“When I knew that I had a chance to win my first race after his death, I had this really surreal moment at the top of the mountain before my second run. I knew that if I had a good run, then I’d win. But if I won, then I’d be winning in a reality where my dad isn’t here to experience it. And I was asking myself, Do I want to even exist in this reality?
When I was at the gate, I had this really intense memory of him. It was just a random thing, and I couldn’t get it out of my head. I didn’t want to. Normally, when I’m racing, I’m trying to block out everything. But my biggest fear now is that if I let a memory die, it’s like losing him all over again.
I mean, maybe this sounds crazy, but I just felt like … after someone dies, you have a few days where everyone they ever touched is thinking about them, right? Celebrating them. Keeping the flame alive. But when my dad’s funeral was over, and all the incredible people who shared stories and sent letters and flowers — and everyone who simply thought of him — they moved on. It’s inevitable. And when that happens, who is left to keep his memory alive?
It’s just me. It’s just us.
That’s how I felt. So this memory came to me on the mountain, in the middle of a huge moment, with TV cameras everywhere, and … I just kind of let it be. I heard the sound of his voice, and I let myself feel everything. And then I let myself ski down the mountain. I let myself win, without my dad there to experience it.”
