Future Olympian.

I have been particularly interested in this year's winter Olympics. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I get off of work at midnight, and it's one of the only things on. Maybe it's the grace of the athletes that I, myself, have never seemed able to achieve. Maybe it's because I secretly want to wander upon Bode Miller in the dark of night, and have my way with him? Not sure. No concrete answers, really, just a few ideas.

I seem to find myself drawn to the luge, women's hockey, and snowboarding events. I think snowboarding kicks ass in itself. To be able to be that deft at maneuvering ones whole body on a plank of waxed wood. Well, that's just friggin awesome. Luge looks fun in a "Demon Drop at Cedar Pointe" kind of a way, and women's hockey, well...I just love hockey, and seeing chicks kick each other's ass is cool in any setting.

I was watching the downhill skiing events the other night. (Aahh...Bode.) It got me to thinking about the only time I ever tried my hand at winter sports. Yet again, as seems to be a recurring theme in my life, it is a story of unrequited love...teenage angst...and above all else, the crushing humiliation of my life.

The year was 1988. I was in the 8th grade. In 7th grade, I had been a cheerleader, and my teen years were filled with promise. Little did I realize that the truth of my story lie in the coming years. I was a band geek. In all the years I was in band, I always had a crush on the same guy. Mike Lucas. He was taller than me (well at the time, anyway), he was cooler than me (ie, he could skateboard), and he played the saxophone.

I had always wanted to play the sax. My Mother made me play flute. She wanted to play the flute, and played the clarinet. A vicious dynasty was born. I would listen to the beautiful golden woodwinds screeching through their reeds. They were far from virtuosos, but to me, it was the greatest sound in the world. I still love saxophones. I think they are the most amazing instrument in the world. I'm not talking about Kenny G, here, but a really bad-ass / super-nasty sax riff is the sexiest sound on this planet. Hands down.

Anyway, he was a triple threat to me, and worse than that, he knew I dug him. Back then...back in the days when it was socially acceptable, and usually the norm, to use a friend as a liaison I am sure no less than 10 people at one point or another told Mike I "liked" him. He knew this. He enjoyed it, and he used it to his benefit for the next four years. He was never a bad guy...just a teenage boy. They're all crazy in the head. I blame the hormones.

So, in 8th grade, I decide it is my "destiny" to be with Mike Lucas, and I will "die alone" if he does not "love me back". I know these things because I still, through some extremely good or extremely evil fate possess my journals as far back as 6th grade. (We're talking 20 years of dirt on me owned by myself. Scary.) Anyway, I find out through some prying that Mike is going to join the Warsaw Middle School ski club. Suddenly, the light goes on in my pee brain. "This is IT!!! This is your perfect opportunity. Surely if you ski, he will have to love you because you will have soooo much in common, and then you will ride off into the sunset, and he will play sax for you every day until you die." It was so obvious. Like, duh.

I begged my parents to pay the $80.00 to join the ski club. To my parents at that time in our lives, that was a small fortune. Especially with three children in the family. They both worked full time, and still struggled financially. Somehow, they scraped together the money, and I got to join the ski club. I could hardly believe it. I was going to be there, man. I was going to schuss down the white slopes with my hair flowing behind me. I was going to be the envy of every snow bunny, because I was SURE my prowess at skiing was going to come as effortlessly as breathing itself. I was going to probably be the next US champion teenage skier. I was going to ski hand in hand down the mountain with Mike Lucas, and ski right on into my future. Wife. Model. Champion Olympian Skier. It made so much sense.

When the day arrived, I was beyond stoked. I grabbed my jacket, and my gloves. Skis were to be rented. I had all my "gear", and I walked to the door to catch the bus to school. "Don't forget your snowsuit...it's going to be cold!" I heard my Mom yell. WHAT? What had she said??? My snowsuit??? She had to be out of her mind. Clearly, through the fog of the morning on her brain, she could not see the decimation of my ultimate plan if she indeed intended on making me wear the dreaded snowsuit. The "snowsuit" was the last ugly reminder of my childhood. I had received it the year before when I still though "playing in the snow" was cool. Subsequently that year the Cabbage Patch Dolls, My Little Ponies, and sticker albums had all made an exit. The only thing to survive the nuclear winter of adolescence was the snowsuit. It was huge, and puffy, and navy blue. It was not one of those cool, ski bunny snow suits with the lightning fast stripes, and tight Lycra pants. It was a military issue, navy blue, K-Mart snow suit. I was doomed.

