The Shoes in the Closet

The end of the season always brings a mixture of bitter-sweet memories and relief.

As I was getting ready for work this morning I glanced down at my bobspikes (bobsled shoes) just sitting at the bottom of the closet and I had to pause. I guess you could say it was one of those "Do I really do that?" moments. You know, when you stop and think about the crazy sport that we're involved in, sometimes it just seems so surreal. I mean, who in their right mind goes out and plays in sub-zero temperatures wearing nothing but spandex, then runs full speed ON ICE and then loads into a metal and fiberglass rocket just to hurl themselves down an ice covered track at 80 MPH? Who does that???

One can only laugh at the way we try to put our bobsled gear away at the end of the season. Of course each athlete is different, but I think it is rather similar all around. The gear bag that you just drop on the floor at the end of the day because you know you'll need it tomorrow has to actually be put away. The toolbox that you leave in your car all winter has to be stowed in the garage somewhere. The training gear needs to be washed and hung up or folded away. I've got three helmets on the top shelf in my closet, two speedsuits that sit in a dresser drawer, a box full of medals, two pairs of bobspikes in two closets, and a two-man bobsled sitting under a cover in my garage. Call me crazy, but I'm betting that isn't normal!

But it IS worth it. This last season was, if anything, a blast. We worked hard out there on the ice, don't get me wrong. There were plenty of nights where we froze our butts off for hours, then went home tired and bruised and sore. However, the great runs we had, the improvements we made, and the friendships we formed more than compensated up for the sacrifices we made.

I think that is the hardest part about the summer "off-season." You miss the sport of course, but you also miss the atmosphere, the camaraderie, the personal battles between fear and dreams, and of course, you miss the rush. It goes without saying that we have plans for summer training and so forth, but nothing beats unloading the sled at the start pad and saying "hello" to all the athletes, coaches, officials, and volunteers. In a way, all US bobsled and skeleton athletes are part of a very small, yet very close family. Oh sure, some members of this family hate each other, but that doesn't change the fact that we are part of a group of athletes who do things everyday that 99.9% of the world's population will never get to experience. With that knowledge comes a certain responsibility to represent our sports with honor as we may be the ONLY bobsledder or skeleton athlete a person may ever meet.

I don't want this to sound like we belong to some exclusive club. That isn't what I mean at all. What I'm saying is that when you're out there at the starting line, looking down the track, waiting for the green light to go, you can't help but get a grin on your face as you think about what you're about to do and who is supporting you out there. We're a darn lucky group.

So while I am planning to do some school over the summer, take some vacations to Las Vegas, NV, St. George, UT, a cruise to the Caribbean, and a training trip to Calgary, Canada, there will be, of course, a part of me that will always be thinking about our sport. After all the bruises, cuts, broken equipment, lost races, blood, sweat, toil, and tears, one would think that as athletes we have gone through a type of war. And I guess you could say that. We're veterans of a different sort. But the good times, the races won, the lessons learned, the friendships formed, the sponsors gained, the cheering crowds, the perfect runs, the personal bests, etc. all add up to form a type of medal of 'honor' that we will wear with pride for the rest of our lives.

And that is definitely something to smile about.

Wow, all this about a pair of $400 bobsled shoes. And you ladies thought your Gucci's were inspiring!