Shakespeare and Shamrock Shakes in the Arena

When you’ve made it this far into the season, it’s been a journey. As the Long Road prelude suggests, March is ski season’s prime time for drama. There will be the highest highs for a very few, and swooping lows—even to rock-bottom— for most. Spring champs racing isn’t just a ride on the regular rollercoaster. It’s a whip-lashing on the extremes of it.

I was reminded of that at the Champs that I attended this season, up close to so many heartbreaking moments; where everything seemed lined up for one version of a desired outcome, and ended as the polar opposite. There is no explaining this ride, and no amount of work or talent or karma or good vibes can temper the vagaries of ski racing and of sport.

As one ski racer Dad said of the tragedies du jour unfolding: “Shakespeare is nothing compared to ski racing!”

There is actually no such thing as mild disappointment in ski racing, because the disappointment scale only ranges from moderate to severe. Considering the universe of things that can and do go wrong on any typical day, ski racers learn to toss any modicum of success into the win pile. It may take a little contemplation to accept it, but a decent day is a great day. And still, there are precious few of them. 

As a ski racing family, we have deep-rooted traditions to cope with the post-event let-down in March. I can’t possibly count the Shamrock Shakes that have been consumed to cool off from big-event meltdowns on the drives home.

And yet, every year we come back for more, returning to take on the highest level of competition attainable with the same high hopes and excitement.

First as an athlete and then as a parent and coach, I have lived the cycle at every level of this sport—from regionals to states to nationals to Worlds to the Olympics. You have that elation of achieving your goal, and of getting to the arena; and then the flip-side of that elation when you underperform, implode, explode or…pick one of the many, many ways to fail.

And then, you return to the front lines, ready to risk it all. You don’t do this because you have a short memory or are a glutton for punishment. You do it because resilience is a mighty thing. It’s the ability to bounce back, to find the pony buried beneath the “stuff” you eternally shovel through, and to enjoy what’s left at the end of the day and the season. Resilience is that superpower you can’t buy or fake or put on a resumé. The sport of ski racing—where stress, adrenaline, focus and danger converge nearly every run—serves up ample opportunity to build an arsenal of it.

I recently revisited a Brené Brown quote that sums up a key takeaway from Teddy Roosevelt’s “Man in the Arena” speech, in which Roosevelt salutes the vulnerability and courage required to dare greatly.

Brown notes, “If you are not in the arena getting your ass kicked on occasion, I am not interested in or open to your feedback.”

That, to me, is a spiritual shamrock shake— a reminder that it matters to show up, to put yourself out there, stake a claim on a dream and go for it. Sure, it leaves you wide open to the heartbreak that can only really be eased by time and a recommitment to your work. But the fact remains: you were in the arena. THAT is what counts, what makes it hurt and what makes it matter.