We’re led down the hallway and into the gymnasium, where what looks like the entire school is gathered for my appearance. I throw a hand up in a wave to the students all seated on the bleachers, andwhoopsandhollersring out in a roar of applause.
The principal finally gets everyone’s attention, and the noise dies down to a low murmur before stopping completely.
“Today, we’re lucky to have our very own Jett Landry, world renowned skier, here to talk to us about safety in sports,” the principal announces, before adding, “keep itappropriate today, kids, or you’ll be hearing about it in homeroom.”
I stand at the front of the room and wait until the room is quiet again before I introduce myself.
“Uh, yeah, so, I’m Jett Landry,” I say awkwardly, as I try to remember what I was here to talk about.
I’ve never done anything like this before, my PR team typically tries to keep me away from situations like this. Situations where I have to try and be a role model.
I clear my throat into the microphone and pull out the notes Brooke gave me.
“I’ve been skiing for almost my entire life. Skiing is everything to me, and with the level of risk involved with the tricks I do in my freestyle competitions, safety is always at the forefront of my mind.”
Some slides appear behind me on the projector, photos of me from some of my events, and I find my groove. It’s not hard to tell them all about the sport I live for, breathe for. But then the slide changes to something else.
The day I fell coming out of my triple misty. The trick that was supposed to win me the qualifier last season but cut my season short instead.
I clench my jaw and flash a glare at Brooke, who gives me a shrug as if she didn’t know this was coming. The one thing I hate talking about, admitting that I’m not invincible.
Reading off the notes Brooke gave me, I continue with my spiel.
“This was the worst day of my career, the day I tore my ACL. Now, this accident was just that, an accident. I’ve trained every day since I started skiing. I keep myself in the best shape humanly possible, and still, this injury ruined myseason and just about sent me into early retirement. We can’t prevent all accidents from happening, but we can prevent them from being life-limiting, or even fatal. I was wearing my helmet the day I fell off of this seventy-five foot jump, and I don’t want to think about what could have happened if I wasn’t.”
In my peripheral vision, I can see Brooke giving me a thumbs up, and I decide whatever else she has for me to talk about, I’m not going to. That’s enough for today, so instead, I open the floor up to questions.
The first few questions are innocuous, asking about my current ski season, what I do to train, how I got into skiing. But when the next hand goes up, and I point to the kid in the backwards ball cap, I understand why Brooke gave me a thorough run down of the kinds of answers I’m allowed to give.
“Yeah, so, my friends and I want to know,” the kid starts, his buddies around him giggling and smacking him on the shoulders. “How do you wheel so many chicks?”
A rumble of laughter ripples out through the crowd and I steel myself.
“I’ve only got eyes for one girl—woman—now,” I answer, and point to the next student with their hand up. It’s a girl this time so I think maybe it’ll be safe.
“Um, how married are you?” she asks.
The gymnasium erupts in a raucous uproar.
I notice the principal about to step in to save me, to reprimand the students, but I hold a hand up to stop him, a look of shock and confusion washing over his features.
“I wasn’t going to answer any inappropriate questions, but fuck it,” I mutter. I don’t look over at Brooke, but I can imagine that she’s shielding her eyes, wishing she wasanywhere but here. “Truth is, I was exactly like all you little assholes. I thought I was hot shit.”
A few nervous giggles echo in the silence of my pause. “I thought nothing could touch me, nothing could rock me, that I was invincible, and you know what? I’m not. And you’re not either. Part of being safe is your ability to admit that.”
I learned that lesson the hard way when I injured myself. But it turns out I’m having to relearn it again now too. In all honesty, I’m more affected by the things people say about me than I let on. I’ve lived up the public image for so long, I’ve forgotten myself along the way. And when that happens, you start to believe the narratives.
I look over toward Poppy now, a warm, fuzzy feeling flooding my chest when I see her broad smile, her hands clasped beneath her chin, waiting for my next words. Brooke doesn’t look as enthused, but she looks intrigued, at least, so I carry on.
“The fact is, it’s okay to be soft. It’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes. To not always look ‘cool’.”
I think about all the ways I’ve been able to let my guard down around Poppy.
She gives me a safe space to admit that I might not want to play this part anymore. That there’s a deeper layer I’ve been shoving down and repressing under the guise of protecting myself. The part of me that cares deeply, that wants to love and be loved.
“It can be pretty fucking lonely when you only care about how you appear on the outside. The people who really care about you will only care about what’s in here.” I poke at my chest. “That’s all that really matters, isn’t it?Finding the people who trust you, believe in you, make you feel safe.”
I square my shoulders, shrugging off the emotions that are threatening to overtake me, and realize my speech has taken a bit of a detour.
