...Or browse through my archive of entries below!

Below you'll find that I posted a whole backlog of blogs from my old website and from when I was blogging from the 2010 Olympics for King 5 News.  Rereading my passages from the Olympics brings back memories of a magical and uplifting experience.  I think it's good revisit that kind of stuff every once in awhile.

What’s happening up here in Whistler, you ask? This town is teeming with yoga.

Yoga? Yep, I said it, yoga.

If you are having visions of the streets of Whistler packed with people practicing yoga, that’s not exactly what I’m getting at, although I guess its not too far from the truth… Certainly, some Olympic athletes prepare their bodies and minds for competition through yoga, and the Whistler Lululemon store is offering daily free yoga classes throughout the Games, but I’m more talking about the ‘true’ meaning of yoga.

Many Westerners credit yoga for being a great workout or stretch, which it is, but the meaning and purpose of yoga extends far beyond physical benefits. It is a state of mind and a way of being. In my admittedly biased opinion (as an Olympian and yoga instructor), there is no better setting to observe that yogic state of mind or way of being than at the Olympics Games.

The word ‘yoga’ means union of mind, body, and spirit. One of my yoga teachers always said, “yoga is the cessation of fluctuations of the mind.” That is, yoga happens when awareness is drawn completely to the present moment, allowing the often-frenetic mind to come into stillness.

It’s funny because I used to describe racing downhill as a very similar kind of state. Even though skiing 85mph down a mountain is totally crazy and chaotic, my experience racing downhill would always be amazingly serene and silent. All physical sensation would fall away—the sound of my skis rattling over ice, the bite of cold wind on my face, any pain from injuries. I became deeply involved in the present moment. When I skied through the finish, my senses would turn back on. I’d start to hear the roar of the crowd, feel the cold air in my lungs, and realize the ache in my feet from my tight boots. The contrast was dramatic. When my mind started darting to the scoreboard, to analyzing my race, to judging my performance, I’d recall the stillness of my run and think, “THAT was nice.”

THAT was yoga. That was cessation of fluctuations of the mind. Olympic athletes experience this every time they compete. A state of total focus, total presence. In essence, focused competition is meditation in its own right.

Even if you’d rather leave the danger and adrenaline to the Olympians, with a little awareness and effort, anyone can access the present moment. I’ll admit it is easier said than done, but it is such a powerful, vital place to be.

As I watched the opening ceremonies a couple of weeks ago, I felt the attention of the world converge on the Pacific Northwest. I couldn’t help but be moved by the notion that, for once, the eyes of world were looking toward a single place for peaceful reasons rather than destructive ones. After all, the Olympics provide a rare occasion for the world to come together to celebrate values like excellence, fairness, respect, peace, and personal growth, not to clash over politics, resources, or war.

While I walked the streets of Whistler Village the past two weeks, I overheard diverse languages and admired colorful fans. It is impossible to ignore that this is an international party just as much as it is an athletic competition. People have come together from all corners of the earth to spectate and to celebrate. Although I’d rather it didn’t take a sporting event to get people to come together in peace and celebration, it still is a beautiful thing.

So what’s so yogic about this international party known as the Olympics? It’s symbolic. Through our collected attention, we are reminded that, despite geographic distance or language barrier, the world is inescapably interconnected. The Olympics represent overlapping world culture and commerce. The Games highlight shared values, and they promote peace over disturbance. Yogic philosophy says that the universe is a dance of energy in flux. At the Olympics, the dance of energy somehow becomes more palpable.

At the Olympics, yoga is everywhere. It is a heightened state of mind, and it is a way to see our world.

And still, the yoga of the Olympics extends far beyond the actual Games. It is the sparkle in the eye of the nine year-old watching her Olympic hero compete. It is the celebratory jumps of the inspired fan cheering from home.

Yoga is simply tapping into the joy already present in your own heart, and letting it shine bright. Like gold.

