Page 58 of Ski You Later
Before I can think twice, I turn to him. “I’m not ready.” Fear is crawling up my throat and I’m shaking like a leaf as I watch the racer in front of me prepare. What if I fail and I get my sponsorships pulled? What if I lose my place on the team? We don’t have many races a season, meaning every one is essential.
Roman blocks my path swiftly, his gloved hand lightly grasping my chin and tipping it up. “Listen to me.” His harsh words are at a contrast with his other hand that lands on my hip. “You’re ready. You train every weekend, and you’re one hell of a racer. I know itwithout a doubt. I know that you know it as well. Now, go out there and show everyone what we already know.”
He looks at me with such confidence as he grabs my goggles and places them on my eyes. The cheering from in front of me bring my attention to the now empty starting gate.
Roman’s hand is at my lower back, pushing me towards the gate. The giant red and black clock faces me, counting down two minutes. I can feel Roman lean in, his hands giving my waist a quick squeeze. “This is your race, Love.”
The cold immediately replaces his warm body as he removes his hand, and now all I can lean on is his confidence. I can do this; it’s my race and now I need to show everyone else that.
The volunteer to my left leans in close. “Rhodes Langley. Bib number seventy-five. Are you ready?”
I put my poles on the slope of the start ramp, bending my back so that it’s completely flat and breathing in steadily. I nod at the volunteer’s question and face forward to the course.
The clock has entered its last ten seconds as a loud beep sounds from my right.
“Racer ready.”
“3.” BEEP
“2.” BEEP
“1.” BEEP
I put all my strength into my arms as my body hovers in the air for a fraction of a second before tripping the timing wand at my shins. A roar of cheering sounds at my back, and I can only assume it’s coming from a certain fake boyfriend. But I put that information to the side for now as I focus on what’s to come.
With everything I have, I push myself and use the guards strapped to my arms to hit away the first gate. Using the momentum from the contact, I use my last burst of explosive energy and form my tuck.
The second and third gates come at me fast, but I stay strong as I try to build my speed.Breaking my tuck, I absorb the turn of the pitch and prepare for it to become more turny. I keep my body actively moving forward in order to stay on top of things. As soon as a racer falls below the gates, they lose their whole line, which means they lose the race.
The wind is howling through my helmet as I fly through this course. The sound of the choppy ice below me meeting the sharpest skis I own and creating a grating noise that fills the space.
That noise is music to my ears at this point in my career, and I brace myself for the main pitch to come. Itapproaches fast and I know that the gate below is a cranker. If I have any chance of making it, I need to prepare for it.
With leg strength I didn’t think I had, I flip my gigantic skis in the direction of the next gate and dive in fast. The contact my arm makes with the gate ricochets through my body, and the resulting sound of the gate hitting the ice causing a loud boom to sound.
I smile as the adrenaline course through me and try to let my instincts take over. The main pitch is always the hardest, and since I started so far back, choppy ice ruts litter every turn.
If I want to place in this race, I need to ski higher above the gates than the racers before me. While this could cost me time wise, it will be a hell of a lot faster than being stuck in those ruts.
The terrain flattens out as I near the bottom, and I can see the finish line only three gates ahead. The sounds of cheering start to fill my helmet and I suppress a smile as I reform my tuck.
My quads are on fire as the lactic acid tightens my muscles to a point of pain, and I hold my shaky position as much as possible. Keeping my skis flat to the snow, I allow the wax to do its job and help fly me to the end of this course. With the very last amount of myenergy I have, I punch my hand out of my tight tuck and trip the timing monitor.
Muscle memory helps me bring my skis to a stop and I look at the stadium sized television stationed at the end of the finish corral. There are stands scattered in a U shape around the finish area, as well as people swarming up to the fence. The announcer’s voice then booms over everyone and informs the crowd of my placement. “Rhodes Langley of the Polar Bear Ski Team. Bib number seventy-five had a time of one minute and thirty-seven seconds. This puts this athlete one second off of our race leader and into seventh place.”
I almost don’t believe my eyes as the screen displays my name moving up the ranks and settling in seventh place.
Seventh.
Seventh place out of over a hundred female athletes. Everything was worth it in the end because I managed to be top ten in my first race. An embarrassing squeal leaves my lips before I can stop it, but I’m too happy to even care.
Pride fills me when I see Aurora’s avatar standing in first and Isla’s down in third. My best friend deserved the win for this race, and I can’t wait to see her on the podium.
Volunteers are yelling in my direction, and I skate to the exit fence with a giant smile taking over my features. They congratulate me as they usher me out the exit fence. Letting my pole straps dangle to my elbows, I put my goggles on the rim of my helmet and search for the team. I spy Charles, Liam, Isla, and Aurora all huddling together to the left, smiles plastered on everyone’s faces as they try to look for me in the crowd.
Clipping my skis off beside the rest of the groups, I run as fast as my ski boots will let me and tackle Aurora from behind. My joy was not only for my own score. Seeing Aurora Roberts in first place made my excitement explode.
“YOU WON! YOU WON OUR FIRST RACE!” I’m jumping and crying as I hold my best friend in joy.
