There are a few people with cameras waiting as we exit the hotel, me and Austin side by side. But Tara’s been good on her word and whatever media has managed to make it out to the hotel is being kept behind barricades by tall men in black coats that readSicurezzion the back—which I assume is Italian for “security”—while we load into the van. We sit together, thighs pressed against each other, but we don’t talk. Austin’s eyes are closed, and his hands move slightly as he mentally replays the run over in his head. I try to do the same, but my mind is a blank. No snow. No slopes. For a second, panic threatens to grab hold of my chest, but then a warm hand slides into mine.
“Stick to the plan,” Austin says gently.
Right. The plan. When I close my eyes again, it’s all there. Start. Jumps. Rises, falls.
We check in at the gate, showing them our credentials and waiting while our bags are inspected. Some of the other countries’ athletes have already arrived. Others are in line behind us. Everyone is quiet. Focused on their day. Their race. No one cares about us except that we’re two more people they’ll have to ski faster than if they want to reach the podium.
After check in, we grab practice skis and take one more ride up the mountain as a team. Ivan’s there. Matthieu and Kage. I was right. The conditions today are perfect. Cold and fast. No new snow. Just a packed, slick surface that will send us flying at top speeds all the way down the course. We go through it all one last time. The changes, the gates. Ivan points out the places where the shadows will be deepest for our seeding run, where the contrast will be poorest and we’ll be most likely to make a mistake by misjudging the terrain. We should know it all by heart now, but with only split seconds to react to any slips once we’re racing, a last round of preparation can’t hurt anyone.
We come to the edge of the trail on the high side of a turn. Ivan’s reviewing passing strategies. I’m staring down the far sideof the mountain, where groomed trail gives way to dense trees and unseen hazards. I think about Austin losing control and flying over the side, disappearing into disaster.
“Hey.” Like he knows what I’m thinking, he taps the back of my boot with his pole basket, making me turn away from imagined catastrophe. I blink until our gazes finally meet, and he shakes his head slowly. “Not today.”
Not today. Risk is part of this sport. It’s dangerous at any age and skill level. But we have done absolutely everything we can to be ready for today. Not only to be ready. To win. I’m going to leave him in my tracks and cross the line first. Every single race. Seeding to Big Final. That’s the plan.
The morning stretches on for what feels like forever and rushes by in a blur. Video review. Strength and muscle activation. Another round of equipment inspection. Small meals meant to keep our energy up but never weigh us down. Sometimes I hear the click of a camera shutter or catch people watching me, then whispering to a companion. But when I turn, the camera is nowhere to be seen. And as for the whispers...they could be commenting how badass I look in my race suit.
Apex was there for that day everything changed, and for today, when it all comes together. When this is over, I’m going to talk to Tara about pitching me as a brand ambassador. Boy, do I have stories I can tell about my Apex experience.
Before real racing starts, we do the seeding run. Each person goes down solo. Your time determines which heat you’ll be in for the round of thirty-two.
My run isn’t bad. Hard and slick. I make a few mistakes, but nothing a viewer at home would notice on TV, and it’s enough that I finish the run in fifth place with another twenty or so skiers to go behind me, including the rest of my team. Austin’s only three people back, so I stick around to watch him do hisrun. The big screen at the bottom shows him coming through the jumps and turns and his form is perfect. He stays low and tight, and his extensions to keep his balance in the gnarly bits are controlled.
I’m in eighth place by the time he’s done. He’s in second, but with several hundredths of a second between him and the third-place finisher. Lots of room for other skiers to push us even farther apart before we start the heats.
“Did you go okay?” he asks as we push off on our skis, heading back to the lift.
I make a dissatisfied noise. “I’ve got some adjustments to make. But it’ll be better next time. Turn two set me back, but I know what to look for.”
We’re all business. There’s no time right now for sweet words or goofing around. This is what he meant when Austin said he was going wait to tell me he loved me. Right now we have no room for distractions.
Someone leaps in front of us, a woman with dark hair and a winter coat that includes a fur-lined hood. Not an athlete or anyone associated with the race. Spectator, then.