Statistically, Andrew Weibrecht wasn’t a medal contender. After all, he hasn’t been on the podium in a single World Cup race ever. But despite the odds, Andrew’s skiing was consistent and strong coming into the Games. In his third full season on the World Cup circuit, he is skiing with new maturity and tact. Without a doubt, Andrew was my dark horse for the Super G.

At only 5’6” Andrew is the shortest speed skier on the men’s World Cup speed circuit, but his presence is huge. I have never seen any athlete, in any sport, compete with as much tenacity and intensity as Andrew. His famous 2007 downhill run at the Beaver Creek World Cup says it all. It is the most courageous and athletic skiing I have ever seen. (See: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_eAElauc3E) It is through these gritty performances that we see why Andrew lives up to the nickname “The Warhorse.”

My respect for Warhorse extends far beyond my admiration for his athletic prowess. Not only were we teammates while I was still racing on the U.S. Ski Team, but we attended Dartmouth College together for several years, where Andrew is still a student. Basically, Andrew is just a good guy. He is humble and grounded, fun and playful. He is comfortable in his own skin, and he’ll do anything for the people that he cares about. It is for these reasons that I was bubbling with excitement to watch my friend compete in his first Olympics.

In addition to my analyst work for KING 5, I am also commentating the alpine ski events for NBC Radio. Because I have to remain objective and professional while I call the races from the broadcast booth, I can’t let personal reactions slip out when my friends and former teammates cross the finish line. That means I was forced to sit through an excruciating twenty-seven racers after Andrew ran number three before I could take off my headset and celebrate his bronze medal performance.

Once I was free from the booth, I literally burst out the door and started screaming and jumping up and down. After the first thirty, Warhorse was sitting in third place. THIRD PLACE! I could hardly contain myself. I sprinted to the media “mixed zone” for my other job of getting on-camera interviews with athletes for KING 5 and other news affiliates. While I was in my position waiting for the athletes to start filing through, I had a hard time standing still. I couldn’t wait to see Andrew and congratulate him.

When the Warhorse finally started making his way to me, my energy began to shift. As I watched him walk up to me in person, the magnitude of what he accomplished hit me. Tears came to my eyes. I gave him a huge hug and told him how proud I was of him. I don’t know if Andrew noticed any tears coming down behind my sunglasses during his interview, but they were there. After the interview was over, I cried. I don’t think I have never felt so genuinely happy for someone else in my life.

Why did watching Andrew win an Olympic medal carry so much meaning? It’s pretty simple, really. He’s my friend and he’s a tremendous guy. I genuinely want the best for him because I know he wants the same for me.

When I reflect on those tears of joy, I am reminded of what really matters during this crazy Olympic frenzy: An Olympic medal is great, but it is great because of the individual on whom it hangs. No matter how many medals the United States racks up, they are meaningless without the stories and the people behind them.

After Lindsey took the gold in the women’s downhill, and Julia raked in the silver in both the downhill and the Combined, veteran skier Bode Miller pointed out that, “As soon as you see your teammates experience that joy, it makes it much more real, much more accessible. It makes [the younger skiers] reach for it a lot more authentically.” In essence, he says, when a teammate does well it makes everyone on the team want a piece of the same success.

It’s fair to say that the Team’s early success in these Olympics may have helped fuel the Warhorse to his medal. In his usual simple fashion, Andrew agreed, “A little bit of momentum goes a long way.”

Fitting words for a little guy who just achieved a really big dream.

I can’t emphasize enough the magnitude of what Lindsey and Julia accomplished by taking the number one and two positions yesterday. Not only was Lindsey the first American female to win Olympic downhill gold, but it was the first time Americans took two medals in an Olympic alpine skiing competition in over twenty years. What’s more, in a sport where winners are normally determined by mere hundredths of a second, Lindsey and Julia beat the bronze medalist by 1.46 and 0.56 seconds respectively, a huge and convincing margin in ski racing.

What set these two women so far apart from the rest of the field?

According to Thomas Vonn, Lindsey’s husband and closest on-hill companion, “It’s determination.” He claims that his wife is the most determined competitor out there, and that even though her shin injury derailed their original plan coming into the Games, she gritted her teeth and fought through the pain with signature determination.