I knew there was no way out. It was the snowsuit or no suit. I grabbed the snowsuit, and crammed it into my bag and bolted to the door. It was the beginning of the end of my Olympic dream.

The first moment of doubt came right along side my moment of triumph. The bus to the ski lodge left directly from my school on Friday afternoons at 4:00pm. This was also a part of the perfection of the situation. A 40 minute bus ride each way. As every teenager knows, the bus is little more than a portal to Makeout City. An excuse to share a blanket inside of a tube that is heated, at any one time, to no less than 100 degrees. It's a Shagging Wagon. I followed Mike onto the bus three behind. I watched in agony as he sat down with one of the other boys in our class. Then, my friend Kathryn sat down beside of me. I was a girl...with a girl...on the bus.

We arrived at the "resort". I use this term loosely, because anyone who has ever laid eyes on this place knows it is, in fact, a really big hill. Barely worthy of a chair lift. It's a hill. Actually, now it's nothing. Some people sued the owners some years back, and it went under. Now it is actually a really big hill with no fake snow to dress it up. At the time, it was "Mt. Wawasee". A winter wonderland.

We arrived at Mt. Wawasee, and went to the lockers to change. Basically the lodge consisted of a room of lockers for male and females, a place to rent skis, and a really big room with an even bigger picture window where people sat drinking their hot chocolate, talking about life, enjoying the fire, and watching the rest of their skiing brethren.

Kathryn got out her cute little snow bunny outfit. She looked adorable. Like a teen snow bunny should. Her family was well off and would take skiing vacations every winter, so she was already well suited. She also played the sax, and sat by Mike in band. Now, she had two advantages over me. I was mortified. I pulled the blue monstrosity from my bag. Kathryn muffled a laugh. "Wow..." She said. "I guess at least if you fall you'll have a lot of padding." I looked like the abominable snowman. A blue yeti. I looked out the window of the lodge, and saw Mike heading to the chair lift. I was suddenly filled with resolve. Nothing, not even being a yeti, was going to stop me.

Somehow, Kathryn convinced me that I would be better off beginning with the beginners’ hill. She is probably the reason I can still walk. We went to the rope lift. It pulled us about a quarter of the way up the hill. We took the pre-requisite "beginner" ten minute lesson, where they basically show you what not to do, and say a silent prayer you are not the great causality of the season. I mastered the bunny hill a few times, and I decided I was ready to tackle the Monster. The main run. It was probably the equivalent of a bunny hill at any real resort, but for this place it was Vail, Aspen, and Tahoe all wrapped into one. The Run of Death.

By some freak occurrence, Kathryn and I ended up skiing right up behind Mike in line for the ski lift. He took one look at my snowsuit, "Heh...nice outfit." I didn't really care. I was about to sit by Mike Lucas on a chair lift for an 8 minute ride up a mountain. That was an eternity. We chit-chatted on the way up, and were gently pushed out at the top. Kathryn glided effortlessly over to the cusp of the run. She
took one look at us, and dove down the side. We were alone. I sat there frozen. Not just by the February weather, but by the prospect of being alone with Him. I silently sat there, and stared over the hill toward the lights of the closest town. Mike turned and gently nudged my shoulder. He grinned this huge smile I can still see today, and said, "That's the most beautiful thing you're ever going to see". In some way, maybe it was. The crisp night air. The twinkling lights. It was as
though we were sailing above the stars on a ship made of clouds. I was lost in the sentiment. The crush. The moment. Mike smiled again, and pushed off the edge. "C'mon..." I heard him shout behind him. I rushed to the edge, and for the first time...I looked down. Big mistake.

