At age five, I was so inspired by the perfect routines of Nadia Comaneci on the
uneven parallel bars at the Olympic Games in Montreal, that I made my own gold medal
platform out of the living room furniture. I had caught Olympic fever and began
training zealously at Nadia's sport, but at fourteen years of age, realized that
gymnastics would not take me to the Olympics. I happened to chance upon a television
news-magazine that showed "aerial" skiers jumping off a tall plastic ramp, doing
flips and somersaults in the air, landing in a swimming pool, and once again, I
was captivated.
I had skied since I was three, so I quickly enrolled in the Waterville Valley summer
camp where I was taught acro-skiing (formerly ballet-skiing) and "upright" aerials
(twists but no somersaults).
Believe it or not, I have always been afraid of heights, so flying through the air,
looking at the world beneath my feet was scary. When flipping however, I could relax
because I was using my gymnastics background, now more concerned with body position
than the altitude, which was now my friend instead of foe. After just two years
of freestyle, I qualified for "water ramping" (somersaults into water).
Its surface was covered with plastic whiskers. These bristles reduced the surface
tension on the skis, but were very unforgiving on skiers who fell, acting like cheese-graters
on bare skin
At a training camp outside Lake Placid, the water ramp was ten feet wide, built
on a hill and featured a forty- and a sixty-foot descent (or "in-run") at approximately
45 degrees. Its surface was covered with circles of plastic whiskers like those
on a very firm brush. These bristles reduced the surface tension on the skis, allowing
them to slide down the ramp at speeds approaching 40 miles per hour, but were very
unforgiving on skiers who fell, acting like cheese-graters on bare skin.
A short, flat "pre- jump" area led to a curved surface of the actual jump (called
the "kicker") that (depending on whether you're attempting a single, double or triple)
was anywhere from six to ten feet high and almost vertical in its appearance. As
soon as the skiers reached the flat area at the bottom of the in-run, they locked
their legs and back into a firm position so they wouldn't collapse under the "G-forces"
of the kicker that launched them skyward.
Now he was asking the "rookie greenhorn" to attempt
something I had not even imagined before
Of the twenty athletes on the ramp that week, I had the least experience by far,
but after only two days, was successfully completing my single flips, landing on
both skis almost all the time. The U.S. national team coach, Wayne Hilterbrandt,
came to me at the end of a particularly long day of training and said, "Nikki, I
think you're ready to try a double." I thought he was kidding. This was my third
day of water ramping, and now he was asking the "rookie greenhorn" to attempt something
I had not even
imagined before. With skis over my shoulder, I began the slow,
terrified march up the steps.
"Higher," he yelled, "You'll need more speed and height, if you want to get two
flips in."
My pulse was racing. I was feeling capable yet unprepared at the same time. I knew
that I had learned how to jump, flip and land, but I had never tried doing two flips
in one sudden burst of activity.