Likewise, Lindsey admits that because of her shin injury, which forced her to forgo any on-snow training for two weeks leading into the Games and place an exceedingly heavy emphasis on simply “getting healthy,” she did not have the ideal preparation coming into her first race. She couldn’t just coast into the Games on the wake of what’s been a dominant season on the World Cup circuit like she had originally planned. Instead, she had to spend time explaining her injury to media rather than training, and had to undergo hours of physical therapy rather than soak in the opening ceremonies. Every single thing that Lindsey has done for the last four years has been geared toward these Olympics. This setback wasn’t in the plan.

Julia Mancuso has struggled to find the same groove she had during her World Cup dominance three years ago. Her lackluster results the last two seasons caused critics to question whether she’ll ever regain the top form she had during her 2007 run for the overall World Cup title. But despite her extended absence from the podium, Jules said she knew “the speed was there.” She said, “I just never stopped believing in myself,” and maintained faith that her results eventually would come around. Although Julia didn’t exactly have the track record a top skier would like heading into the Olympics, she had unconditional belief in herself.

And she made it work. Julia laid down the run of her life in the Olympic downhill. She skied confidently through the bumpy and challenging course, a course that caused seven racers to ski out or crash. She wasn’t sure her time would hold up, but sure enough, racer after racer failed to challenge her for the top spot.

That is, until teammate Lindsey Vonn came down. The pressure for Lindsey was tremendous. As her former teammate, even I had intense butterflies in my stomach as Lindsey stood in the start gate. But Lindsey did exactly what she does best: compete. The confidence and composure Lindsey brought to her Olympic run was inspiring. It wasn’t a perfect run, but the impressive part was Lindsey’s presence and patience as she kept pointing her skis in the fall line. I was not surprised when Lindsey came down in the lead. She’s the best female skier in the world and she showed why.

Lindsey says that finally achieving her childhood dream of winning Olympic gold is the best feeling she’s ever had in her entire life.  When asked about her mindset before the race, Lindsey said, “It’s not as easy as just saying ‘you can do it.’ I knew Julia was nine tenths ahead so I knew I had to ski an aggressive run. No one is going to give it to me for free. I have to go out there and get it. I have to earn it.”

As I listened to Lindsey and Julia reflect on their historic competition in the finish area, I couldn’t help but think, “This is why Americans love the Olympics so much.” It’s the inspiration these athletes so deftly deliver.  For both women, things weren’t going exactly as they would have liked leading into the Olympics, but Lindsey and Julia continued to believe in themselves, and both competed with true determination.

No matter who you are, or what you do, we all can relate to Lindsey and Julia’s journey in one way or another. Just like Olympic athletes, every one of us has some degree of drive to be “good.” To be “better.” To be a better parent, a better friend, a better employee, a better citizen. Better at something. And just like athletes, it’s safe to say that we’ve all been against the odds. We’ve all had our plans derailed. We’ve all had our ability questioned.

So what can we take away from the women’s Olympic downhill race?

Setbacks are common. What matters is how you deal with them. As every one of us is certain to face adversity in the future, can we believe in ourselves regardless of circumstance like Julia? Or can we confront challenges with the same gritty determination as Lindsey?

Regardless of what it is you want in life, like Lindsey wisely said, no one is going to give it for you for free. And like Lindsey did, you have to go out there and get it.

You thought it was best-skier-wins? Most of the time. But not always. Who reaches the finish line fastest is a complex equation. This is the maddening yet beautiful essence of the ski racing. And it is one of the reasons why Olympic medals carry so much meaning. A medal not only represents an outstanding athletic performance, it also represents the magic of everything falling into place… On the right day, and in the right way.

Athletes train all their lives for an Olympic competition that’s over in what seems like a blink of an eye. And yesterday, everything fell into place for Swiss skier Didier Defago, who at the age of 32 is the oldest man to win an Olympic gold medal in downhill. For him, everything fell into place at the right time, “Today everything was right. My technique was right, my line was right.”

