Big Air Chronicles II

By Emily Cook

By Don Cook

In my last blog I explained that I would soon be doing a new trick on snow, a double full full (a triple twisting double back flip, for those who keep their skis on the ground most of the time), and that my main objective was to get out of my own way and allow my body to perform to its best ability despite the fear that often accompanies doing something new and challenging. Well ... the first try was a huge success, followed by what could have been a true athletic disaster.

I had a perfect day to attempt my first double full full on snow, a beautiful, bluebird day without a breath of wind. However, even with the perfect day, I could still feel the nerves beginning to invade my body and mind as I stood at the top of the aerial hill. It had been months since I had trained this new trick on water, and the pool had since frozen solid; no chance of going back to the safety of the water ramps now - today was the day. I warmed up my easier tricks, being sure to stay in the present moment, no fear of past crashes or injuries, or worry about future problems. It was simply me and the jump in my immediate vision. I warmed up well, felt great and was ready when my coach gave me the go-ahead to progress.

I felt it then; the shaking in my legs, quickening of my breath, but I knew that my only option was to control my emotions and let my body respond accordingly. While going up the lift, I took a few very deep breaths, closed my eyes and visualized the perfect jump in my mind. By the time I got to the top of the hill I was ready. I had prepared for this moment and I knew it was time.

As I stood in the gate, I was acutely aware of only the things that were important in that moment. I looked at the wind flag to make sure my speed would be good, and then looked to my coach for the all clear sign, a mantra of "you can do this" running through my head. As I turned down the inrun, my brain ran over key technical words to prepare me for the double twist that would need to be performed right off the end of the jump. When I got into the air, I knew the jump would be a success. I listened to my coach from the knoll (yes, he yells commands at us to slow down or speed up a flip accordingly), and came safely to my feet, sliding a bit down the landing hill. After two more training jumps, I was skiing away confidently, adrenaline coursing through my veins …

Just a few days later I was across the country on the aerial hill in Lake Placid, New York preparing for the first US World Cup event of the season. Athletes from every nation stood on the hill, training, and there I was again, getting the double full full ready to debut the next night in front of the home-country crowd, legs shaking, breath quickening. I went through the process again, slowing everything down, controlling my emotions. My first double full full was well done, a success, even in the windy upstate New York weather.

The second, however left a bit to be desired. A headwind came up the hill just after I turned down the inrun, slowing my speed dangerously. Inexperience on this new trick, combined with the slow conditions, left me spiraling towards the ground too quickly to react, and I came into the snow backwards, directly on my face. As I slid to the bottom of the hill, memories of broken feet flooded my once calm head. In 2002, after just qualifying for the Olympic Games in Salt Lake City, I had jumped into a head wind on this same hill and shattered both feet in my ski boots. I watched my teammates compete in Salt Lake City a few weeks later from a wheelchair, and followed that injury up with three years of rehabilitation before I was able to compete again. I knew that would not be the case this time, but the fear rocketed through my body. I slid to a stop and jumped up immediately, waving to let everyone know I was not injured this time, but spitting blood nonetheless. I took a few minutes to collect myself, pulled snow out of my helmet and ski pants and decided I needed to do just one more that day. The next morning was competition day, and I was not willing to leave anything to chance.

I called my coach, Matt on the radio and he echoed my concern, making sure first that I was not injured, any more than the usual soreness that comes from such a landing. I assured him that I would be fine and began the process of slowing down my heart rate and getting ready to complete one last double full full for the day. I rode the lift to the top, changing each negative fearful thought into one that built confidence. I visualized and breathed deep and stepped into the gate, ready to go. When Matt cleared me to jump I was in the perfect athlete state, confident and prepared, and performed the trick safely, skiing away to the bottom of the hill with a smile on my face.

The next morning was competition day and I felt the pre-comp jitters, but knew I was as prepared as I could possibly be to debut my new trick in front of friends, family and the hometown crowd.

To be continued…

Olympian, World Cup winner and U.S. Champion, Emily Cook was born in Massachusetts where she first started skiing and became hooked on freestyle aerials. She has been on the U.S. Ski Team for 12 years and has lived in Park City, UT since 1999. Cook is often found training at the Utah Olympic Park.