Downhill skiers admit danger, don’t like talking about it
Frenchman’s death in recent crash on minds of racers in Olympics.
PYEONGCHANG, SOUTH KOREA — Racers in Alpine skiing’s most perilous event, the downhill, have an intimate, uneasy relationship with the mortal danger they face each time they push out of the
start gate. It is acknowledged; it is rarely discussed. But a subconscious understanding of the inherent, terrifying risk, the chance that the next run may be their last, is always there, like a final layer taped to the lining at the back of each racer’s crash helmet.
At the Pyeongchang Olympics, the field for the men’s downhill — which was set to take place Sat- urday night Ohio time — is especially aware of the hazards.
Less than three months ago, the Alpine community was shaken by the death of French skier David Poisson, who tumbled in a downhill training run in Alberta in Canada. Poisson burst through two rows of protective netting and struck a tree, according to police. Poisson, 35, a top performer on the World Cup circuit for many
years and the bronze medalist in the downhill at the 2013 world championships, was practicing days before the first full weekend of skiing’s World Cup season.
Downhill racers, who are usually among the most gregarious and free-spirited of the Alpine set, find discussing the devastating outcomes of their occupation difficult. In fact, among themselves they generally do not do it. It is not a taboo subject, but the protocol is to avoid it.
“More often than not, we won’t talk about the dangers,” said Bryce Bennett, one of several promising American downhillers participating in Pyeongchang. “Because it doesn’t help. If you talk too much about it, it just becomes more of a reality.”
Poisson’s death has been a stark reminder of the risk racers regularly subject themselves to when they plummet down the rock-hard, icy track of a downhill course at 90 mph. After his accident, World Cup racers from around the world suddenly found it difficult to throw themselves down the mountain with the same unbridled aggressiveness.
“The first couple of runs after David’s death, I think it did shake my confidence,” veteran Canadian downhiller Manuel Osborne-Paradis said after Thursday’s Olympic training run. “I don’t think I was alone; it was going on throughout the tour.”
Aksel Lund Svindal of Norway, who has won six gold medals in the Olympics and the world championships, shook his head when asked about Poisson’s death. Svindal was seriously injured in a gruesome, somersaulting downhill accident in 2007.
“It was a shock to your system,” Svindal said. “We know the risk and we’ve known it since we were teenagers. We sort of put that away, as we must to continue to do this thing we love.”
Bennett’s U.S. teammate Andrew Weibrecht, who has won silver and bronze Olympic medals and also has suffered multiple debilitating injuries in falls, said that the scene near the start of a downhill race is typically taut and overwrought because of the competitive stakes involved. But everyone is also cognizant of the consequences of a little slip-up or a bad break, or even factors outside a racer’s control, like an ill-timed gust of wind or an uneven patch of snow.
Sometimes, an early racer in the field will crash, or several skiers might crash, leaving the rest of the field waiting near the start gate for 20 or 30 minutes while the injured are treated. That adds tension.
“When a few good guys go down and you’re up there waiting, you can ask yourself: ‘Do I really want to do this? And how do I do this and stay safe?’” Weibrecht said.
Downhill racers are not in any way consumed by fear. Everyone falls in ski racing and most of those accidents do not lead to serious injuries. Many cause no injury at all. American downhiller Jared Goldberg crashed recently in three World Cup races. Once his teammates heard that he survived each fall with only minor injuries, they got together and watched video of the crashes and laughed.