Hole Shot Tour: Day 1

Fifty racers stripped down to their customized, padded, skin-tight racing clothes, chatted with their coaches, met with their racing friends, and analyzed the course like it was a particularly tasty burger.

I sat alone in floppy torn snowpants purchased nine years ago, strapping in to a board even older than that. No coach. No racer buddies. Just staring at the intro jump a good three feet taller than me.

 

When I slid into the start gate, I wasn't hit with the arm-shaking nerves I got during my first race at Raging Buffalo, but my heart belly-flopped into my stomach when I pulled myself out of it and launched over the jump. 

 

(this is not me, just a few guy boarders to give you a taste for the start gate)

Today was training day: an extra optional day for racers to board (or ski) the course early. Snowboarders had from 12:15 to 2:00. To the professional eye, I looked like a beginner my first time slipping the course. I lost my balance, I lost my edge on the particularly icy portions, and I muttered like a maniac the whole way down about how intense the course was.

On my way back up, determined to climb back on the horse (or should I say dragon?), feeling coachless and inept, I remembered who my coach is. He's not a human coach, but a coach who can command the mountain to adjust beneath my board if He wants.

The course went better. I started anticipating the launch of the jumps and the lengths of the gaps. I understood the iciness of the snow and roughness of the landings.

I'm in the hotel now, counting the bruises and wondering if I'm allowed to stuff a pillow over my tailbone for tomorrow's training. I've yet to completely board the course without slowing down. Most of today's training tried to tackle my lack-of-confidence. Every time I close my eyes, I imagine the course and how I'll dominate it tomorrow...with my Coach. He's the one who decides what "dominating" will look like. Even if it's last place, I'm following His commands.

God-Goggles

For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of His glory He may grant you to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith--that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Ephesians 3:14-20

Me before the race.

I'd never pulled myself from a start gate until the moment I entered my first course inspection. There's something unnerving about propelling myself off a ledge toward a blind jump on a course I've never boarded before (can't imagine why...). I didn't expect it to go flawlessly, but I couldn't stop the imagined movie scene of instant perfection.

Perfection is a process. This race was the very first droplet.

I took first.

Sounds impressive, right? Friends have told me I don't have to give details, but I don't feel right just leaving it at that. It's important everyone know I took first because I was the only racer in my bracket. That means, as long as I finished, I would win. It's easier to see where God takes me when we know exactly where I first stood. In this case, alone with a promised win--skilled boarding or not.

I still ran the course three times with two other racers also in their own brackets. All three races, I took "third". I crashed twice.

Daylen was proud. I was discouraged, even though I still won in my bracket. Part of me expected God would imbed some miraculous ability to be the best. But the willing ant part of me knew He was still saying, "You're not the best, Nadine. I am."

When I hiked the hill after my last race, embarassed and hoping people didn't recognize the 26-year-old stranger who thought she could come and leave an impression, I was met with a strange form of encouragement. A stranger came up to me, smiling wider than a kid on her birthday, and asked, "Are you going to try to go to Nationals?"

I stood dumbfounded, unsure what to say. Did you even see me race?

Daylen came to the rescue. "That's the plan."

Four steps later, another stranger with the same question. This time I knew the answer. "That's the plan."

Inside the lodge, as we ate nachos and waited for the little snowflake medals, the mother of another competitor asked the same thing.

"That's the plan," I said again, filled with new hope. 

Not all was lost. In fact, nothing was lost but my pride. Nationals is still an option. God put me in my own bracket to keep me humble, to keep me small, and yet to keep me on track. 

He took me a step back and showed me the race from his eyes: Daylen fasted the entire day until I finished racing. I finished safely. Despite equipment malfunctions, the race wasn't cancelled. This was my first ever boardercross race. I was promised a win while receiving three practice races at the same time. We were obedient.

God's eyes are so much more interesting to look through than mine. They bring reminders and promises, encouragement and clarity. Redirection. Too bad I can't buy a God's-eye lens for my goggles.

