Inspiration in Spandex

I worked out really hard at the pool yesterday.  Today I'm a little stiff, a little creaky, grunting a bit when I sit or stand, but I had really good inspiration to go back for another workout in spite of the pretzelized condition of my body.

Last night Lindsey Vonn lay on the cold hard snow at the end of her downhill ski run, screaming and crying with abandon.  So spent was she that people all around stood looking down at her, wondering if they should scoop her up with a shovel and pile her into some quiet, medically safe place. 

Earlier in the broadcast, the announcer had breathlessly stated that Lindsey's shin was so sore that she could barely walk, could hardly put her right foot into her ski boot.  He said she was hobbled and sore, just like I felt today but probably 100 times worse.  At the top of a high mountain there were officials murmuring into their walkie-talkies, checking their timing equipment, looking at the markers and flags on the course.  They set skiers off at precise intervals and watched them rush away and disappear over the edge of a cliff, so steep was the mountain. 

To try to get an idea of the game, imagine you're sitting on the steepest incline, just short of vertical, that you have ever looked down.  It's covered with ice-like snow, there are curves and bumps here and there, but essentially it's a chute down which young, pretty, intelligent women streak, with slick flexible boards strapped to their feet, very fast.

Imagine you're driving on the freeway.  You're in your airbagged, comfort-controlled car, doing 65 mph, the usual cruising speed, and you look out your window and a pink blur goes past you 20 mph faster than you are traveling, all tucked down, wearing a gaudy spandex suit and a crash helmet.  She leaves you behind like you're standing still.  Tilt the road to 45 or 50 degrees, stretch the distance of the incline to 3 or 4 miles, add ice, curves, bumps, immobile trees and you've got Downhill Skiing.  Uh huh. 

So, there's Lindsey set to go in the starting gate, all trembling and twitchy up there, gloved hands gripping and regripping her poles and looking like wild horses couldn't keep her from tearing down the slope.  Then, she takes off.  It was mentioned that she uses men's skis for extra stability and speed, which takes a whole lot more strength and stamina than most women want to train into their legs.  An incredibly sore shin squashed into a hard and unforgiving ski boot is bad enough, but then ask it to handle the extra weight and torque of the bigger ski.  The "run" was a devilish course that the announcers were calling "incredibly icy, steep and difficult," and those announcers have seen a few mountains.  Her competitors were crashing left and right, launching into the blue vault of the sky and landing like beanbags at 70 mph.  The mountainside was littered with bashed-up skiers and their equipment. 

She blasts like a wild woman down that steep and crazy mountain, favoring the screamingly painful right leg, not taking no for an answer, throwing every bit of her desire into the moment, sometimes skiing on one ski when she needed to be solidly on two.  She was skiing almost literally by the seat of her pants at times.  She gave it everything she had and beat the second-place girl by half a second.  Then, she collapsed and commenced crying.  Just like she had lost something, not won.

Some wondered if she was happy or unhappy, what was she feeling?  I don't think anyone but she can really know.  She took her talent and vision to a level that we usually never stop to imagine as remotely possible.  Good for Lindsey and her blazing effort, her persistence and her incredible courage.  She inspired me. 

In my world, Lindsey Vonn got me out to the pool even though I was a little sore, a little creaky, and inspired me to get back at it once more.  Thank you, Lindsey Vonn, for giving me a new vision of inspiration and drive.  I need it every so often, even if it is ever so slight compared to what you have in spades.