For a minute I stood there reliving that moment. Then, I realized it may just last forever, because I was going to die getting down. Somehow, when you are standing on top of anything...a car, a ladder...a really big friggin hill...you realize how high "high" actually is. I froze in panic. This was it. The end of my story. It was as though I could see Mike standing at my funeral. Crying. Throwing red rose petals over my grave. Listening to "Could've Been" by Tiffany. "We never even got a chance..." he would say. It was no use. I had no way down. I had to go. I inhaled the last breath I was ever sure I would have without the use of a ventilator, and I slowly pushed off from the edge of Mt. Wawasee.

I'm not sure if it's the truth or not, but I actually remember the beginning of the run being okay. Actually, it was good. I kept the skis straight. I was in control. The wind whipping faster, and faster against my face. I could feel it cool through the abominable snowsuit. I was as light as air. Maybe this was my destiny. I was to be a professional skier. Sure, I would have to get some new gear, but I was a natural. I think the actual time on the run of the hill was about four minutes. I believe it was about three and a half of those minutes into the run that I realized I was going waaaaay to fast, and I had no idea how in the hell to stop myself.

I somehow realized I needed a back-up plan. I could not kill the kids to the left on the bunny hill, plowing into them like some jet-powered navy blue avalanche. I could not go the other way, to the right; I would kill all the people in the line for the snow lift. Suddenly, I saw it. The only answer. The only out. In the front of the lodge...right in the smack-dab front of the huge plate glass window full of cocoa drinkers...was a huge bush. I don't mean your mama's bush. I mean a huge, fir, some-kind-of-pine-tree-grown-freakishly-awry busy. It was big...but instinct told me it was also shock absorbing. I stared it down. I had just enough time to look down at the lodge, and see Mike Lucas watching my virgin voyage...the smile still beaming. I took one more look at him, one more look at the bush, and pile drove my way headlong into the Great Green Beast. There was a crash, and the sound of twigs snapping. I saw snow, and green shrubbery flying around me like being in the middle of some F5 winter tornado. Suddenly, all was still.

I lie there for a minute in the bush. I wished it would absorb me. I wished I could crawl into the bowls of it, and disappear. After two minutes of eternity, Mike and Kathryn slowly pushed over, and peered down into the Beast. Mike chuckled as soon as he saw my eyes were open, and there was some form of consciousness. "Um...are you okay..." What could I do? "Yeah...I'm sure I'm fine. Help me up." He took his right pole into his left hand, and gave me his right hand, and yanked me from my coffin. I wanted to die. "I should have just hit the kids..." I thought to myself. All of the sudden, I heard the hollow, "thunk thunk" of a knuckle on glass. The window. I had almost forgotten. I slowly turned around. There, in the window were no less than fifty people in hysterics clapping in a standing ovation. In the reflection of the glass I could see a vision that still haunts me. Myself dressed as the navy yeti with my glasses broken, and shrubbery stuck to every inch of my head. What could I do? I turned, waved, slowly slunk to the lockers, and waited for the bus ride home.

I hid there until the bus came. Then I went out to sit there and imagine I was home. The kids slowly came back one by one, stifling laughs and telling the story. Mike Lucas got on the bus. I could have died. He walked back to my seat and stared. I was ready for the inevitable. "Can I sit here?" He asked...."Sure..." I said, dumbfounded. He took his seat, punched me in the shoulder, and laughed. "You sure know how to make a night interesting." Suddenly...all was right.

We never did make out on the bus that night...never made out period, although he probably was my first "real love", and our history would take many misguided turns in the time we knew each other. I never went back to ski club again. I never became an Olympic skier, but that one trip down that one hill gave me more respect than I could ever explain for those people and the art they create. I look back on that night, and my first thought is not the crash into the Great Green Beast, the Snowsuit, or even the bus ride home, but that moment I had with Mike at the top of Mt. Wawasee. I've seen many beautiful things since then, but
the memory of that night looking out into the distance still seems, in my mind, to be one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen to this day. Maybe the memory is biased due to the innocence, or the calamity that would soon follow, I'm not sure. There is only one thing I truly, honestly know.

I’m no skier.

Happy Olympics.