Now we're home with a dinky medal hanging beneath our life verse:

"Glorify the Lord with me; Let us exalt His name together." - Psalm 34:3

Our next race is part of the Hole Shot Tour in Copper Mountain, Colorado. Two days of practice followed by two days of racing. I'm not nervous. I'm not doubtful. In fact, I'm fidgety with excitement. I can't wait to hit the slopes. 

This race is big. Our God is bigger. I'm trying to keep His goggles on.

A Willing Ant

My first race is in approximately 36 hours. 

The bags are packed, the snowboard rests against the door frame, new goggles sit in their case, and the prayers have increased tenfold. I think I owe an update:

During my two months of silence, miniature trials filled the empty space. I fell into new commitments that suddenly filled my training time. I discovered I'm lactose intolerant. I found out I've developed metatarsalgia in my right foot. 

None of this felt like spiritual attack. Actually, it felt more like God saying, "This is for My glory, remember? So now I'm going to weaken you."

I was like Gideon who set out with a large army and God dwindled down the numbers until 300 men remained to fight, only instead of an army He's shaving away my own capabilities and opportunities. I've learned over the years that God is the most evident in my life when I admit my weakness and allow His strength to dominate. 

These days of trials have chipped at my confidence, which tells me my confidence is ill-placed. It needs to be redirected into God. Do I believe He's greater than my inability to train? Do I believe He's greater than metatarsalgia? Do I believe He's greater than days of illness when I indulge in milk and cheese?

Do I?

My first race is the day after tomorrow. The cherry on top of my trials came when I looked up the ski hill online to get a feel for where I'd race. 

It's a sled hill. No, worse than a sled hill, it's an anthill.

The vertical drop from top to bottom is 150 feet. The ski hill I grew up on is 2,600 feet. This...this feels like a joke. When I stared at the picture of the "park" (as they call it), my stomach sank as if the ski hill of hope inside me started melting. How in the world can I learn anything when I'm racing down this?

Where will they even put the course? 
Ten people would cause a traffic jam on the lift. 
I could hike this hill faster than the chairlift.

When I finally straightened up from my moping and entered into prayer with my husband, I saw the Raging Buffalo Snowboard Ski Park as another stamp of God's insistence to prove His sovereignty. He's sending me into nothing...so when He pulls me into something, it will scream His doing and not mine. His reputation and not mine.

And isn't that what I prayed for in the first place?

So, with my first race finally here, I step into it with a fresh acceptance of nothingness, weakness, smallness. I'm willing to be an ant. This isn't for my glory. If God wants to take a Wyoming-turned-Missouri girl from anthill to Olympics, I want to be the one He picks. He can do it. He's God. He's our God. He's my God. 

And we have a race to win.

A Calling for Two

A couple weeks ago, something changed.

Daylen and I were talking about our future. I let him do most of the talking, but my ears perked in thrill when I heard some specific words issuing from his mouth:

"We", "us", "our snowboarding adventure".

It is no longer Nadine's vision. Over time and growth, it's become our vision. He's fully and possibly subconsciously accepted this as his calling, too. It creates a whole different feeling behind how I think about racing or preparing. This knowledge dispelled worries I didn't even know I had: worry that I was taking over our lives with my passions, worry that Daylen would feel like a "follower" instead of my leader, and worry that I'd feel a little alone.

No longer. God's completed our team. It feels amazing.

Tightening the Training

Daylen and I sat down to re-analyze my work-out routine. Our skills combined equal something close to expertise.

He has a physical education degree and understands practically everything about which muscles need to be worked out for which movements and for how long. I grew up as an "assistant coach" to my ski racing older sister, so I know the anatomy of carving, the rules of racing, and the most important factors of a race.

Our resources are still limited to small-town Missouri, but we're not letting that stop us. I've upped Zumba to twice a week and now do pull-ups every day. Daylen is brainstorming a way to create a mock start-gate for me to practice.

