Rubbing Shoulders, Olympic Style

My Olympic fever has gone down, but I still have a touch of the commercial flu. After three weeks of being glued to the TV, I don’t think I’ll ever turn one of those blasted things on again, or at least not until baseball season starts. Aside from watching an Olympic-sized amount of commercials, I watched plenty of exciting Olympic coverage, and after all those hours of staring at the TV screen, I learned a few things. I learned that curling is even more exciting to watch when the officials need to bust out the competition dial measurer to determine which stone is closer to the button. I learned that aside from me, entire cultures can be offended by hideous-looking uniforms worn by ice dancers. And most inspiring of all, thanks to the U.S. bobsled team’s grand achievement, I learned that you can win an Olympic gold medal even if you have a beer gut.

I have never been in the Olympics, and I will never be in the Olympics, even though I have a beer gut. But I am fortunate enough to know a few Olympians, including Seth Westcott, who four years ago won the first-ever gold medal in Olympic snowboard cross, and who this year defended his title. Way back in college, when I was a regular Sugarloafer, I would occasionally see Scott flying by in the park on his way to the halfpipe. I met him years later at a mutual friend’s wedding, the summer after he won his first gold medal. He was introduced simply as Seth, and if I hadn’t recognized him, I may have never known that I had just met a gold-medal winning Olympian. Upon realizing who he was, I asked why he chose to wear a tie around his neck instead of his gold medal. I don’t remember exactly what he said, because at that point he was talking to someone else.

I met another gold-medal winning Olympian years earlier, while I was a snowboard bum in Breckenridge, CO. I was riding with my friend Corey, his wife, and her friend Donna. While riding the chairlift after a few runs, Corey casually mentioned that Donna was in the Olympics. I looked back at Donna, and suddenly realized that Corey’s wife’s friend Donna the snowboarder was in fact Olympic mogul skier Donna Weinbrecht, who won the first ever gold in women’s mogul skiing. At the top of the lift, I reintroduced myself and congratulated her and asked what she was doing on a snowboard. I don’t remember exactly what she said, because at that point, she was already riding away.

Other than casually meeting a few Olympians, I’ve also worked with one. That would be Larry Damon, who is a four-time Olympic cross-country skier and biathlete, and who for many years since retiring has wrenched on bikes at our shop in the summer. Each year he shows up with his leather-bound tool case, pops it open, and gets right to work. Even though his tool case is filled with assorted well-worn wrenches and screwdrivers, I’ve only ever seen him use a hammer, with which he can fix just about any bike, as long as it is made of steel. One particular time, he straightened a derailleur hanger that was bent and twisted like an Olympic diver in mid air. On one of my first days working with him, before I understood him a bit better, I said, “So Larry, you were in the Olympics, huh? Cool!” He responded only with a grunt, but after warming up to me a bit, he not only told me a few Olympic stories, he also told me about his love of jazz and playing the trumpet, and other stories that only a trumpet-playing, four-time Olympian could tell. I mentioned that I play the saxophone, but he may not have heard me, because at that point, he was back to hammering on another bike.

Another Olympian who I’ve gotten to know quite well, and another one of the greatest guys you could ever meet, is former Olympic cross-country mountain biker Pavel Cherkasov. The first time I rode with him, nervous and intimidated, I yelled out, “If there are any Olympic mountain bikers behind me who would like to pass, feel free.” But instead of blowing by and leaving me choking on his dust, Pavel stayed back and rode at my pace, and hooted and cheered the whole ride. His enthusiasm was contagious, and it made me appreciate every pedal stroke. We had such a good time riding with him, we stayed on the trails longer than we should have, and ended up riding out in near pitch blackness, which is very dangerous. At the end of the ride, instead of saying, “Are you guys trying to kill me?” he only asked where we were riding next week.

One other Olympic athlete that I’ve come to know is Liz Stephen, who competed in her first Olympics this year in multiple cross-country skiing events. Many years ago, during one of our ski swaps, her Mom brought in a few pairs of ski boots Liz had outgrown, and I asked, “If you hold one of these boots up to your ear, can you hear Liz giggle?” I should have put one of those boots in my mouth, because I fear my poorly worded comment was misconstrued. To clarify, I was only referring to her contagious enthusiasm which glows like a sun beam and is an Olympic quality that I wish I possessed, instead of a beer gut.