Page 31 of Ski You Later (Alpine Glow #1)
I couldn’t be more proud of my girl.
With a smoothie in my belly and protein bars filling all my pockets, I try and get rid of the stress that fills my body.
Our small rental was alive at five am and athletes filled the room as they ate their oatmeal.
All of yesterday’s struggles were forgotten as everyone readied themselves for the tough race ahead.
I smile at the texts I received when I woke up. Mom, Dad, Henry, and Carlos, all wishing me luck this weekend. That was followed by a link of the dress I have to wear to the wedding as well as a million questions about Roman.
Putting a pin in those questions, I keep my focus on the race ahead instead of my pretend love life.
Rachel and Liane are both needed on course today, so we asked a neighbouring teams coach to help us all clip into our skis at the start. Since our race skis want to touch the snow as little as possible, it’s always helpful to ask a coach to clip us in.
There are many rules when it comes to race day at the professional level. Long hair must be tied back or braided. Face masks aren’t worn for fear that they could cause a millisecond of drag. Tons of athletes have certain socks, gloves, or an article of clothing that’s only worn on race day.
It can get out of hand sometimes, with some athletes believing they will crash if they don’t do their pre-race ritual. Luckily, I don’t have that level of superstition when it comes to the sport, and I can perform no matter what socks I have on.
Aurora and I inspected together this morning and her eyes caught onto terrain changes that I stupidly looked past. We then quickly went back up the chair and discussed the various problem spots we would encounter of this race.
It wasn’t too long after that when I found myself standing beside the start gate and screaming like a mad woman as my best friend started her run. As the countdown finished, Aurora’s powerful body threw herself off the starting ramp and she flew onto the course .
It only takes a few powerful pushes until she puts her arms forward and forms a perfect tuck. From beside the starting hut, we’re only privy to the first three gates of the course, and then lose her after the steep drop of the pitch.
Right after losing view of Aurora, I do the same thing for Isla and then go back to the team’s spot.
We have reserved a corner of the start area by throwing all our jackets and skis into a giant pile. The other girls are currently all chilling here, wrapping themselves up in their jackets as they complain about the cold.
I roll my eyes at the bunch since they didn’t cheer for Aurora or Isla, and walk a ways away. Picking up the team radio, I ask one of the coaches to give me a course report on how the course is looking so far.An answer doesn’t come right away, so I give it a minute before I ask again.
With still no response, I decide to take off my jacket and zip off my snow pants. My light pink speed suit seems to glow in these cloudy conditions. The white lines going up my arms and legs, hugging my body like a glove and doing nothing but accentuate my figure.
Grabbing my curved poles, I moved away from the group and start to swing my legs as high as they can go.
I can’t hyper fixate on all my fears when I need my attention on trying not to kick anyone.
As my breath freezes right before my eyes, I am encouraged to keep moving even more.
Inactive muscles will be the end of me if I cramp up during my run.
At this point Isla should be done her run, but the radio remains silent as I prepare for myself. I mentally go over the course again as I highlight all the points my best friend highlighted for me. Try my best, don’t give up, and stay strong.
Those words go through my head as the course coordinator yells out the bib numbers needed at the start area.
The girls slowly dwindle from our group as their bibs are called, and I don’t bother cheering for any of them as I focus on myself.
Calvin and his friends make a quick appearance to grab everyone’s gear, but I barely pay attention as I calm my mind.
When I’m done centering myself, I’m not surprised to see that my jacket and pants are left in the snow.
Calvin’s obviously still upset about yesterday, and I don’t have the time to even care at this point.
I’ve trained so hard over the summer and on snow, so this is the time to show everyone my progress.
As I see the athlete’s bib numbers enter the seventies, I pick up my race skis and head to the lineup.
There are ten girls ahead of me, and I look for another team’s coach that can help me clip into my skis.
As I enter the lineup, the volunteers pull the girl out of the start gate and inform everyone that it’s currently a stop-start. This meaning that the racer ahead has crashed, or there’s an issue with the course, so they have to stop the running.