It's fun. We are a team. I look forward to getting on the slopes when we go to Wyoming for Christmas. The schedule for my racing is set. First race is in Illinois on January 13th. Am I nervous? Sometimes. Am I excited? YES! I force myself to await our trip to Wyoming for Christmas when I will hit the slopes and tackle the holes in my bravery.

Daylen and I watched the entire hour and a half of the 2010 Vancouver Olympic women's boardercross races. He took notes. I just drooled. I decided it's a requirement that I watch these races every time I'm about to race. They leave me with inspiration, determination, and overwhelming excitement when I think of God taking me there! To bring you into some of this excitement with me, here is a clip of the women's boardercross final in the 2006 Olympics--the first Olympics of the boardercross sport.

New Zealand vs. Zumba

Doubt is like a ferret. Once it gets its head through an unintended opening, the rest of its body slips right on through. Perhaps that's where the phrase "weasel its way in" came from. Doubt has weaseled its way into my head over the past month. At first, I felt weak. I allowed the doubt to tell me I was failing with my faith in God. Then I started to think that God was allowing it to happen for a reason. He allowed doubt to get its hold to establish the impossibility of this Olympic goal. He spent weeks affirming that I can't do it.

The former Olympic Gold Medal boarder-cross racers recently started their new training regimen on the snowy slopes of New Zealand. I, on the other hand, respond with weekly Zumba work-outs, sporadic stretching, and riding my longboard down the sad little hills of Missouri.

When I step back and view my efforts to train for racing versus their efforts to train, my hope dwindles like a candle wick in its last inch of wax. Who am I to attempt challenging these professionals? Who am I to think I'm shooting for the Olympics? Who am I to think I have any talent at all for racing?

I'm a child of God. And I'm intimidated. When I'm intimidated, I ask the wrong questions. The right questions are:

Who is God to challenge the professionals? Who is God to push His daughter toward the Olympics? Who is God to give me talent for racing?

He's the One who created me alongside the professionals. He's the One who says, "For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways..." (Isaiah 55:8). He's the One who reminds me at dawn that I stepped forward to ask the impossible from Him.

So when I doubt, I doubt Him. When I'm intimidated, I'm allowing the enemy to win. When I fear, I have more faith in the antagonist than in my God. And I have to ask myself the following question:

Is this the mindset I want to have? If not, what am I doing to fight it?

If I'm willing to ask the impossible from God, I need to believe that impossible things can be done through me. With that being said, I'm going to stretch in preparation for my Zumba class tonight.

Family in the Know

Like a couple sharing happy baby news, my husband and I sat with my family over breakfast, growing more nervous by the minutes. It was time to share the "crazy" that had pulsed inside me for the previous month.

I felt this was necessary for many reasons. After putting me through six years of higher-education, it was only natural that my family would expect me to immediately pursue work in that field. It made more sense for a 15-year-old to go and tell Daddy she was going to be in the Olympics than a married 25-almost-26 (will be 27 by the Olympics)-year old. I was an adult. I should have known better than to do something so foolish!

But my Daddy was always the one to urge me toward my potential.

I decided to be blunt.

"So, Daylen and I have had a little more vision for a part of our future." Deep breath. The breakfast table goes silent. Expectant. Fluttering nerves. "I'm going to race snowboarding for the next year with the goal of going to the Olympics."

Stunned momentary silence. My Dad's jaw dropped in the most genuine shock I'd ever seen, Mom and her twin sister squealed "What?" in excited unison. My brother sat there in observatory calm, and my little sister laughed a little and whispered a passionate, "Yes!".

It all went better than I could have ever dreamed. Not a single rejection. Not a single challenge. In fact, my family did quite the opposite. They grew excited for me. Dad started talking about the different types of wax I could use for races, my older sister analyzed my training schedule and shared instructions for when I'd physically peak for the races, my little sister gave me an ab-workout list, and my Mom asked, "So when should we buy tickets to Russia?"

Daylen and I prayed that God would prepare their hearts. It's pretty clear to say He exceeded our request.