But everything was “right” for Bode, too. He skied a near perfect race. He was aerodynamic, aggressive with his line, extremely smooth on his edges, and didn’t make any mistakes. So why was Didier on top of the podium when Bode was third?

Variables. Such influential ones, in fact, that Bode’s proximity to the gold reveals what a tremendous performance he actually gave.

Ski racing is highly reliant on finely tuned equipment and takes place outdoors in the uncontrollable elements. For these reasons, there are countless variables that factor into a racer’s final result completely independent of his athletic performance. We’re talking snow conditions, weather conditions, visibility, air temperature, snow temperature, ski wax, you name it. The variables are complex, but for today, we’ll just stick to visibility.

Bode ran bib number eight in yesterday’s downhill race, a relatively early start number. For the racers running in the top fifteen, the cloudy weather conditions were such that the light was extremely flat. When ski racers can’t see any definition in the snow surface—which is the case in flat light—things tend to catch them by surprise. Bumps knock the racers around more, and they are challenged to find the right body position for the respective pitch of the hill. This usually results in more tentative skiing, which tends to be slow.

Despite Bode’s limited ability to anticipate undulations in the terrain due to the flat light, he skied a balanced and solid race. After racer number fifteen, however, the sun started to peak through the clouds creating much improved visibility for the racers starting later in the field. It was during this improved window of visibility that Bode’s time was defeated. Racing bib number 16, Norwegian Aksel Lund Svindal nabbed Bode by two hundredths. And two racers later, Defago came in nine hundredths ahead of Bode.

Not to say that Svindal and Defago didn’t each ski a good race. They both skied very well and they both capitalized on favorable conditions. That’s ski racing.

But in essence, Svindal and Defago skied a totally different race than Bode. Bode didn’t have the same luxury that they had, the luxury of actually seeing the bumps in the snow. Bumps that weren’t there in the training run but had solidified with the cold temperatures that finally arrived the night before. Yet Bode skied the course just as smoothly and aggressively as Svindal and Defago did. He stomped it. And he could probably barely see the ground.

Mother Nature set Bode up against some pretty major odds, yet Bode skied with the confidence and composure of the experienced athlete that he is. For him to be that competitive, despite the unfavorable conditions he was dealt, shows what an outstanding day he really had.

There’s a lot behind Bode’s bronze. It was a true athletic feat. And, like Defago, I’m sure he’ll find the day where everything, every variable, finally falls into place.

Maybe you’ve heard, Lindsey Vonn, the chosen 2010 Olympics media sweetheart, revealed that she sustained a painful shin injury while training slalom last week in Austria. At a press conference yesterday, U.S. Ski Team doctor William Sterett confirmed that Lindsey has a deep muscle contusion on her shin at the top of her boot cuff.

I’ve had this same injury—most ski racers have—and I can attest that Lindsey’s pain is both intense and distracting. Ski racers must apply constant, dynamic pressure to the front of their boots in order to get their skis to carve. That means Lindsey will have to press her tender shin muscles very aggressively into the front of her boot just to make her skis turn.

To put it in perspective, imagine the most tender bruise you’ve ever had, then imagine someone pressing your body’s weight worth of pressure onto that bruise. But not just a constant pressure, a repetitive “bumpy” pressure. After all, as ski racers negotiate a Downhill course, they are traveling upwards of 80 miles per hour and their skis are rattling over bumpy terrain and inconsistent snow conditions. The shins take tremendous and unrelenting force.

So I’ll be the first to agree, Lindsey’s injury will be uncomfortable and distracting. But I can also say with confidence that Lindsey’s injury will not keep her from competing in these Games. She didn’t let her famous crash in 2006 prevent her from competing in the Olympics, and she certainly won’t let this less severe injury keep her from competing for her dream here in 2010. Lindsey is tough, and it is in the face of adversity that we discover who the true champions are.