“Can I get a selfie?” she asks. “I read all about you this morning. You’re so cute. Is it hard to be gay in ski cross? Are you the first two to come out?” She spins, holding her phone up to frame herself, along with our two shocked faces. Before she can take the picture, though, a man in an official games jacket steps forward, shouting in rapid staccato Italian. The woman may not understand the words, but the tone is clear. Get the fuck away from the athletes.
“No comment,” Austin murmurs softly to himself, making me laugh. Where’s Tara when you need her? She would have fully bodychecked that woman and tackled her into the snow.
When seeding is done, there’s a short break while officials inspect the course, replace gates that were clipped by skiers,double check snow fences and such. We take the time to eat, hydrate, review footage one more time. The mood among our team is mixed. Austin finished seeding the highest, placing seventh. Matthieu is twelfth and I’m seventeenth. Kage is twenty-sixth and looks bummed about it. Matthieu sits next to him in the snow for a moment, speaking softly with him. There’s only so much to say. The ranking doesn’t mean a lot beyond which heat he’ll start in. As long as he knows where he lost time and what he needs to do to not make the same mistakes again, he’s got the same chance as anyone else.
I go in the first heat, which is not my favourite place to be. It gets the initial waiting over with, but then means there’s a lot of waiting on the back end while the other seven heats run.
“You got this,” Kage says, giving me a thumbs-up and a shaky smile. Austin gives me a quick nod and a fist bump. Matthieu is fiddling with his boots and doesn’t say anything. Skiing is a solitary sport at the end of the day, even with three other men behind you.
I’m in the outside gate, which makes it harder to draft once the race gets going, but makes the starts easier, since I only have to fight one other competitor for position, though I still wind up third after we finish the rollers. The sun is up higher now, closer to midday, and the snow has softened somewhat. I keep my eyes downhill, looking for the opportunity to pass the lead skier to open. It does in the second turn. My line is better this time. Still high, but with more traffic since my last run, the terrain is better. It doesn’t slow me down and by the time I come around to the next jump, I’m clear, moving through empty air alone, though the hiss of skis behind me says someone is close. The third turn is tight. If whoever is behind me gets any closer, they’re going to clip my skis. Contact is inevitable in this sport, but it’s especially tricky when you’re the one out front and can’t see what’s coming.If I slow down to give him the room he’s entitled to take to pass me, I might let all three of them go by at the same time.
In the final pitch, I’m second, crossing the line a hair behind an American skier. I’d have rather been first, but my time is better than my seeding run, and second is all I need to move onto the next round.
Austin’s in the heat behind me, and he struggles at the top, trying to find a clear path, but the problem is solved for him when an Italian skier lands badly on the first jump and takes out two of his three competitors, leaving Austin with clear sailing all the way to the finish. It’s not the way anyone wants to win a heat, but it happens in ski cross, and Austin is all smiles as he pulls up his goggles to check the big board with race results.
“Nice one,” I say, offering a fresh round of fist bumps. I’ve lingered in the finish area again to watch his race. The crowd of spectators has grown since the seeding runs. People from all over the world wave different flags and ring bells and cheer for their favourites.
“Cedric! Cedric!”
I turn, and my mom is there, waving a red and white maple leaf with my dad. I gasp. They’re supposed to be at home in Ottawa. How did they get here? They’re cheering deliriously and I wave. I want to go to them, but not right now. It might have been better if I didn’t know they were here at all. Stay in the game.
Austin’s waving too, and that’s when I realize his parents are there as well. He also doesn’t approach. My mom snaps a picture, then a few other people around her do too. Then more. The Canadian contingent seems to realize who we are. No doubt they’ve all read the article. I think I hear someone shout “Kiss!” but before I can look to see who it is, Austin slides in front of me, jerking his chin toward the exit from the finish area. It’s a silentcommand. Not now. There are still three more races to go. No time for diversions.
Except now that we’re into true competition, the exit area is actually a media gauntlet. Reporters from each of the competing countries’ major news outlets are waiting to get clips and sound bites from competitors. Normally, we wouldn’t really need to do more than stop to talk to whoever is here from the CSBC, but as we approach, our names go up in a clamour. Phones and cameras are raised. If they can’t talk to us, they at least want a picture. The ski-crossed lovers. I shouldn’t have waited for Austin. Being seen together today is a stressor neither one of us needs.
