Most of my mornings begin with a way-too-early wake-up call, and though I press snooze a couple of times, I’m still up well before sunrise. I mix a green, not-so-tasty drink for breakfast, and work my way through a routine for my (now) old and squeaky hip — 20 minutes of exercises assigned by my trainer, designed to warm up the joint and get the muscles firing. I was born with hip dysplasia, and have compounded the problem with a 2003 crash and a 2006 surgery to repair a torn labrum. It takes a lot of work to stay healthy and prepared for every race. Some days, I’m more prepared than others.
Saturday / November 26
The Aspen World Cup was the first race for the women’s team after a long break, so my racer’s nerves were in full effect. I wasn’t able to sleep much the night before because of all the prerace excitement — and not just anticipation for the big race. There was also a public bib draw and an autograph signing, which cuts into the relaxation, but nothing makes me as happy as watching little kids’ faces light up when they get my signature.
That particular morning I woke up at 6 and did my exercises, drank my green drink and some black tea (coffee makes me jittery), ate some homemade bircher muesli and ran out the door to do some warm-up runs under the Little Nell lift. Like most warm-up courses, it was laughable compared with the steepness of the actual course, so I wouldn’t really be able to find a gear until I hit the race hill. Next, there’s 45 minutes for course inspection, though it normally takes me about 10. It’s my style to just look at the blind gates and attack the rest — a very all-or-nothing approach. Aspen’s a great hill for someone with that attitude — full of exciting terrain, and really, really steep.
My adrenaline was cranking on the first run: in part just nervousness, and in part because I was fighting a cold that even my green drink couldn’t conquer. I lost a lot of time right at the start, and that meant really needing to hold onto my speed to the finish — though it’s not like I think of those things when I am on the hill. All I can think about is going fast. That means reminding myself, “Just flow, relax, and ski.” I crossed the finish line in third — which was thrilling — but I was .9 seconds out, which I thought was too much to hold the second run.
Immediately my focus went to the second run. I said hi to my family and my fan club from Squaw Valley, then went into the Spyder van to prepare (they’re a sponsor, and they park a sick RV at the finish for us to hang) and have a little snack. Then it’s back to the top — now almost deserted, since the top finishers go last — to prepare, mostly mentally, to go fast. I got ready, kicked out of the start gate, and charged to the finish line.
I came across into second place, which was nice, but not first — though I knew it would be good enough for top five. But when the rest of the girls logged their time and both runs had been totaled, I found myself elated with a third-place finish.
A good finish comes with its own set of complications though. My family — including my grandparents and my mom — were in the finish area. They are the people I want to share those moments with, but it’s too frantic when I win. It’s off to the press conference, then off to pee in a small plastic jar while someone looks on, and then back to the bedroom for just a moment before heading out to a party thrown by Squaw Valley at a house they rented, packed with people from Squaw who came out to support and cheer me on.
My friend and skiing idol Tamara McKinney was there and, go figure, she had been the last American to stand on the podium in a World Cup GS in the USA. Next came the awards, and then Aspen put on some amazing fireworks.
As always, I had to head to bed early and get ready to do it all over again the following day. I was absolutely tired when my head hit the pillow, but so happy to have finally made the podium in my home country.
Wednesday / December 7
Fast-forward to Beaver Creek. A cancellation in the Alps meant the ladies would be racing for the first time ever on the notoriously difficult Birds of Prey course. I had a chance to free-ski it one day, and it seemed to be the course for me: difficult, fast, and lots of fun. Once again I was nervous the night before, but everyone — friends, pros, and press — seemed to think it was my course, and my chance to have an awesome race.
I spent extra time in inspection. I was focused and ready. But then, standing at the start of the race, I became unsure. I began watching the girls go before me, which is something I normally never do. But on that day, I thought it might give me an extra edge to know exactly where to go to make up time.
It was not a good idea. I started to care too much about line and not enough about speed. I skied down perfectly, with just one mistake before the flats. In my mind I thought I had pulled off a good, clean run — my perfect run — but when I looked over my shoulder at the finish, I saw my name in 7th place. Disappointment flooded my body.
Normally I’m okay with a mediocre finish. I just enjoy the ride and accept that I can’t control what others do on the hill. This time, I wanted to win. I wanted to ski that Birds of Prey hill the best and show everyone that I was the best skier that day. It was a strange feeling, because really I did my best, but I was treating myself like I didn’t try. I put on a smile and told everyone what fun I had racing the course, but in my heart it felt like I had lost the Olympics.
Thursday / December 8
Green drink and stretching after a good night’s sleep, and my perspective was back to normal. I could forget the disappointment and appreciate the skiing again.
Don’t get me wrong: Winning is fun, and I want to win, but I ski because skiing is fun. I love it like I love nothing else, and although disappointment is part of the game, it’s the wind in my face and the sun on my back that keeps me on this tour year-round.
I’ve spent years living out of a suitcase only because I get to spend a quiet moment at sunrise, standing at the top of a mountain overlooking the Dolomites, making friends for life with people who love skiing as much as I do.
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