If anything, Lindsey’s injury levels the playing field. Lindsey isn’t the only athlete in pain. I bet almost every ski racer competing in these Olympics is dealing with some kind of ache or injury. In fact, I would say that competing in pain is more of the norm in ski racing rather than the exception. Just yesterday I rode up the chairlift with a competitor from another country and she informed me that she broke her rib four days ago, but would prefer that people not know about it. And Andrew Weibrecht, one of our American speed skiers, is competing with an injured shoulder, hip, and even some dental issues, after a bad crash he had while training last week. Injuries are just part of the game. It comes down to how you deal with them.

I am confident that Lindsey will rise up and overcome this setback. That is, if they can actually race…

As many feared, Northwest weather is plaguing the alpine venues already. Yesterday, the men’s Downhill training run was canceled half-way through the field due to fog, and today the women’s Downhill training run was canceled after American Stacey Cook crashed into the safety netting running bib number two. Temperatures are warm and snow conditions are soft. Much softer than the consistent, icy conditions the athletes are accustomed to on the World Cup circuit.

And the forecast doesn’t look a whole lot better. In the ski racing world, we often say, “If you want snow, then schedule a downhill race.” I think it’s Murphey’s Law: when you most need the sky to be clear in order to hold a downhill race, that’s when you get a horrible snowstorm or fog.

Safe downhill conditions require that athletes be able to see where they’re going, and that the snow surface be firm and consistent. Anything less than that is extremely dangerous when you are traveling 80 miles an hour. Because the window for acceptable racing conditions is so narrow, that means race delays, holds, and cancellations are pretty common to downhill racing.

It is a huge mental challenge to be an athlete at the start preparing for a race or training run, only to find out that there is a 30-minute hold due to poor visibility. There’s not enough time to go to the lodge to take off your gear, but it’s too long to remain in your “race-ready” mental state. When this happens—and it can happen repeatedly over the course of a day—athletes have to just hang out at the start area waiting for the race or training to resume... And when it does, the warm up and mental preparation process begins again. It’s a very exhausting rollercoaster, both mentally and physically. But when it’s clear visibility and good snow conditions, let me tell you, it’s GO time. And you only get one shot.

In ski racing, delays and bad weather are just part of the game. Like injuries, it comes down to which athlete is best able to set the distractions aside and execute when it counts.

But the purpose of my trip two years ago couldn’t be more different than it was today.  Then, I was traveling to Whistler to compete in the 100^th World Cup race of my career, to get a first-look at the brand new Olympic Downhill course. At the time, I had two bulging disks in my lower back and degenerating cartilage in my knee. But I had determination in my heart. I had my sights set on the 2010 Olympics.

Today, I traveled to Whistler not as a competitor, but as a spectator. And, of course, as a KING 5 Olympic Analyst. People ask me if it will be hard to watch these Olympic Games and not be competing. My answer is, for the most part, no. Not really. I’ll explain why.

I was on the United States Ski Team for ten years. I underwent four major knee surgeries and endured countless other injuries. I won a National Title. I achieved my dream of becoming an Olympian in 2006. I surmounted odds every time I overcame a setback. I accomplished more than I honestly ever thought was possible for a petite 5’3” speed racer. My old soccer coach used to tell me to “leave it on the field.” Well, I can definitely say that, with ski racing, I “left it on the hill.” Every moment I was racing or training, I gave everything I had. When you operate like that, there is truly no valid reason to have regrets or to wish that things had gone differently. Ten years as a professional athlete is a long time. I had my time.

And I loved it... Most of the time. There was so much pain and discomfort towards the end that it started to cloud the joy. I became a ski racer because I love skiing. But at that point I honestly wasn’t doing much skiing anymore. I essentially had to “dose” my on-hill training, and cut out freeskiing altogether, in order to save my body for the races. And when I was racing, I felt uncomfortable and robotic with my back and knee strapped in tight braces. It simply wasn’t as fun as it used to be.

But now that I’ve walked away from professional ski racing, I am no longer placing such tremendous demands on my body and joints. I am healthy, pain free, and I can ski. For fun. As I bomb around Crystal Mountain with my family and friends, I get to reconnect with what got me started in the first place. I’ll be the first to admit, as much as I loved ski racing, ripping through fluffy powder instead of teeth-chattering ice is pretty nice.

