The hour drive up to Giants Ridge was killing me. Last week I had just competed to go to the state competition and I made it. The only girl on my team that went to state that year, I
didn’t think I deserved it. Sure, I worked hard and was the fastest skier on the team, but I lacked confidence in my skills. Everyone was proud of me. Just getting to state was great, and it didn’t matter how I’d place. Maybe I’m too hard on myself, but it’s good to have goals. This all builds character, right? Then why am I so wrapped up over one medal? I have more at home.

I kept reminding myself of my coaches’ and friends’ advice: “Just have fun, you’ve made it as far as you can in the game.”

Why did placing matter so much? I’m here. Not everyone gets to be here like I can.

The morning of the race, it was setting in that I’ll place in the middle — nothing special. The weather conditions were good: a bit of a breeze, but just enough to keep the snow from turning into slush. After the course inspection I felt confident — the course seemed easy enough, so I should be fine. I waited at the bottom of the hill and watched how the other girls ran the course. The fastest girls went first, and when they got to the steep part of the course, all of them fell or skied out. “This was my chance!” I thought and felt a bit of hope. But as soon as I got into the start gate my hope was gone. What if I fell too? They’re the best in this league. I’ll obviously fall if they did.

Through my racing mind I hear: “Racer, go when ready. It’s all you.”

I launch out of the steep ramp and into the course with confidence. Making round turns that were my best of the season. After 40 girls raced it, the course had patchy ice spots, and it was tough for me to get through the beginning. I was thrown around like a hot potato in that course and was worn out after it all. I was too tired to keep going, and my feet weren’t fast enough. I couldn’t just ski out and give up. I had to keep going. Just 30 more seconds, I kept thinking. When I crossed the finish line, my time was 42 seconds on the dot. Fastest time was around 40 seconds. With my time, I beat over half the girls, so it wasn’t bad, but in my mind it wasn’t great either.

It came time for the second and final run of the season. This was for all the marbles and would make or break my moment. I realized I had more of a chance than I thought, because many of the girls had failed to complete the first course. During the inspection, I made sure to take a good look at the course: a lot of turns, requiring very quick feet. There were many bumps on the slope and the sun was coming out, so as the snow melted, I knew it was going to get ugly. As I waited in the gate I was so nervous that I was visibly shaking — how embarrassing. A lot of pressure was on this run and it was all setting in now. The girl behind me was trying to make small talk about the weather, but I could only respond with short answers because of how loud my head was pounding.

Then again, through it all I hear: “Racer, go when ready. You got this.”

I gave it my all and launched out the gate, shooting down the ramp. The snow was extremely slushy, so I tried to be light and quick. I weaved through a set of gates, but my ski cut too close and hit the gate straight on, whipping my leg backward, sending me out of focus and my arms flailing trying to balance. I didn’t fall, but I had to get back in it otherwise I’d be disqualified. I was heartbroken at the fact I just threw away my chance, but I had barely any time to feel anything besides the determination to get back in it. I hike up the hill, and I try to get back in rhythm with the course. I’m so tired from hiking up the steepest part of the hill, but I still have a good 40 seconds left What if I fell too? They’re the best in this league. I’ll obviously fall if they did to go so I push through it. In the end, I didn’t even push or reach for the finish line to reduce my time as much as possible. I was frustrated, disappointed, and sad that I just screwed up the most important race for me. My head was pounding, and I couldn’t get it to stop. My mind kept telling me I shouldn’t have made it here in the first place, I wasn’t good enough to be here, why am I even here if I just mess up? It was all hitting me at once and in a failed attempt to keep my composure, I started crying.

My coaches, teammates, parents, and friends surrounded me trying to comfort me, but I just wanted to be angry and sad alone.

“Good job sticking with it, champ.”

“Hey you’re only a ninth grader, you have three more years!”

They kept telling me all these things, but none of it felt real. It felt like just because they’re my friends, coaches, and parents they had to say that. I couldn’t control my emotions at that moment and I kept pushing my family away and was acting impulsive. When it was finally time for awards I decided to go and support my friends, but deep down I was hating every second of it. I was happy for them but I couldn’t help but beat myself up over it all. They gave out medals to the top ten skiers and honorable mention for the top 25. Once everything started to build up and they were announcing the top three fastest girl skiers in the entire state, a switch in my world just flipped. Seeing them triumphantly walk up the staircase and seeing who was on the absolute top made me want to be just like them. I wanted to be the skier everyone hoped would mess up or fall during their run so everybody else had a chance. I wanted to be the skier everyone would look out for when they read the starting line up list. I wanted to be the best in the league. I want to be known. That race I will always look back to and still get that same rush. I realized that day that mistakes can happen, and you just have to accept them just as you would accept a victory. There will be challenges that will make or break you, and you just have to go with the flow — and don’t let the little inconveniences sink the whole ship.