Stoicism of an Athlete By Erika Beaver
As
I sit, forty feet in the air, I focus.
My
feet are comfortably resting on the padded
Metal
bar that is hanging from the safety device,
Keeping
me on this nice padded chair that seats six.
I
find myself looking down on the glistening
White
dust below me, and it calms my mind
Seven
minutes of quiet, seven minutes of peace
Before
I reach the top, and its game time.
I
feel my lungs turn to crystal, as I breathe in
The
crisp morning air of the Rocky Mountains
My
hands and feet are cold like a snowman’s nose
And
my muscles are tense like cold rubber
I
close my eyes and listen to the silence of the mountain
I
hear the slight swish, swish, of the other athletes below me
There
is a slight breeze that is causing the white dust
To
leave the branches of the trees, and sparkle in the sunlit sky
As
this seven minute ride passes over the mountain face
There
are red and blue flags, standing still in the white dust
Two
by two, a hairpin, a flush, and a delay,
I
analyze, and try to visualize what path I will take
I
am twenty five yards from leaving the comfort of this chair
It
has been a nice ride, I reflect back on the last seven minutes,
Thinking
about the sparkling, white dust, and the wind
That
gives it flight, I am calm, and I am ready.
As
I stand at the top of the mountain, this feeling is so familiar,
Yet
I’m experiencing it for the very first time.
Remember,
look ahead. Face your body down the hill,
Toward
the finish line, one turn at a time. Left. Right. Left. Right.
I’m
at the starting gate now; my pulse starts to pick up.
I
look to the man sitting on the ground to my right.
Tell
him my name, and then wait for his count
Racer
ready, three, two, one…and I’m off.
That
seven minute ride seems so long
Compared
to the minute and thirty seconds it takes
To
reach the bottom again. Sixty miles an hour,
The
trees and people on the sideline are a blur.
I
hear cow bells and whistles and the slight clapping
Of
plastic from the red and blue gates
As
they hit my shoulder and forearm.
I
brace myself because it’s almost over
Before
the pain on my shoulders and forearms begins to dissipate
I
come to a screeching halt without crashing into the fence
The
ride is over and so is the rush that came along with it
I
am calm, but my heart is racing
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