There's no way to measure this, of course, but I would venture to say that in the world of sports there's no pressure like the pressure on Olympic athletes. They have one shot to get it right only every four years, and in sports where there is the most pressure, winners and losers are usually decided by the slimmest of measurable margins. For many Olympic athletes, perfection is not the ephemeral extraction it is in many sports, it's the literal goal, if you're expecting to beat a fellow competitor by a tenth of a point or a hundredth of a second.
For a handful of Olympians, it's even worse; a 24-hour, 7 day a week white hot spotlight, such as the one that was turned on skiing legend Lindsey Vonn this year when she decided to make a comeback at age 41, with a right knee partially made of titanium (I know something about that, since I have a left knee made of titanium) not to mention a torn ligament in her left knee she suffered a week earlier in training.
Most of you know what happened to Vonn on Sunday in the Italian mountains; she crashed spectacularly just thirteen seconds into her downhill, ending in a familiar place for her—a hospital—the result of a fractured left leg that left her screaming in pain. Many said, "See? You pushed the limits too far." In mythic terms, Vonn's quest was Sisyphean and her attempt was Icarian; she flew too close to the sun.
After she crashed, one writer tweeted, "It boils me with rage that Lindsey was even allowed to start this bloody race in the first place. A heartbreaking, albeit sadly predictable outcome."
It wasn't just coldhearted outsiders who were against Vonn. Several former competitors seemed personally insulted that she was even trying it. Swiss slalom champion Sonja Nef called Vonn's comeback attempt "stupid," and another former Swiss great, Bruno Kernen, predicted that maybe she could finish in the top ten, an insulting remark for someone who is among the greatest ever. "When you push yourself to the limit," he said, "you risk going over it." Man, I thought the Swiss were supposed to be neutral.
Some believe there was an air of inevitability about her failure. The risk she was taking was greater than the reward she was taking. But, see, that was for Vonn to decide. Yes, hubris is certainly part of the Vonn package; her Shakespearean flaw, as it is for many superstar athletes I've covered over the years. "What do you mean I can't do it? Of course I can do it."
So, what would we have done in Lindsey Vonn's shoes. Excuse me, Lindsey Vonn's ski boots. This is difficult to determine because we do not engage in anything physically comparable to skiing pellmell down a mountain at 70 miles per hour. But can we understand where Vonn is coming from?
My good friend Tim Layden, a former Sports Illustrated writer, now an NBC sports columnist, wrote this a couple days before the crash: "In her 41st year of life, alpine ski racer Lindsey Vonn has entered into an arrangement under the terms of which she is able to once again do things she never thought her body would allow her to do again. If you were offered that deal, you would do the same thing, wouldn't you? Given the chance to run again or to jump or to throw, to see clearly, to sing, to dance, to love for the first time, or to see a dear friend for the last—any of those things that time and life take away—you would take that deal, right?"
Well, would you? What would you risk? What would you sacrifice for one more big bite of the apple. I'm at an age now when I can consider that question. No, I won't be looking to jet down a mountain, but for a conversation with a long-gone friend or a moment with a departed family member, yes, I would sacrifice something.
I didn't live my life like Vonn, out there on the edge of my skis, but I understand where she was coming from and have nothing but respect for her failed but noble crusade.
