Competing At the 2006 Olympics - Reflections of an Extreme Tobogganer

Being an athlete at the Olympics is a larger than life experience! The whole event from start to finish is a giant rollercoaster of emotions – loop-de-loops included. For many athletes, myself included, competing at the Olympics is a childhood dream. In fact, some days I still feel as though my Olympic experience was all a dream. In the moment I was so immersed in the experience my feelings about the whole event seemed normal. A few months later the experience was still so fresh, and the pure exhilaration of a momentous accomplishment was still pulsing through my veins. At that time it still seemed reasonable for the Olympics to feel like one fantastic dream. However, it has been 5 years since I donned the red and white for my country at the 20th Olympic Winter games in the sport of bobsleigh, and it still feels like a dream. Maybe competing at the Olympics will always feel like a dream, who knows? But, as I sit here and reflect on my Olympic experience the event is still crisp in my mind; a memory etched into my consciousness forever. 



When I was still an Olympic hopeful I had the pleasure of listening to an Olympian reflect on her Olympic experience. She told us that marching into the Olympic stadium was going to be the experience of a lifetime, and it was. I was filled with so much pride I wanted to burst. She also said, “When the Olympic Flame lights the Olympic Cauldron, that flame will also set fire to your heart. This is a flame that will be with you for the rest of your life. For once you are an Olympian, you will always be an Olympian.” So this is where the journey down memory lane begins, with the lighting of the flame inside my heart. 



Technically speaking, an athlete becomes an Olympian after the cauldron is lit at the Opening Ceremonies, and the Games are declared open. Is that where athletes actually become Olympic, where I became an Olympian? No. No, because the elements that ignited the fire in my heart where set in place long before I marched into the Olympic Stadium. No, because the foundation was built through a lifetime of hard work, pain, joy, determination, blood, sweat and tears. No, because the countless hours of practice and dedication to excellence allowed me to walk into the Olympic stadium. Through hard work, and the encouragement of many coaches, my parents, and those who believed in me, I was able to accomplish greatness. 



As you can see, an athlete becomes Olympic long before they march into the Olympic stadium for the first time. Yet, the moment the Olympic Cauldron is lit, is the moment all hard work, sweat, blood and tears become worth it. Every sacrifice – big and small –becomes meaningful. In that moment you know you have achieved a momentous goal. You revel in the pride pulsing through your veins, you smile bigger than you’ve ever smiled in your life, and possibly you shed a few tears of joy. AND THEN, you realize that your journey is far from over. Although you are very proud of how far you’ve come, you know there is work left to do. In mere days you will go toe-to-toe with the best athletes in the world. You’ve worked incredibly hard to get inside the Olympic stadium, but you are not here as a spectator. You are here to compete!

For most athletes when they qualify for the Olympics they know they will be competing - barring an injury or personal tragedy. However, when you are a brake“person” on a bobsleigh team your fate is a little more questionable. I was the first bobsleigh athlete to qualify for the 2006 Olympic team, yet the last to have a secure racing position. I wasn’t able to secure my racing place until after the Games had begun. The 2005-2006 bobsleigh season was the most stressful year of my life. As a brake“person”, every time you step onto the bobsleigh track, it matters. Every time you push a bobsleigh, it counts (that’s what we do at the start). Whether it be training or racing, your performance is always being measured against your teammates. For the last 5 years Canada has had the strongest, most successful pushing teams in the world. During the 2006 Olympics 2 sleds got to race, with 2 spots for Olympic brakewomen (women compete as a duo, where men compete as 2’s and 4’s) and 3 girls worthy of those 2 spots (I was one of those girls). This made choosing who got to race and who had to watch extremely difficult. 

The final brakeman decision for the Canada II pilot (Suzanne Gavine-Hlady) was between myself, and the second brakeman of the Canada I sled (2^nd brakeman: Kaillie Humphries – current Olympic gold medalist, Canada 1 pilot: Helen Upperton – current Olympic silver medalist).

All year Suzanne and I had been teammates. As a team we had consistently pushed top 2 start times, and came close to a few international start records (start times are the brakeman’s claim to fame in the bobsleigh world). Together we slid to the best finishes of her entire bobsleigh career. Needless to say, we were performing well together. We sacrificed a lot for each other, and were there for each other. However, the federation wanted to make sure that the fastest teams were together, whatever the cost to team cohesion. In a sport where winning and losing can come down to .01s, the coaches wanted to make sure they had all their bases covered. Two weeks before the Olympics Kaillie and I went through a series of push offs (Push offs = 1 brakeman pushes pilot one run, the other brakeman the other. Fastest time wins.)

 I won by .01s and declared the racing brakeman…or so I thought. The night before opening ceremonies the head coach announced that Kaillie and I would be pushing off…again…a week before competition….over not one, but two-days. I was scared that all my hard work would amount to nothing- that in the final hour my racing spot would be snatched away from me. At the beginning of the season Suzanne and I had made a pact to each other to start and finish this journey together. It was heartbreaking to think that we had come this far, and we were inches away from losing all that we had worked for. Two ridiculous push offs later and the spot was finally, and rightfully mine. PHEW!

For clarity sake here’s a step-by-step progression of events:


Step 1: Decide to become an Olympian at age 8


Step 2: Devote entire life to being an athlete (3 national teams – 3 different
 sports – age 12-20. I had just turned 20 a month before the Olympics.)


Step 3: Work rear end off to qualify for the Olympics


Step 4: Arrive at Olympic Village


Step 5: Enjoy Opening Ceremonies


Step 6: Leave for training camp in Switzerland and fight tooth and nail for
 racing spot with current teammate


Step 7: Get back to Olympic Village


Step 8: Do 6 runs of official training



Which brings us to Step 9: Compete!



I felt SO READY to finally compete, and I was. I was in fantastic shape, and technically I was pushing great. I had worked hard to be one of the best brakemen in the world, and it showed. However, things didn’t turn out the way I had hoped. Our start times had us ranked 3rd at the top of the track (you’re probably thinking “that’s not so bad”, however our start times were disappointing for what we were capable of). Regardless…we started 3rd and we finished in 13th position. I am not sure if it was the pressure, or the political garbage that was thrust upon us, but Suzanne and I didn’t come together as the team we should have been, and once were. I still look back and try to figure out what went wrong. We gave it our all, but that spark just wasn’t there. Suzanne didn’t get the support she needed and was afraid of crashing every run. She wasn’t in control of the sled, and I was too inexperienced, too young to know how to help her. 



For a long time I felt ashamed and embarrassed abut my performance. I thought I should have done more, and that I disappointed a lot of people who were counting on me to “succeed”. Even though I earned my racing spot, I thought the federation had made a mistake letting me race. I thought it would have been better if we had crashed. And then I realized that way of thinking was a self-imposed prison. It was my choice to think like that or not. I earned my spot, and did what I could in that moment. Do I wish the moment could have been different? Absolutely. Do I regret anything? Absolutely not. 



There is a saying called “Olympic luck”, which basically means that anything goes at the Olympics. There’s a huge chance that the favorites will crumble or under perform, as a result the “underdogs” “wild cards” and “dark horses” tend to over perform. Suzanna and I were the wild card team and I was hoping for an Olympic miracle. I didn’t get it. Yet, what I have come to realize is the lessons I learned on the road to becoming an Olympian are invaluable. These lessons are something that universities can’t teach and money can’t buy. But they can be shared!



The Olympics fosters some of the biggest triumphs, and the deepest disappointments. Yet, sometimes when you lose, you win. My Olympic success came when I moved past the results and harnesses my experience in a positive way. Once the competition is over only the memories, the lessons and the burning hearts remain.