“Dave Herd, we need someone to go over and race with the
class “D” group.”
I had started skiing about 3 years before, taking my first
ski lesson at Greek Peak, a small ski area near Cortland, New York, half way
between Binghamton and Schenectady. My
girl friend’s home town was Cortland
During Thanksgiving weekend 1979, we drove up to Greek Peak
I was both anxious and exhilarated to begin skiing. I had never been remotely close to skiing and
never even knew anyone that was a skier until I met Patricia, other than her
ex-husband. Burnt in my memory forever,
is how awkward I felt when boards were put on my feet and I was asked to then
walk sideways up a very slight knoll to begin my first descent.
Kristi and I were athletic and determined to become
comfortable with the label of “skier” and after many failed attempts to remain
upright we were soon making turns with our skies formed in the shape of a
wedge. As I progressed in honing my
incipient skills I realized that skiing is all about overcoming fear by gaining
both skill and confidence motivated by desire to succeed. Soon I was able to
advance to the chair lift and the bunny hill.
A year later I was able almost keep up with Patti. She was an elegant and graceful skier while I
relied on brute strength and courage trying to master both speed and
control. Many times losing control
resulted in spectacular wipe outs resulting ski, poles, hats, gloves, and
goggles flying off in various directions with me bravely struggling off still
another bruise. One morning while on a
week long ski trip, I was so sore and beat up that I had difficulty getting out
of bed after one day of skiing. I
decided then and there that I would devote my efforts to mastering more control
and sacrifice some speed, and then start to bring back the speed once the
control was better established.
Eventually my days living in the East came to an end and a
couple of years later, our romance finally ended also, but the skiing stayed
with me and remains to this day.
“Dave Herd , we need someone to go over and race with
the class “D” group.” It is March 1983
and I am on a Midwest bus weekend ski trip
with Fort Wayne Ski Club. The person talking to me is the race captain for the
club. We are at Boyne Mountain, near
Petoskey, Michigan and all ski clubs that belong to the Indiana Ski Council
have descended there for a weekend of ski racing, drinking, and making out as
much as possible.
I explain to the race captain that I have never raced before
but that does not dissuade her from enlisting me. I am given instructions where to go and soon
I am standing in line with a numbered paper racing bib on my chest waiting to
go as fast as possible around poles with flags on the top and to do so without
falling down.
By this time, I have had time to size up some my competition
and it is pretty plain to me that I can ski as well or better than most of them
as determined how they looked skiing over to the starting area. Thankfully, I was not one of the first to
plunge down the slope so I have a chance to observe what some of the better
skiers did.
It seems that there was this wand across the starting place
and as soon as your legs push through it, the timer clock starts running and there
is an electric eye at the finish line, which stops the clock when you break the
beam. So from my observation point, the
goal was to get going as fast as possible at the start.
When my turn comes, I place my poles over the starting wand
and as I wait briefly to hear that the course is clear, I try to think,
“breathe out fear, breathe in energy” in an effort to eliminate my considerable
anxiety. Suddenly I hear, “go when ready
racer” from the starter. I push out with
all my strength and skate hard towards the first pole. Around the first 3
flagged poles (I learn later to talk them “gates”) I go, trying to look ahead
and see the next challenge. I am picking
up speed as the slope gets steeper. At
the fourth gate, my instinct takes over and my weight goes to the tails of my
skies causing to spin 180 degrees and almost fall down. I turned about as fast as possible and continued
until the 8th gate where a reoccurrence took place. I recovered again and continued on through
the finish line, disappointed that I didn’t do better, but I heart was pounding
and I felt the adrenalin kick in. “Wow,
I want to do that again, I know I can do better”, were my thoughts.
And so it began.
Later that night at the awards banquet, medals were handled out for the
first 10 places in each racing category.
I came in 9th even with all the mistakes I made and I was
amazed. Obtaining a 9th place
medal in the lowest race class helped me realize I had potential but that is
something I kept to myself because a 9th place finish is not exactly
something to bring up at a cocktail party.
But the fire was inside me and it burned intensely.
Two years later I won the ski club’s “Most Improved Skier”
award and also the Veteran Men’s Challenge Cup for my overall season
performance covering several races. My
name was engraved on the club’s huge Challenge Cup and I was presented a
miniature cup to keep. I got to keep the
big cup for a year and fortunately I had a fireplace mantel to give it
prominence.
When I came to Chicago
I have a trophy case filled with medals and trophies and
sitting in the center is my 9th place medal in honor of how it all
started. I sometimes think of Ted Baxter
on the Mary Tyler Moore show who liked to say, “It all started at a 5000 watt
radio station in Fresno, California”. My
saying would be, “it all started at a “D” level race course in Boyne Mountain
Michigan.”
Skiing is a life sport and if there is a desire to keep
improving, it is possible. This requires
more mental than physical effort. So as
I start my 31st year skiing, I am positive that I will continue to
improve, not only as an all around skier but on the race course also. It probably it unrealistic to think this will
continue forever, but I really don’t want to think about it. Not now anyway, I am having way too much fun.
