Hole Shot Tour: Day 3

RACE DAY (1 of 2)!!!

 

Today, the butterflies went wild swarming into each racer's mid-section until we all felt sick...at least that's how I imagined everyone else feeling because that's how I felt.

I woke this morning prepared to be comfortable taking last place, but Daylen woke after a night that left him feeling we should not limit our requests of God. He felt urged to think with a mindset of greater things. We adjusted our thinking...and I boarded the best courses yet. Rollers seemed smaller, I felt more in control, energy was pumping, and my nerves were settling.

Qualifications started. I was number 74. Each girl would race alone, timed, and the top 16 (out of 25) would head to the final that afternoon. My turn came. I entered the gate and heard the official say, "Ten seconds."

God, this is Your race, I thought, and launched myself out of the start gate. Every jump, every turn, every roller, went great...until I saw the wave of a yellow flag. Mid-course, gasping for breath, I stopped. The girl in front of me had fallen.

I reached the bottom, hopped on a snowmachine (aka. snowmobile), and zoomed back up for a re-run. Every other racer waited on me. No one could go until I re-raced, but I was still catching my breath.

I jogged to the start gate, strapped in, and an official knelt beside me. "Everyone's watching you," he said in a gentle voice. "But take the time you need. Go when you're ready."

I sucked in deep breaths, but my heart wouldn't stop hammering. It's now or never.

Back in the start gate, less nervous than before, I craved a replay of previous great start. When I pulled myself out the gate, all went fine until halfway down the course and I found it even harder to breathe. So hard, in fact, my concentration completely left the course and turned to my burning lungs. That's when I lost control on my bank turn and careened into the fencing.

I've seen racers crash into fencing on TV before. It doesn't look too bad, it looks more like a cushion. Well, it's not a cushion. It's more like a zillion stiff bungee cords that latch onto you like leeches and stop you with a jolt.

I was tangled like a fly in a web, but I hadn't gone outside of the course yet. It took me a good 25 seconds to pull myself out. By that time, a ski patrol had run up to me in a panic. Before he could say anything, I asked, "Can I still finish?"

He paused a moment (while I pushed myself up), and as I boarded away trying to make up time, I heard him say into his walkie-talkie, "Uh...she's gonna finish the course."

I finished with no other mishaps. My time was 1:37.14. Everyone else was in the 50-60 second range. The race has left me grumpy at the course. There's no more room for fear. I want back on that course, NOW, to make up for that silly fall.

Good thing I have tomorrow. Maybe God knew this was just what I needed to give me the push to be fearless.