Winter Olympics | A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words
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At the top of the mountain, the icy wind took the breath away from a young skier, that was Yorik, who could hardly believe where he was and what he was about to do.
He was sitting at the starting gate, over a hundred meters high. Below, the landing ramp looked tiny, in the distance, a crowd watched him expectantly for the long-awaited ski jump.
While waiting for the starting signal, Yorik's mind traveled back in time. With nostalgia, he remembered the past; to reach this place, he had gone through tough years of training: years of dark mornings, of painful falls in the snow that left him not only bruises but also scars.
He recalled the countless minor competitions, training sessions in snowstorms, and extreme fatigue...
The path to the Winter Olympics was relentless for such a young boy; excellence demands perfection and doesn’t tolerate the slightest mistake. However, his determination had always been greater than the fear of failure.
—Competitor number 49...— the announcer's voice resonated through the speakers.
Yorik closed his eyes for a second. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with pure, crisp air. He adjusted his protective goggles and felt the beat of his heart set the rhythm for a countdown... With a smooth, firm movement, he pushed off the bar.
The acceleration was brutal and progressive, the friction of the skis against the icy rails of the ramp made a screeching sound. Gravity pulled him toward the ground at maximum speed.
In just a few seconds, the speedometer read over 90 kilometers. Everything around him condensed into a tunnel of white and blue; he reached the edge of the ramp and, with millimetric synchronization born of muscle memory, propelled his legs with explosive force.
His takeoff was flawless. The roar of the ramp faded away abruptly, the clean whistle of the wind was almost inaudible. Yorik spread his skis in the classic "V" shape, leaning his body forward until it was nearly parallel to the boards. For a few glorious seconds, gravity ceased to exist. He was flying like a bird.
But the ground began to approach more and more rapidly. Yorik adjusted his posture in the air, preparing for impact. He flexed one knee slightly in front of the other, and his skis touched the snow with precision, executing a perfect Telemark landing.
Speed decreased as he glided through the braking zone, and the deafening roar of the crowd came with a wave of heat.
When he took off his goggles, the snow shimmered under the stadium lights. He looked up at the giant screen. The numbers flashed in green, indicating a spectacular distance that placed him among the best in the world.
All the pain, sacrifice, and sweat had been worth it for those unparalleled seconds of flight.
Posted Using INLEO