Stoicism of an Athlete By ERIKA BEAVER

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,

I see 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 shoulder 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 still racing.