Chapter 1 #2
I'm standing here, talking to the man who competed and medaled at his last three Olympic games with a stress fracture in his ankle, complaining about some discomfort. Seriously?
To River Jacobs, pain only has as much power as you give it.
He’s a certified badass, and I don’t know why I can’t be like that.
Why can't I push through this? I work so hard, do my very best every single day, and yet I can't seem to silence the ugly voice in the back of my mind, whispering that I'm never going to be good enough.
A voice that gets a little louder every time Dad gets that tired, exasperated look when I let slip just how weak I am.
I can tell he has more to say on the subject, but I'm saved by the arrival of Bay, who trumps into the room with his gym bag slung over his shoulder, mumbling something about a flat tire.
Dad, Lake, and I watch as he pushes past us to get to the sink, pretending to be oblivious to the annoyance rolling off Dad in waves.
“Third time this week, Bay.”
“Is it?” My eldest brother asks mildly, filling his bottle with water from the tap.
Of the three of us, it's becoming pretty clear Bay is the least dedicated to this season.
To be in the running for the Olympic team at all, you need to place among the top 30 in an international competition.
I have a 2nd place medal under my belt, Lake's best performance was 10th, but Bay barely squeaked by, coming in 28th on a judging technicality.
He's twenty-seven now. Even if nobody says it out loud, his career is over .
As if all this wasn't bad enough for Bay, our father woke up today and chose violence. “Head to the gym. I'll text Tony to meet you early,” he orders coldly. "You can join us on the mountain when you've done a full round."
I wince, but keep my mouth shut to avoid suffering the same fate.
We had conditioning yesterday, and it says a lot that I would rather spend all day training on a hip that feels like it's stuffed with shards of glass than do one more burpee.
If Bay is annoyed, he doesn't show it, just screws the top back on his water bottle and walks out without another word.
Dad watches him go, his expression unreadable.
“I think he's going through some stuff,” I offer quietly, my throat tightening with pain for Bay. Neither Lake nor I ever loved snowboarding like he does. We’ve never gotten that feverish, obsessive glint in our eyes when we talk about it or miss it on our days off.
Our eldest brother is more innovative than we are, pushes boundaries harder, and does it all with a smile.
It seems like a cruel twist of fate that he was never quite good enough to make the Olympic team.
He deserves it more than I do. He wants it more than Lake.
Yet he didn't get the chance to stand on that podium and know he's the best in the world.
If Bay's ever resented me for it, he never said, but sometimes I see the pain in his eyes when talk turns to the games.
“We're all going through stuff, DJ,” Dad replies after a long moment, his voice gruff.
"I don't see either of you slacking off when shit gets hard.
That's not who I raised you to be. If Bay is ready to walk away, I won't stop him, but he's not going to stomp around here like a toddler, pouting that he didn't get his way.
If he's here, he's working." He jerks his chin toward the hall, “Let's head out. ”
Lake and I follow Dad through the building, lost in our thoughts.
None of us speak as we retrieve our gear from the rack by the door and step out into the frosty morning air.
The mountain we train at, Blue Pike, has one side dedicated to recreational skiers and snowboarders, with a lodge, spa, and luxury hotel.
The other side, where I've spent all the better part of my life, is set up for professional ski and snowboard training.
There are multiple clubs that rent space here, Dad's among them, and it's one of the best facilities in the country.
I'm lucky to be here, but it's very public .
Nearly every single person who trains at Blue Pike has ranked internationally.
While I'm here, I'm DJ, Olympian, and daughter of River.
There's no room for doubt, fear, or pain.
This entire mountain is littered with competition, coaches of competition, reporters, recruiters, sponsors, and sports photographers.
Even now, with the sky pink, and formal training not beginning for another two hours, there are still a few members of the ski team by the chair lift and three guys from our junior club are just finishing a run.
“Morning Jacobs fam,” Marty, the chairlift operator, calls merrily as we approach. “DJ, should I put money on you for the XT Games? My kid needs new skis.”
My hip throbs, shooting white-hot pain up my spine, but I'm careful to keep my expression neutral as I call back to him, “Put your money on Lake! He's going to crush it.”
Marty chuckles and salutes us as we line up and let the chair lift sweep us away from the ground.
“You're wincing when you walk,” Dad mutters darkly, glancing over his shoulder as if he's worried Marty is gossiping about us to the next group getting on the lift. “Do you need to go home for the day?” His tone makes it clear this isn't so much an offer as a threat .
Yes . I need to go home.
I busy myself with wiping a smear from the lenses of my goggles to avoid looking at him as I reply, “No. I'm sorry. I just didn't sleep well.”
Mostly because my hip made it impossible to get comfortable and the nightmares of being buried alive in snow weren't exactly restful. I woke up drenched in sweat and it took ages to calm down enough to sleep again. Just like pretty much every other night since winter training started back up.
Dad stares straight forward, his jaw tight, and I know what he's thinking. After all the resources and time dedicated to making me one of the best snowboarders in the world, am I going to let one stupid joint end my career? Injuries aren’t uncommon in this sport.
Half the members of Dad's club have had to take time off or see Doctor Harrison at some point or another, but they're still here, fighting to be the best.
What does it say about me that I spend most of my days fantasizing about how great it would be to go home and nap?
When we slide off the lift, I fall back, pretending to adjust my bindings while Dad and Lake head off toward the halfpipe.
I wait until they're out of sight before swinging my backpack over my shoulder and pulling out my water and a bottle of prescription painkillers.
They're leftovers from when I got my wisdom teeth out over the summer.
There are only about ten left, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Casting a look around to make sure I'm not being watched, I swallow a single pill and tuck the rest into my bag.
It's obviously against the rules, and I'd probably end up with a lifetime ban from competing if I had a positive drug test, but we're only ever checked before competitions.
I'm not doing anything wrong. Your body takes a beating when you're training this intensely, especially with an existing injury.
Sometimes you just need to make it through the day by whatever means necessary.
Doctor Harrison's injection tonight will help. It always does.
I won’t need to do this again.