by Adele Huxley
My crash happened when I was in my early twenties. Before that I’d been fearless, invincible, unstoppable. Nothing got between me and my goals, least of all my abilities. I was strong, young, and capable. And then I hit the ground at seventy miles per hour, and my whole life got flipped upside down.
Going from peak physical condition to being bed and wheelchair bound was a humbling experience, to say the least. I gritted through it, telling myself that if I did the physical therapy, if I put in the hard work, I’d get back to where I’d been before. My dad might’ve been gone, but the work ethic he’d instilled in me remained. Determination wasn’t the problem… my body was. No amount of grit could patch my scarred body back together again, at least, not in the same shape it had been.
After the second accident, it became abundantly clear that I was never going to return to professional skiing. Excuse the analogy, but that mountain was just too steep. All the surgeries in the world wouldn’t repair my hip and knee to a competitive level.
Yet I pushed through the PT every day with the same dogged determination I’d always had, going through the grueling exercises like it was in the cards for me to compete again. I had to look at it that way or I’d spiral into depression again, a darkness Liz helped pull me from. If I approached my physical therapy as something I needed to do just so I could function like a normal human being, I’d lose my mind. Some days were better than others, and that morning was terrible.
Sweaty, quivering with exertion, I tried to hold the plank position for as long as I could. Pre-wreck, my core had been rock solid. Now, I started shaking after fifteen seconds. Fire raced through my shoulder and down my back. My knee threatened to lock up, but I pushed as hard as I could. My eyes pinned to the counting timer on my phone’s display, I collapsed in a heap after only half a minute.
“Shit,” I grumbled, as I fought to catch my breath.
I flipped onto my back, grabbed a pair of small free weights, and lifted them over my head. When I was younger, I could easily bench over 200 lbs. Now, my shoulder screamed at a fraction of that weight. I pushed through the pain, but had to cut my sets short by two.
I wiped my brow with the back of my hand, and consulted the list of exercises my physical therapist had written up for me before we left. There were four left. It may as well have been forty. I pushed the negative thoughts away and tried to focus, pulling myself into position.
Extending my left leg out into a partial lunge position, I stepped back with my right, moving into a yoga-like pose. With the small weights in hand, I slowly twisted at the waist, rotating this way and that. My quadriceps, hamstrings, hip flexors… hell, every muscle in my body burned and ached. I pushed through the pain, grinding my teeth to keep from crying out. I pushed myself through the last repetition, and fell to the sofa in relief. A complex emotion washed over me. I was proud I’d completed the exercise, but ashamed I’d feel pride in something so simple. I used to break records…
“I’m done, I can’t do this anymore,” I declared. I pushed myself up and walked past the kitchen on rubbery legs, strangely on the verge of tears.
I threw my damp clothes into the corner with a grunt, turned on the shower, and waited for the water to warm up. Is there a word more complete than frustrating? Because frustrating seems so… benign compared to what I felt. I stepped under the water, tilting my head back to wet my hair, and fell deep into thought.
After everything Liz and I went through with Rick, Kayla, and Noah, we’d found strength in each other. I’d really meant it when I said it was us against the world. But for months, I’d been feeling more and more alone in that battle. It wasn’t her fault and I certainly didn’t blame her. She had dreams and I, more than anyone, knew how much time and dedication it took to realize those dreams. So I kept things from her, feelings, worries. I told myself it was all for her sake, so she could focus on training, but it really came from a place of shame.
But after the hellish physical therapy session I’d just gone through, I couldn’t deny that the hole of depression and self-doubt called to me. It was terrifying, but something I had to admit to.
As I rinsed the soap from my skin, I traced the lines of my scars and realized, I am weak. I’m not The Blizzard anymore, and probably never will be. But Liz made living with that reality better. I couldn’t block her out any longer.
The stalker was getting to me more than I let on with Liz. I brushed it off, but even in all my years of racing and fame, I never received anything other than fan mail. Maybe my family kept the crazies away from me, but the worst I ever received was a marriage proposal from a 54-year-old woman. Even then, she seemed friendly enough… just a little lonely.
