Flush

“Beep…..” That five-second pause seems so much longer. They said the course was good, except the second pitch, it was a little steep and icy, that everyone had been doing well. I can’t just do good, I have to do great. I had gotten first every race here for the past three years, and I wasn’t going to end my streak. “Beep” Ah, the different tone, I’m ready. “Beep, beep, beep, beep, BEEEEP” You don’t want to wait so long the tone changes again. It’s best to not delay; I like to have plenty of time.

I went back into my usual half crouch; I looked like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. I waited the natural pause, then launched myself forward with as much force as possible. I exploded off the snow and forward towards the course. The end tips of my skis flipping up in a satisfying way, my start wasn’t half bad.

I was off to the first gate; it was red. I had this course memorized, though it was pretty easy. It alternated red, blue, and then red again. Over, and over. I new where the flushes were, the hairpins were, and the delay. I new it like the back of my hand, and I was glad.

There were seven gates and then a hairpin, easy. This was going good. I was in the zone, seeing nothing but the course, hearing nothing but the wind and the thwack of the gates as they hit my poles, my shin guards, then the ground, and then sometimes me. I particularly didn’t like when they came back and hit you in the butt, that hurt. If they hit you in the back it was better because I had pretty close to an inch of padding protecting me.

The pitch after that first small one was just gates, this one was steeper. It was good that it was only gates here; flushes would make you to fast. This is the one my coach told me to watch out for, the one that’s icy and steep. I did well on it, not my best, but satisfactory. I was glad I tuned my skis last night after training, one of my friends didn’t and I bet they would be sorry here, it would cost them.

The third pitch was mine. The pitch was good, not to steep, not to flat. I would get the right amount of speed to carry through to my part of the race. The flats. Here there were gates until about two thirds the way down, then it was a flush. That flush, on the flats was my favourite part of the race. After the flats there was another little pitch with a few gates, then the finish line. I had this one in the bag!

I had just gotten to the flush; everything was great. Then I felt it, a strong tug on my leg. I was in the middle of the flush, and I barely hit the tip of my ski on one of the gates. “Shit!” I swore under my breath, as it flew off behind me.

I still had my two poles, and one of my skis; you had to have three objects. I could finish this if I could manage not to fall, or miss a gate. That was going to be difficult, but not impossible, considering I still had the rest of the flush to go. I didn’t want to pull out now; I was almost done. I would finish the race. I still had a chance; if everything went righty-o I could still maybe finish top three.

I finished the last seven gates, and glided swiftly over the finish line. I had finished, that was better than getting disqualified, or pulling out. At least I had a little something to be proud of. I heard people cheering, and those stupid cowbells they have. It sort of makes you feel like a cow or some other farm animal, since people ring cowbells, and you stop in something called a finish coral.

I came to a slow stop about five feet before the finish coral ended. Instead of doing my usual fast one, spraying the crowd with snow from my stop, and winking at my friends, or parents, before exiting.

I waited to hear my time, before I would walk over to the time board to see how I did. God I hope I still have this in the bag.