He hands me a tablet with the day's schedule. Three athletes. Two media appearances. One sponsor activation.
I scroll through the names.
No Nico. He's Eiswerk, not Vektor.
I exhale.
"You good?" Marco asks.
"Yeah. Just getting oriented."
He nods, already moving on to the next task.
I glance at the screens. One of them shows the Super-G course. Steep. Fast. Technical. The kind of course that punishes mistakes.
The kind of course Nico shouldn't be racing on a half-healed knee.
I close the tablet and get to work.
***
NICO
The skis feel wrong under my feet.
Not the skis themselves. Those are perfect. Freshly waxed, edges sharp, the kind of precision the wax techs dream about. But my body doesn't recognize them anymore. Like I'm putting on someone else's legs. I have five days of training in my legs.
Strangely, the knee hurts more when I walk than when I ski. But training is one thing, racing another. I skipped the downhill training runs, as I am stupid enough to race Super-G and chase the globe. Won’t risk any other race, the overall globe is outside my reach, anyway.
I clip in at the top of the Lenzerheide Super-G course, poles in hand, brace strapped tight under my race suit. The team doctor is watching from the sidelines, arms crossed. He doesn't say anything. Doesn't need to.
Medically, I can clear you with conditions. Think about the next ten years, not the next ten days.
I shove the thought down and push off for the inspection.
The first section is mellow. Wide turns, good visibility, nothing too aggressive. I sideslip through it slowly, studying the line, memorizing the pitch.
The knee is quiet. For now.
Then comes the blind roll.
I stop at the top of it, poles planted, looking down. The compression is steep. In a race, you'd go straight down into it, let gravity compress your legs, then explode out the other side.
I sideslip down carefully, edges scraping, feeling every angle of the terrain. My weight shifts forward as I enter the compression, pressure building in my quads, and the knee sends a warning. Not pain. Just... awareness. A whisper that sayscareful.
I ease off. Sideslip slower. Come out of the compression imagining what it would feel like at race speed.
Behind me, Thomas is side-slipping the same section. Even in inspection, his movements are aggressive. Confident. Studying the terrain like he's already planning the attack.
The way I used to.
I keep going.
The middle section opens up. Long traverse, then a series of tight gates set on a steep pitch. This is where the race gets won or lost.
I sideslip through gate by gate, memorizing the rhythm. One. Two. Three. Four. Turn. Turn. Turn.
On the third gate, I shift my weight to test the angle, and the knee sends another jolt. Sharp. Electric.