I switched off the shower and stood for a moment, leaning on the wall. I rested my forehead against the cold tile and watched the water drip from my hair. I need her. I need to be there for her. It’s all pointless unless she’s safe and we’re rock solid.
____________
An hour later, I found Janet on the back patio of the lodge. A suite of equipment was spread out on the tables around her, a veritable command center. Two laptops, a huge walkie-talkie, notebooks, paperwork… it covered every surface around her. She’d nabbed two big benches near the bonfire and set up camp. I couldn’t help but laugh as I approached.
“You know they have a fire inside, right? Food, water, you know, shelter?”
Her golden brown eyes twinkled as she looked up at me. Rather than respond, she plucked up the walkie-talkie and spoke. “I have a special surprise here for you.” She thrust the heavy device out and Liz’s voice crackled through.
“Nicole lost a leg in a tragic pedicure accident?”
“Not quite,” I said as I pressed the button. “How you doing, babe?”
“Bryan! You’ve got awesome timing. Hold on, we’re almost at the top.”
I handed the walkie-talkie back to Janet. “What’s going on?”
She pointed to a large dark window on one of the screens. “We hired a tracker for the day. He had a little technical difficulty getting the live stream set up, but you managed to arrive just as she’s about to take her first run with him.”
“Ah, no way! I wish they had stuff like this when I was training. My dad had to hang out in trees with binoculars to watch me go down.” My bad mood lifted slightly. In a few minutes, I’d be able to watch Liz ski like I was right behind her. “How’s she doing, anyway?”
Janet pursed her lips and shrugged. “On skis, great. Off… she doesn’t have her head on straight. Any way you can help?”
“I’ll do my best, but you know how she is.”
Just then, the walkie-talkie crackled. “You sure you can keep up with me? There’s no point if you aren’t right there, on top.” Janet and I smiled at each other as we listened to Liz tell off the poor cameraman, unaware she was being broadcast. A man’s voice responded but I couldn’t understand what he said. Liz’s reply was enough. “It’s also your job to make sure my coach can see what you’re recording, and we both know how well that’s worked out so far.”
Janet pressed her call button a couple times while laughing. The speaker crackled and Liz came back. “Hey guys, we’re just about ready. You set down there?”
“We don’t have a feed yet… oh, wait.” Janet turned the laptop as the screen started to flicker. An image of a pair of skis and trampled powder came up. “Move around a bit.” After a slight delay, the camera moved, and then panned up, perfectly framing Liz’s face.
Hidden behind the orange tinted goggles and white helmet, the only recognizable part was her broad, beautiful smile. She wore her new racing suit, perfectly hugging each gorgeous curve of her body. My admiration must’ve been obvious, because Janet snickered.
“Bryan says it’s coming in nice and clear.” She gave me a little wink before continuing, her voice serious. “All right, you know what to do. Forget about the camera, hit those points we talked about. Watch coming in too close to gate nine, and we’ll talk when you get to the botto
m.”
“Ten-four little buddy. See you at the bottom.” We watched Liz reply, giving the camera a little wave before settling into place. She adjusted her gloves, her goggles, stomped the snow off her skis. I understood the repetition, the superstition behind such habits. Every time she headed down, she would perform the same routine.
As she launched forward, Janet glued her eyes to the screen, a notepad and pen at the ready. The camera hovered a few feet behind until they got up to top speed. While she had to hug the line of the course, weaving in and around the red and blue gates, the cameraman was free to roam across the expanse. He went wide as she tucked into a corner, capturing a moment where her left ski slipped out from under her, which Janet duly noted.
Now tight behind, the camera captured Liz’s tight crouch as they flew over a small jump. She landed perfectly, her ankles and knees pressed so tightly together they could’ve been tied.
