Winter Olympics.

At my first Olympics. I was humbled by the grandeur of the event, by mixing with great athletes from over 110 countries. To live, for a short period, in an atmosphere of excitement, to be surrounded with many flags of countless nations. To observe high emotions, ecstatic joy, tears, disappointments and frustrations. To hear the shouts, hundreds of clapping hands, and many national anthemes, watch reporters running from one event to another anxious to catch that magical moment. Yes, all the sacrifices to get here were worth it.

I enjoyed living in the Olympic Village, the camaraderie of my USA team, the relaxing times in the open canteen, meeting other international athletes performing in the same or other disciplines. I was particularly attracted to a young French downhill skier. She came from a very different background from me. My father had the background of a champion skier. After his accident he had created a successful business so he was able to put at my disposal all the advantages necessary for becoming a world class skier. She, her name was Emma, told me she came from the Savoy region of France, a mountainous area. Her parents were farmers with lands covering mountainous terrain. She told me she had difficulty in having enough time to practice as she had a few responsibilities on the farm. Added to this she was in her last year at the university studying to be a lawyer. But she told me the mountains, several months of snowy conditions and the love of skiing had been in her DNA since birth. She went on to say that prior to applying to the French National Olympic Committee she had had a couple of years experience in downhill racing. At this point her eyes lit up. The speed of this skiing has always been a sensation that my body seems to crave for. Once in action the adrenaline rush is for me the most exciting and stimulating physical and mental sensation under the sun. I was surprised that I was accepted. As a selected member my life’s routine changed dramatically. My parents were extremely proud of me but realized it would, for a period. require a heavier work load for them. Here I am. I'm a bit nervous but ready to try my best. We talked some more about what might be in store for us after this intensive period of dedication trying to be awarded gold.

Over the next few days I tried to see Emma as much as possible but once practice runs started each of us returned to the fold of our teams. On the downhill run you are allowed two practice runs before the final run where the three fastest take the medals. My two practice runs were a festival of splendid experiences. On the first run I got a feel of the mountain. It was steep and in places posed dangerous conditions. It required total concentration. On the second run I could hear the encouraging shouts from the crowds as I neared the finish line. My father and mother were no doubt there. I felt sure my father was tracing the run in his mind. The whole scene at the bottom of the mountain was one of anticipation, excitement and joy with the occasional wohares as some challenger slipped. Thankfully there were no accidents requiring helicopters. I came in 5th after all competitors had finished their two practice runs. Father told me I was in striking distance.

Later that day I saw Emma in the canteen, and we had time to speak together for five minutes. She told me she was leaving for her practice runs. I said I would come and watch her, I warned her to keep close to the inner side on the second bend as the mountain was sloping in that direction enabling you to pick up a little speed. She came in overall third in her practice runs. I enjoyed watching a very talented skier. She was strong, well balanced and focused. In my opinion she had a chance for gold.

The day of reckoning arrived with clear blue skies and hardly a breath of wind. I felt empowered, focused and strong as I made my way to the starting point high above the town. The press was claiming me as a possible gold medalist. My father just said you have the talent, the technique now it's a question of concentration. I waited patiently for my turn. Third from the last. The skiers before me had set a very challenging time hurdle. As I stood waiting for the starter’s signal I saw below me a white expanse of snow disappearing down the mountain. It looked both beautiful, dangerous and challenging. I was off flying into the unknown, twisting and turning, applying pressure on my skies where needed. I have never skied so recklessly but at the same time relaxed, focused and sure of myself. At the finishing line the crowd exploded with shouts and excitement. I took first place with only two skiers to follow. One German, the other French. The French beat my time by twenty-nine hundredths of a second to be awarded the gold medal. There was chaos at the finishing line with the French and American teams rushing forward to congratulate their heroes. I was engulfed with hugs, back slapping and cheek kissing. Through the crowd I did notice Emma whispering something to the winner. He and Emma broke away from their team mates and came over to the American delegation to shake my hand. “ A great run, I am looking forward to the next time.” Emma's congratulation was more personal and intimate. She embraced me with a tender long kiss on the cheek and whispered in my ear. “ Only twenty-nine hundredths of a second, next time it's yours.

The next fews days were submerged in interviews, parties and seeing my photos displayed over many magazine covers. Frankly, I felt in some kind of perpetual daze seeing my future life far away; skiing through the mist of a gigantic mountain. I kept hearing my father's voice saying incredible now for the gold in four years. Through all this festivity and haze I did see Emma win a bronze medal. I only had a chance to shout to her that your time will come.

The high oxygen of the Olympics encouraged by the mountain air suddenly stopped as if it were a big balloon that had been deflated. I did have a few minutes to say goodbye to Emma and write down her address with a promise I would write to her.

A month later after all the excitement and festivities of being an Olympian had died down like ashes from a blazing fire I wrote to Emma. I told her that after much discussion I had decided to commit another four years of my life to competing in the next winter Olympics with the firm ambition to receive the gold medal. I was delighted to receive her reply that she too thought as we were so close to achieving our ambitions it merits one more try. She also told me that she had found a sponsor who considerably alleviated the financial burden on her parents. She had their full support. She would love to see me in the not too distant future and suggested I come to France and we spend a week skiing together. It was two winters before I accepted her offer. In the meantime we corresponded on a monthly basis. Our writing was mainly about skiing, technical tips, progress and advice. Occasionally we wrote about our parents and the type of life we were living with casual remarks about girlfriends and boyfriends. Our studies were seldom mentioned.

The trip to France was a great success. Living on a farm doing the occasional chores to help. Skiing some of the great European mountains like Tignes and Chamonix. Emma's chance to spend considerably more time on the slope certainly showed. It was a pleasure to meet her parents and some members of her family. They were delightful hard working people that love the mountains, their lands, their animals and farming. Back in America I noticed our monthly letters were becoming more intimate and ending with kisses and “bisous”. We were two people that deeply understood each other and were slowly trying to see life together.

I finally wrote. Dearest Emma, I will see you at the Olympics. The second time around it was not quite the same. I was now the undisputed American favorite with a team that had changed to represent several younger members, consequently I was looked up to as not only the favorite for a gold medal but also a guide. Once in the Olympics Village the magic and glamor of being there had not changed. For some unknown reason I felt shy about meeting Emma. She embraced me on both cheeks and held my hand tightly for several minutes. As we parted and wished each other good luck I felt an outpouring of deep love for this young woman. Back in my team these thoughts got buried in the concentration of trying to win the gold. On my practice runs I purposely held back carefully sizing up the mountain and the lie of the slope. The final day was cold and cloudy with a chance of snow. When my turn came I knew I was capable of beating all the times on the board. It just needed focus and concentration. I finished 1 minute and 10 seconds ahead of any other downhill skier. I heard the Stars and stripes, I bent my head and the golden medal was placed around my neck. At the finish area I did not see Emma as the French team was not in the medal giving ceremony. With all the after ski celebrations in full swing I did have a chance to see Emma who threw her arms around my neck and whispered “I won’t beat your time but I will match your medal.”

I was there when Emma was tearing the downhill track like an avalanche in full descent, it was awesome to watch. Then there was an enormous cry from the crowd. She fell and came tumbling down the slope. The scene changed with the appearance of a helicopter. Followed by an announcement stating her fall was not life threatening danger only a nasty fracture in her left leg. The day after the accident I was at the hospital. I was ushered into her room. There she lay smiling with her left leg hung in a sling above her. At that moment I knew where my future path in life lay. “ Emma, will you be my valentine? May I kiss you.”

“I've been waiting for that for some time.”