I don’t stress about this as I pump out some squats and focus on what’s to come. There are nine girls in front of me now, and even though it’s a stop-start, I need to put on my skis at this point.
I’m shaking like a leaf as I drop them both down and watch as they slap onto the snow. Nerves worm their way into my system, and I try to push them aside as I begin to clip myself into my race skis.
A figure quickly approaches me in my periphery, sliding onto their knees and quickly grabbing my raised ankle. I whip my gaze to my left, seeing Roman kneeling to the ground below me with a screwdriver in his hand and my unzipped jacket on his shoulders.
He’s breathing heavily, as if he raced to get here, and he looks up at me with a guilty expression. “Rhodes. I. Am. So. Sorry.” Every word out of his mouth comes with a gasp of air, and he starts to work right away .
He takes the screwdriver and clears any ice built up off of my ski boots, and then proceeds to clean the snow out of my binding.
The way he hunches his body to the ground just to make sure my skis are clean makes my heart swell.
This feeling only increases as he clips in my next foot with the same level of intensity and care.
The race is back in full swing now, the girls in front of me dropped down to three and I didn’t even notice. My body starts to shake with nerves, since the first race is one of the most important.
Roman stands to his full height in front of me, with my helmet, boots and skis, I am just able to reach his shoulder.
My goggles are still on the rim of my helmet as I look up at him and I try for a reassuring smile.
It comes out as more of a grimace as the fear fully grips me, and I can’t do anything as I look ahead with paralyzing fear.
Fear of falling. The fear of letting everyone down. The fear that I this is just another aspect in my life that can be easily ripped out of my grasp.
Concern forms behind Romans eyes, obviously thinking my intense trembling is from the cold. Without me uttering a word, he reassures me and starts to rub up and down my arms .
“Hey, it’s alright. You are going to kick ass, Langley. Now start moving, you will freeze if you are standing still.”
I do as he says, thankful he can’t read my thoughts as I stomp my feet up and down, Roman continuing to warm me up. The volunteer ushers me into the starting hut, informing me that I am on deck.
As I stand here, I can see the giant clock, counting down the time for the racer to go.
Volunteers surround the racer in gate, writing down their number and asking questions.
The starting hut volunteer tried to usher Roman out, but every athlete gets a coach in the start, and he has taken up that role.
Before I can think twice, I turn to him.
“I’m not ready.” Fear is crawling up my throat and I’m shaking like a leaf as I watch the racer in front of me prepare.
What if I fail and I get my sponsorships pulled?
What if I lose my place on the team? We don’t have many races a season, meaning every one is essential.
Roman blocks my path swiftly, his gloved hand lightly grasping my chin and tipping it up.
“Listen to me.” His harsh words are at a contrast with his other hand that lands on my hip.
“You’re ready. You train every weekend, and you’re one hell of a racer.
I know it without a doubt. I know that you know it as well.
Now, go out there and show everyone what we already know. ”
He looks at me with such confidence as he grabs my goggles and places them on my eyes. The cheering from in front of me bring my attention to the now empty starting gate.
Roman’s hand is at my lower back, pushing me towards the gate. The giant red and black clock faces me, counting down two minutes. I can feel Roman lean in, his hands giving my waist a quick squeeze. “This is your race, Love.”
The cold immediately replaces his warm body as he removes his hand, and now all I can lean on is his confidence. I can do this; it’s my race and now I need to show everyone else that.
The volunteer to my left leans in close. “Rhodes Langley. Bib number seventy-five. Are you ready?”
I put my poles on the slope of the start ramp, bending my back so that it’s completely flat and breathing in steadily. I nod at the volunteer’s question and face forward to the course.
The clock has entered its last ten seconds as a loud beep sounds from my right.
“Racer ready.”
“3.” BEE P
“2.” BEEP
“1.” BEEP
I put all my strength into my arms as my body hovers in the air for a fraction of a second before tripping the timing wand at my shins.
A roar of cheering sounds at my back, and I can only assume it’s coming from a certain fake boyfriend.
But I put that information to the side for now as I focus on what’s to come.
With everything I have, I push myself and use the guards strapped to my arms to hit away the first gate. Using the momentum from the contact, I use my last burst of explosive energy and form my tuck.
