I’ve been to World Series Games in Yankee Stadium during the 1990s, with Pettitte on the mound and 56,000 cheering, the entire structure shaking violently. But I’ve never experienced anything quite like the moment when 39,000 people felt our hearts drop into our stomachs as we went from cheering beyond ourselves, ready to burst into victory tears. Instead, we watched our beloved Mikaela Shiffrin crash hard in the 2nd run of the GS on Saturday.
The crash was horrible. A simple boot out turned into a double panel gate crash into the B-net. Shiffrin’s body was upside down, with pressure on her neck as she slid from one panel gate to the next. The crowd required no replay to confirm the horror of what we witnessed. The BF and I watch motorcycle racing all the time. This crash was way scarier than anything we’ve seen there.
It was … overwhelming. I honestly couldn’t write this for last week’s paper. I tried but wasn’t ready; I couldn’t get through all the emotions. The moment was too much. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. We, all of us, stood quietly and just waited. The BF & I quietly grabbed each other’s hands, squeezing them tight with all our fears and hopes. The crash felt like the bottom fell out of the world, and we were paralyzed with our inability to do anything. But wait. So wait, we did. It felt like time simultaneously stood still and took forever, especially as the crowd began to realize Shiffrin wouldn’t be coming down on her own.
Any skier knows that toboggan is a last resort, especially when you’re on a sheet of ice like the bottom of SuperStar for the World Cup. As we saw the sled come down, our fears grew. We couldn’t see anything while patrol loaded the sled, and we felt ill at the thought of our hero being strapped in. A sponsorship banner was in the way, and the cameramen honorably gave Mikaela her privacy. To the horror of the crowd, the race crew continued to set up the awards ceremony. Would they really do the awards with Shiffrin still on the hill? And still, nobody moved. The sled started slowly sliding down the hill, guided by two of our best patrollers.
A roar began to rise slowly from the crowd, and the quiet tension dissolved. They say Killington has the loudest fans; we love all the athletes. And so we did what we do best: we cheered. We cheered from our hearts, wanting to let Shiffrin know we loved her. We loved her for her skiing and for simply being her, no matter that 100 didn’t happen today. We just wanted her to know that we loved her, win or lose.
It was a beautiful cheer, with the respect given to Derek Jeter at his last game in Yankee Stadium. But this cheer went deeper. We combined our energies and shone them at Mikaela, so powerful together that our love alone could heal her. As a child of the 1980s, the Care Bears taught me that people united by adversity become a healing force. If we couldn’t cheer Shiffrin on to victory, we would cheer for her healing instead. We had to try. We had to do everything we could to ensure she was okay. I’d never witnessed it in real life before, but that day, in that moment, the Killington crowd performed the Care Bear stare.
As the toboggan approached the skiers right of the finish line, we saw a small, bright orange-colored mitten rise up in the air. The crowd went just as wild as if she had crossed the finish line in victory. She was awake! Together, the ski racing world breathed a collective sigh of relief as tears dripped down thousands of cold cheeks. Fans gasped, so wrought up in thinking healing thoughts that we had forgotten to breathe. Shoulders that had been raised high with anxiety dropped suddenly. Mittens that had been covering eyes moved down just enough so that one could sneak a peek. The crowd let up an enormous roar of relief, and life could continue again.
She could move her left arm! That was all we knew. Well, we knew the crash was the weekend ending, but was it season-ending? Career ending? All those questions passed behind everyone’s eyes in just a few moments. Then the guilt clicked in, and we were again sick to our stomachs. Had we pushed her too hard? Had we loved her so much that now she felt like she had to perform instead of just ski? Had we caused this with our intense enthusiasm for the sport of ski racing and our demand for 100? Why couldn’t we have let her ski and then count the races afterward? She will eventually make the 100 Club, and we should have let her do it in her own time.
But a crash is nobody’s fault. Sometimes, you slip out. Sometimes, your skis knock together. And sometimes, you slide down the mountain on your hip and feel the abrasion developing underneath your GS suit. That’s ski racing. Your skin is already so cold and brittle you just know it’s getting ripped apart with a nasty abrasion. The snow is too rough, too cold. The ice is jagged, and all you’ve got for protection is a thin lycra suit, maybe some paddling on the outer thigh, and a pair of long johns. Any ski racer can tell you that—that slide HURT.
As Camille Roust said in her victory speech immediately following the race, “Mikaela is the strongest of us.” There is no doubt that Shiffrin was aggressively fighting for every turn in that run, and she wanted that 100th victory just as much – if not more – than any of us standing in the crowd. And she wanted to win in Killington. We could feel it. She’s one the hardest working & committed athletes; she deserves that 100th victory. There is no doubt that she will get that 100th victory. On her schedule— When she is ready.
HOF Pitcher Tom Seaver said, “If you dwell on statistics, you get shortsighted. If you aim for consistency, the numbers will be there at the end.” Like those of us in our own 100 Club, just do the work. Every day. Just go skiing—every day. Simply love the sport, and the numbers will come. And when they do, wherever it happens, Mikaela, know that your Killington fans will be 100 percent behind you, filled with love and admiration. Because we are not fickle fans, the ones that love only in victory. Because you did not fail—you are amazing! And we will love you as you heal – and if you need any advice on that, don’t hesitate to sit down at a bar in Killington. We absolutely love to talk about ski injuries.
Merisa Sherman is a longtime Killington resident, global real estate advisor, town official, and Coach PomPom. If you have a Killington moment you’d like to share, reach out at Merisa.Sherman@SothebysRealty.com.
