And then I beat myself up for the next twenty gates, because apparently I ski worse when I'm trying not to think about her than when I let myself want her.
Footsteps.A tech sticks his head into the hut.
"Thomas?Kat's calling."
I blink."What?"
"Katharina.She's holding the phone…Niko's to give you a report.He's down by the red chair."
I laugh, a single stunned exhale."Of course he is."
I take the phone.My glove nearly fumbles it.
"Thomas," Niko's voice comes fast, a little too loud, on the line."Listen.The groove in the compression is deeper now.Tight left footer after the second delay…everyone's getting tossed.If you trust it, use it.If not, edge early.Your call."
I nod, even though he can't see me."Got it."
But my mind is somewhere else.
She’s with him.Next to the red chair.The one that should’ve been mine.Holding the phone, passing on information.Doing her job.
And all I see is her hand holding the phone like a thread that runs from her to me, invisible and electric.
I almost laugh.This is how I lost the first run.By letting her in where she didn’t belong.Letting her pull me offline.
Two racers for me and nine to go.I have two precious minutes to pull myself together.
I do what my mental coach drilled into me: don’t fight the distraction.Don´t battle with your thoughts, accept them and then decide with your rational mind - do I use them or will I lose because of them?
So I grip the thought tighter.I don’t fight it, I fold it in.Let the current run through me, not against me.Every athlete has their trick.Some picture the crowd, some picture the clock.For me, right now, it’s her.
Her eyes steady as a gate judge, daring me not to drift.And her mouth, soft, not hard, like she’s waiting for proof.Like if I deliver now, she’ll finally stop holding back.It’s not nerves buzzing through me, it’s heat.The kind that makes you want to drive straighter, faster, harder.Because winning isn’t just about the clock.It’s about earning the look that says you’re her hero.
Conquer the hill.For her.
Now, that feels better.
Heat builds low in my chest.Not rage.Not nerves.Drive.
I roll my shoulders once, twice.Set my poles.
Close my eyes.
Driven, but focused.
I'm at the gate.
The beeps start.Five… four…
I set my poles.Breathe slowly.
Three…
Her face.That look she gave me in Sölden.
Two…
She's watching.I know it.