I soared down the mountain with her. I missed the exhilaration, the burning in my legs, and the cold bite against my face. At one point, I stopped watching her, but pinned my gaze to the course ahead, mapping out the turns I’d make. My body leaned and tensed with each imagined corner, bump, and jump. Skiing, true downhill Super-G skiing, felt like a phantom limb.
Watching her ski like this brought up a whole host of new emotions. I swelled with pride, but ached with jealousy. It’s not fair, every cell in my body seemed to scream. I deserved to be out there too. No one had sacrificed more than me. No one.
“Yes!” Janet hissed, clapping her hands together once. It pulled my attention back to Liz just in time to see her wobble on a corner.
About to miss a gate, she overcorrected and cut the corner short. I watched in silent horror as her ski clipped the side of the gate, wrenching her leg around at a violent speed. She disappeared into a cloud of snow as she slammed against the ground. The cameraman immediately slowed, the focus sliding to the right and up the hill as he came to a stop.
“Jesus, Liz,” I whispered. I was suddenly at Janet’s shoulder, though I didn’t remember pushing myself so close to the screen.
The camera swung around and focused on her heaped body sixty, seventy yards down the slope. She didn’t move. I held my breath as he skied closer. It came out in a shudder when I saw her limbs start to move. Oh thank God, she’s not paralyzed at least.
“I’m sending patrol up,” Janet radioed over.
“Copy that,” a deep voice responded. But in the background, I thought I could hear Liz. He crouched down beside her just as she pushed up onto her hands.
I didn’t need to be a lip reader to see she was cursing up a storm. She pulled the goggles from her face and flung them back over the helmet. Ripping the gloves from her hands, she wiped chunks of ice and snow from her ruddy face. Liz gestured towards the camera, shaking her open hand insistently until the cameraman handed her the radio. We watched in relief as she called in.
“I’m fine. I’m a fucking idiot, but fine. Don’t call patrol. I just knocked the wind outta myself.”
“Are you sure? Don’t be a hero,” Janet replied.
“I’m seriously okay. I’ll be down in a minute.” Through the bravado, I knew she was shaken up.
I stepped away from the screen and looked up at the mountain, waiting to see her bright purple suit floating down the white snow. Tense worry thrummed through my body, only easing when I spotted her slowly winding down towards us.
She skidded to a halt, swiftly kicking out of her skis and bending to pick them up. She flashed an embarrassed smile. “Even if everything else goes tits up, at least we can post the video on YouTube, right?”
“Something like that,” I said, giving her a quick hug. I held her face in my hands and studied her eyes. “You’re all right?”
She nodded and smiled softly. “I’m okay. Sorry to scare you.”
Janet called out from behind. “Why don’t you two go get something to eat? Recoup, recover, and come back in a half hour or so?”
Liz’s hand trembled on my arm. “That’s a good idea. If you grab a table, I’ll meet you inside in a minute. I just need to go over a couple things with Janet.”
As I sat at the bench-style table waiting for her to come inside, I tried to ignore my shaky nerves by distracting myself with my phone. I swiped it open, and idly pressed the email button, barely aware of what I was doing. God, she could’ve gotten seriously hurt there. Maybe she did and doesn’t realize it. I can’t count how many times I took a hit and didn’t feel the injury until I cooled down. Even a tiny broken bone in your foot can screw things up.
My phone dinged. Email. Shit. It’s from Angela. I looked around to make sure Liz wasn’t nearby and opened it.
Hey sweetie,
I’m doing a little summer cleaning and came across a couple of your things. Do you want me to mail them to you? Are you still in Tellure? Let me know! Say hi to your mom for me!
Ang xoxox
I gritted my teeth and quickly typed out a reply, hoping she would get my double meaning.
Whatever it is you have, I obviously don’t miss it. Trash it or give it to some other guy who wants it.
Bryan
We sat across from one another, munching on overpriced chicken fingers and fries. I glanced over at her police escort, who sat a few tables away.
“He doesn’t ride up the mountain with you?”
She snorted. “No, but he gets to go in and clear out the bathroom whenever I need to take a piss. I’m sure he loves that.”