I think people want me to say that it will be hard to watch the Olympics. I suppose in some ways watching these Games will tug at my heartstrings a bit—especially since my intention to compete in these Olympics was a public goal, and there are very few things in my life that I’ve said I’d do and don’t follow through to completion—but mostly I have total faith that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

I had my reasons to walk away from ski racing and these Olympics, and I have my reasons to love where I am today. When I watch these Olympics, rather than see the things I forwent by leaving ski racing, I really see what I have. And I have so much. I have full and fond memories of a successful athletic career. I have my health. My favorite pastime is something I once called a “job.” And I still have the 2010 Olympics. Just in a completely different capacity than what I once thought.

And in many ways, better. Being here as a spectator and news analyst is a completely different ball game. Now, I get the privilege of being in the middle of the Olympic excitement, but I can soak in the energy rather than put a barrier up to it, which is what I had to when I was competing in Torino in order to stay calm and focused. Nope, this time around, I’ll be an Olympic sponge. The more the better.

Plus, I get to experience the Games from the other side of the camera. I will learn what goes into broadcasting such a grand event. I get the opportunity to help promote the sport and the athletes that I care so deeply about. And by helping tell the athletes’ incredible stories, I get to help spread awe and inspiration—something I think most of us could use these days.

What might be best though, is that I get to cheer. Ski racing is so strange because you operate in the framework of a team, but it is an individual sport. It is an odd dynamic when you want your teammates to do well, but not necessarily better than you… So now that I am not competing, I really am cheering for the team. I truly can’t wait to watch my friends and former teammates lay it all on the line on race day. Who knew being selfless would be so fun?

Sure, it could have been me flying off the finish jump toward a roaring Olympic crowd. But I did that. And I loved it. Now it’s those younger girls’ turn to make memories.

I’ll be watching.

Honestly, it is easy for me to walk away right now.  I accomplished more in my career than I ever really thought I could.  I scored forty-five top-30 World Cup results, at my best I was ranked tenth in the World in Super G, I had three top-10 World Cup results, I got ninth place at World Championships, I was a National Champion, and I was an Olympian.  All of these things I accomplished during one of the most momentous and strongest eras of American alpine skiing history.  It seems fitting that my World Cup career culminated with my 100^th World Cup start, on the 2010 Olympic course in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, and with my family and friends in the crowd watching.

While I am very proud of my tenure on the Team, I recognize the time has come for me to move on.  I have always been a multi-dimensional individual and I look forward to exercising my many other strengths as well as exploring my many other interests.  Next year, in June 2009, I will graduate from Dartmouth College with a degree in Philosophy.  I definitely look forward to the satisfaction of finishing my college education after what will be eight years of being a part-time student in the off-season.  After college, I plan on traveling to India to obtain my yoga instructor certification.  I have always had a passion for yoga and I look forward to enriching other people’s lives through instruction.  It is possible I will consider graduate school after I’ve had the opportunity to soak up some quality time with the wonderful family and friends I have put on hold for so many years.

Obviously I am facing a major transition, but as I move forward I find confidence knowing that I gave ski racing every single thing I had.  I gave 100% every moment of every run, and there wasn’t a single day I didn’t leave my heart out on the hill.  Of course I also know that skiing will always be a part of me.  My passion for skiing has not diminished in the slightest bit and I couldn’t be more excited to finally have the freedom to truly freeski. 

While I look forward to joining my family every weekend at my home ski area Crystal Mountain, I will always remember my time on the U.S. Ski Team with fondness.  My ten years on the U.S. Ski Team helped mold me into the person I am today and I am very grateful for the amazing experiences the Team afforded me.  I had the privilege of working with wonderful coaches, became friends with some incredible individuals, and skied alongside some tremendous athletes.  I will always highly value the many relationships and memories I collected over the years… I got to travel the world, doing what I love, with cool people—it really doesn’t get much better than that.