The second and third gates come at me fast, but I stay strong as I try to build my speed.
Breaking my tuck, I absorb the turn of the pitch and prepare for it to become more turny.
I keep my body actively moving forward in order to stay on top of things.
As soon as a racer falls below the gates, they lose their whole line, which means they lose the race.
The wind is howling through my helmet as I fly through this course. The sound of the choppy ice below me meeting the sharpest skis I own and creating a grating noise that fills the space.
That noise is music to my ears at this point in my career, and I brace myself for the main pitch to come. It approaches fast and I know that the gate below is a cranker. If I have any chance of making it, I need to prepare for it.
With leg strength I didn’t think I had, I flip my gigantic skis in the direction of the next gate and dive in fast. The contact my arm makes with the gate ricochets through my body, and the resulting sound of the gate hitting the ice causing a loud boom to sound.
I smile as the adrenaline course through me and try to let my instincts take over. The main pitch is always the hardest, and since I started so far back, choppy ice ruts litter every turn.
If I want to place in this race, I need to ski higher above the gates than the racers before me. While this could cost me time wise, it will be a hell of a lot faster than being stuck in those ruts.
The terrain flattens out as I near the bottom, and I can see the finish line only three gates ahead. The sounds of cheering start to fill my helmet and I suppress a smile as I reform my tuck.
My quads are on fire as the lactic acid tightens my muscles to a point of pain, and I hold my shaky position as much as possible.
Keeping my skis flat to the snow, I allow the wax to do its job and help fly me to the end of this course.
With the very last amount of my energy I have, I punch my hand out of my tight tuck and trip the timing monitor.
Muscle memory helps me bring my skis to a stop and I look at the stadium sized television stationed at the end of the finish corral.
There are stands scattered in a U shape around the finish area, as well as people swarming up to the fence.
The announcer’s voice then booms over everyone and informs the crowd of my placement.
“Rhodes Langley of the Polar Bear Ski Team. Bib number seventy-five had a time of one minute and thirty-seven seconds. This puts this athlete one second off of our race leader and into seventh place.”
I almost don’t believe my eyes as the screen displays my name moving up the ranks and settling in seventh place.
Seventh.
Seventh place out of over a hundred female athletes. Everything was worth it in the end because I managed to be top ten in my first race. An embarrassing squeal leaves my lips before I can stop it, but I’m too happy to even care.
Pride fills me when I see Aurora’s avatar standing in first and Isla’s down in third. My best friend deserved the win for this race, and I can’t wait to see her on the podium .
Volunteers are yelling in my direction, and I skate to the exit fence with a giant smile taking over my features.
They congratulate me as they usher me out the exit fence.
Letting my pole straps dangle to my elbows, I put my goggles on the rim of my helmet and search for the team.
I spy Charles, Liam, Isla, and Aurora all huddling together to the left, smiles plastered on everyone’s faces as they try to look for me in the crowd.
Clipping my skis off beside the rest of the groups, I run as fast as my ski boots will let me and tackle Aurora from behind. My joy was not only for my own score. Seeing Aurora Roberts in first place made my excitement explode.
“YOU WON! YOU WON OUR FIRST RACE!” I’m jumping and crying as I hold my best friend in joy.
“I FUCKING WON BITCH!” She screams in my ear as we jump in each other’s arms. I can feel another strong set of arms wrap around us as Charles gets involved, followed by both Isla and Liam.
My friend group might have some internal turmoil happening at the minute, but I couldn’t be more grateful as we feel happy for everyone.
I notice the genuine joy radiating from Isla, and it make my heart sink the tiniest bit.
It reminds me that she’s not aware of Aurora’s feelings towards Liam, and thus herself.
With a big sigh, I leave the issue for another day.
I give all my friends an individual hug, as everyone radiates joy for the women’s race. The guys ask us to cycle back up quickly since they want us to take their jacket and pants down.
I then realize that my stuff is still at the top of the course, so I have to go back up anyway to get my gear.
As I walk towards my skis and poles, the force of a battering ram slams into me from the side.