Liz was quiet, probably mentally kicking herself for a mistake she thought was amateur. I wanted to help, to offer a little bit of advice, but doing so would open up a whole host of other issues. Instead, I opted to pull her out of her funk another way.
“Do you remember your first lesson?”
She looked up, her blue eyes bright against her red, wind-burned cheeks. “Um, of course. It was the first time a man ever sexually molested me through a ski suit.”
I arched an eyebrow, glad to see my sarcastic Liz coming out. “The first time, huh? There have been others?”
She shrugged, popping a ketchup drenched fry into her mouth. “Comes with the sport. It’s all the same instructor, though. I should probably report him.”
I laughed and cradled my head in my hands. “I was never sure if you felt it. Those snow pants are pretty thick.”
“I was wedged against your crotch. The pants aren’t that thick,” she laughed. She looked up at me and chewed on her straw thoughtfully. It was good to see her smile again. “What made you think of that?”
“I don’t know. Seeing you just now, how good your form has gotten, how ballsy you are. It sparked the memory of our first lesson.”
She scoffed and bit into a chicken finger. “Yeah, ballsy. Balls first onto the ground.”
“Like Dad always used to say, we fight time and gravity up there, forces that beat up everyone eventually.”
A comfortable silence fell between us as we ate until Liz spoke up. “How did your PT go this morning?”
I tensed. This was my chance to open up, to stop keeping her at arm’s length. A lump formed in my throat, which I tried to wash down with a sip of soda. My delay only piqued her interest. Liz rested her chin on her hand and stared at me, waiting for my response.
I sighed, leaned back, and crossed my arms. “Horrible.”
“Ah,” she nodded, apparently appeased by my answer. “Up days and down days.”
“No, they’re all pretty much down days.” I rolled my eyes as she studied my face. Talking about my feelings had never come easy. Being vulnerable when you wanted nothing more than to be strong was beyond difficult. “I’m not doing well, Liz. I don’t think I’m ever going to get back on the mountain.”
“Of course you will. Don’t be so negative,” she said.
“Liz, you have to listen to me. I’m not being negative. Dr. Snyder told me a couple months ago that my progress has slowed. They thought with the extra PT, I might gain more mobility but…
” my voice trailed off. I choked up, unable to fully voice the diagnosis. I couldn’t even tell her that the kind doctor had told me my progress had not just slowed but stagnated.
“But that just means you work harder,” she said as she reached across the table for me.
I pulled away, fighting back the tears. “No, not this time. The surgery didn’t take. Doc made it clear that my therapy is now in maintenance mode. If I want to be able to sit on the floor and stand up when I’m forty, I’ll need to keep it up in some form or fashion for the rest of my life. I’m never racing again.”
“We get a second opinion,” she said firmly.
“I’ve seen three specialists already. They all agree.”
For the first time in a long time, Liz was speechless. Her mouth worked like she wanted to say something, but she finally settled on silence. I reached out for her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“I’m sorry to dump this on you…”
“How long have you known?”
I swallowed and forced myself to meet her eye. “A couple months.”
“Christ, Bryan,” she huffed. She whipped her braided hair behind her shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why carry this around by yourself?”
“I don’t know,” I said picking at my nails. “I didn’t want to burden you. I was afraid that me no longer being The Blizzard would put more pressure on you somehow.” I pressed my lips together and met her gaze, forcing myself to push through everything I wanted to say. “We haven’t exactly been on the same wavelength lately, and it’s my fault. I should’ve been completely honest with you and I’m sorry.”
Liz jumped up from her seat and ran around the end of the table, sliding herself sideways down the bench. She wrapped her arms around me protectively and kissed me hard on the cheek. “You silly man. All this time I thought you were having second thoughts about the wedding.”
“No! Nothing like that,” I protested. I suddenly felt foolish, especially after all my declarations of us being a team. “Just your everyday macho bullshit rearing its head. I wanted to protect you from it… but I can’t seem to protect you from much of anything, lately.”
