Page 57 of Ski You Later
With a smoothie in my belly and protein bars filling all my pockets, I try and get rid of the stress that fills my body. Our small rental was alive at five am and athletes filled the room as they ate their oatmeal. All of yesterday’s struggles were forgotten as everyone readied themselves for the tough race ahead.
I smile at the texts I received when I woke up. Mom, Dad, Henry, and Carlos, all wishing me luck this weekend. That was followed by a link of the dress I have to wear to the wedding as well as a million questions about Roman.
Putting a pin in those questions, I keep my focus on the race ahead instead of my pretend love life.
Rachel and Liane are both needed on course today, so we asked a neighbouring teams coach to help us all clip into our skis at the start. Since our race skiswant to touch the snow as little as possible, it’s always helpful to ask a coach to clip us in.
There are many rules when it comes to race day at the professional level. Long hair must be tied back or braided. Face masks aren’t worn for fear that they could cause a millisecond of drag. Tons of athletes have certain socks, gloves, or an article of clothing that’s only worn on race day.
It can get out of hand sometimes, with some athletes believing they will crash if they don’t do their pre-race ritual. Luckily, I don’t have that level of superstition when it comes to the sport, and I can perform no matter what socks I have on.
Aurora and I inspected together this morning and her eyes caught onto terrain changes that I stupidly looked past. We then quickly went back up the chair and discussed the various problem spots we would encounter of this race.
It wasn’t too long after that when I found myself standing beside the start gate and screaming like a mad woman as my best friend started her run. As the countdown finished, Aurora’s powerful body threw herself off the starting ramp and she flew onto the course.
It only takes a few powerful pushes until she puts her arms forward and forms a perfect tuck. From beside the starting hut, we’re only privy to the first three gates of the course, and then lose her after the steep drop of the pitch.
Right after losing view of Aurora, I do the same thing for Isla and then go back to the team’s spot.
We have reserved a corner of the start area by throwing all our jackets and skis into a giant pile. The other girls are currently all chilling here, wrapping themselves up in their jackets as they complain about the cold.
I roll my eyes at the bunch since they didn’t cheer for Aurora or Isla, and walk a ways away. Picking up the team radio, I ask one of the coaches to give me a course report on how the course is looking so far.An answer doesn’t come right away, so I give it a minute before I ask again.
With still no response, I decide to take off my jacket and zip off my snow pants. My light pink speed suit seems to glow in these cloudy conditions. The white lines going up my arms and legs, hugging my body like a glove and doing nothing but accentuate my figure.
Grabbing my curved poles, I moved away from the group and start to swing my legs as high as they cango. I can’t hyper fixate on all my fears when I need my attention on trying not to kick anyone. As my breath freezes right before my eyes, I am encouraged to keep moving even more. Inactive muscles will be the end of me if I cramp up during my run.
At this point Isla should be done her run, but the radio remains silent as I prepare for myself. I mentally go over the course again as I highlight all the points my best friend highlighted for me. Try my best, don’t give up, and stay strong.
Those words go through my head as the course coordinator yells out the bib numbers needed at the start area. The girls slowly dwindle from our group as their bibs are called, and I don’t bother cheering for any of them as I focus on myself. Calvin and his friends make a quick appearance to grab everyone’s gear, but I barely pay attention as I calm my mind.
When I’m done centering myself, I’m not surprised to see that my jacket and pants are left in the snow. Calvin’s obviously still upset about yesterday, and I don’t have the time to even care at this point. I’ve trained so hard over the summer and on snow, so this is the time to show everyone my progress. As I see the athlete’s bib numbers enter the seventies, I pick up my race skis and head to the lineup. There are ten girls aheadof me, and I look for another team’s coach that can help me clip into my skis.
As I enter the lineup, the volunteers pull the girl out of the start gate and inform everyone that it’s currently a stop-start. This meaning that the racer ahead has crashed, or there’s an issue with the course, so they have to stop the running.
I don’t stress about this as I pump out some squats and focus on what’s to come. There are nine girls in front of me now, and even though it’s a stop-start, I need to put on my skis at this point.
I’m shaking like a leaf as I drop them both down and watch as they slap onto the snow. Nerves worm their way into my system, and I try to push them aside as I begin to clip myself into my race skis.
A figure quickly approaches me in my periphery, sliding onto their knees and quickly grabbing my raised ankle. I whip my gaze to my left, seeing Roman kneeling to the ground below me with a screwdriver in his hand and my unzipped jacket on his shoulders.
He’s breathing heavily, as if he raced to get here, and he looks up at me with a guilty expression. “Rhodes. I. Am. So. Sorry.” Every word out of his mouth comes with a gasp of air, and he starts to work right away.
He takes the screwdriver and clears any ice built up off of my ski boots, and then proceeds to clean the snow out of my binding. The way he hunches his body to the ground just to make sure my skis are clean makes my heart swell. This feeling only increases as he clips in my next foot with the same level of intensity and care.
The race is back in full swing now, the girls in front of me dropped down to three and I didn’t even notice. My body starts to shake with nerves, since the first race is one of the most important.
Roman stands to his full height in front of me, with my helmet, boots and skis, I am just able to reach his shoulder. My goggles are still on the rim of my helmet as I look up at him and I try for a reassuring smile. It comes out as more of a grimace as the fear fully grips me, and I can’t do anything as I look ahead with paralyzing fear.
Fear of falling. The fear of letting everyone down. The fear that I this is just another aspect in my life that can be easily ripped out of my grasp.
Concern forms behind Romans eyes, obviously thinking my intense trembling is from the cold. Without me uttering a word, he reassures me and starts to rub up and down my arms.
“Hey, it’s alright. You are going to kick ass, Langley. Now start moving, you will freeze if you are standing still.”
I do as he says, thankful he can’t read my thoughts as I stomp my feet up and down, Roman continuing to warm me up. The volunteer ushers me into the starting hut, informing me that I am on deck.
As I stand here, I can see the giant clock, counting down the time for the racer to go. Volunteers surround the racer in gate, writing down their number and asking questions. The starting hut volunteer tried to usher Roman out, but every athlete gets a coach in the start, and he has taken up that role.
