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The high-flying, and at times bumpy, journey of freeskiing’s busiest athlete. By Edith Thys Morgan

Jeremy Bloom is a planner…to a point. That point typically comes just when he launches towards his next big goal in life. At age 37, he’s already achieved more goals than most would dare envision accomplishing in a lifetime of hard work. At age ten Bloom set a goal to ski in the Olympics and play football in the National Football League. He did both, becoming a two-time Olympian (2002, 2006) in freestyle mogul skiing, then being drafted by the Philadelphia Eagles. He is the only athlete to ski in the Olympics and also be drafted into the NFL. And that was just a start.

 Along the way he became a three-time mogul World Champion, fashion model, and TV personality. While in the NFL, he worried about being productive after sports, and took advantage of an NFL partnership program to study entrepreneurship at the Wharton School of Business. After retiring from football in 2008, and forming a successful nonprofit to give back to society, he started Integrate, a marketing software company in 2010. As Integrate continues to grow, Bloom explains how he planned its success. “We like to call it jumping out of an airplane and assembling the parachute on the way down,” Bloom laughs. “I love that part of it.” 

Indeed, the uncertainty that goes along with bold ambition is one of the many sports parallels Bloom sees in business. “In some ways it is very similar to being an athlete. You set a really big dream and vision and have a little bit of an idea of how to get there. But everybody’s journey is different. You have to take it one day at a time.” ... 

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Jeremy Bloom is a three-time World Champion, two-timeOlympic competitor and the only Olympic skier who also played in the National Football League. 

By Edith Thys Morgan

Jeremy Bloom is a planner…to a point. That point typically comes just when he launches towards his next big goal in life. At age 37, he’s already achieved more goals than most would dare envision accomplishing in a lifetime of hard work. At age ten Bloom set a goal to ski in the Olympics and play football in the National Football League. He did both, becoming a two-time Olympian (2002, 2006) in freestyle mogul skiing, then being drafted by the Philadelphia Eagles. He is the only athlete to ski in the Olympics and also be drafted into the NFL. And that was just a start.

Along the way he became a three-time mogul World Champion, fashion model, and TV personality. While in the NFL, he worried about being productive after sports, and took advantage of an NFL partnership program to study entrepreneurship at the Wharton School of Business. After retiring from football in 2008, and forming a successful nonprofit to give back to society, he started Integrate, a marketing software company in 2010. As Integrate continues to grow, Bloom explains how he planned its success. “We like to call it jumping out of an airplane and assembling the parachute on the way down,” Bloom laughs. “I love that part of it.”


A driven competitor, Bloom won a gold and silver medal at the World Championships at Deer Valley in 2003. But his 2005 season was for the ages. His record of six straight wins remained unbroken for seven years. And it led him to both the moguls and overall FIS Freestyle World Cup titles. Bloom ended 2005 as the top-ranked freestyle skier in the world. All photos courtesy Jeremy Blooom.

Indeed, the uncertainty that goes along with bold ambition is one of the many sports parallels Bloom sees in business. “In some ways it is very similar to being an athlete. You set a really big dream and vision and have a little bit of an idea of how to get there. But everybody’s journey is different. You have to take it one day at a time.” 

As golden as Bloom’s career has been, it has not been easy. His name has been in the news recently with California passing the Fair Pay to Play Act in September 2019, which permits college athletes in the state to hire agents and be paid endorsement money, essentially doing nothing less than rewiring amateur college athletics. Other states are sure to follow California, eventually leading to racers on elite college ski teams, for instance, being able to accept big-dollar endorsements from sponsors.

Bloom helped get this tectonic shift in college athletics moving 15 years ago when he sued the NCAA to allow him to accept skiing endorsements—which totaled as much as six figures—while also playing college football at the University of Colorado (CU) in Boulder. After two years, he lost his legal battle, and quit college football to prepare full time for skiing in the Olympics.

He dominated the sport in 2005, and entered the 2006 Games as the favorite, but did not medal. From there, he went directly into the NFL, an acronym he defines as “Not For Long,” and spent much of the next three years sidelined by injury.  

These experiences were fodder for Bloom’s book Fueled by Failure (Entrepreneur Press, 2015), which touches on his life’s philosophy, including: his 48-hour rule for steeping in and obsessing on failure before moving on; the Five Pillars of success in his company (performance, entrepreneurship, responsibility, creativity and humility); and positive reminders like “Don’t let the good days go to your head or the bad days go to your heart.” Other than his book’s title, little about Bloom’s life reads like failure. 

GROWING UP

Jeremy Bloom was born in Fort Collins, Colorado, and grew up in nearby Loveland (the town, not the ski area), the youngest of three in a skiing family. While skiing with their older children, his parents, Larry and Char, often left Jeremy with his grandfather, Jerry, who outfitted him with a superhero cape and baited him down the slopes with mini Snickers and an abiding faith in his abilities.

Larry, an avid sports fan, tossed the football with Jeremy in the afternoons, and indoors at night. “We spent countless hours watching the Broncos, and during the Olympics that’s the only thing that was on our TV,” recalls Bloom. When watching the 1992 Olympics, young Jeremy told his parents he wanted to ski in the Olympics and play in the NFL. Larry and Char shared what Bloom describes as “a healthy disregard for the impossible,” and encouraged him to pursue both paths. 

While competing for Team Breck he became the youngest athlete on the U.S. Ski Team at age 15, while also becoming a high school track and football star. His ski coach from age 11, Scott Rawles, describes the quick-footed Bloom as “the best trained athlete out there,” thanks to his track and football success. Additionally, “he had the mental attitude over everyone,” says Rawles.

Longtime U.S. Ski Team star and freestyle legend Trace Worthington was struck by Bloom’s outgoing personality and confidence with the older generation of athletes, as well as his savvy regarding sponsorship. He arrived on the scene with an agent, in pursuit of contracts for both skiing and modeling. To sponsors the pushy young kid delivered. “He had this infectious positive attitude,” says Worthington. “A lot of us would sit around and joke, ‘What doesn’t Jeremy Bloom do great?’” After the freestyling success of Eric Bergoust, Nikki Stone and then Jonny Moseley, Bloom stepped boldly into a legacy and the spotlight. 

TAKING OFF IN ALL DIRECTIONS

By the 2002 Winter Olympics, at age 19, Bloom was already World Champion, and though he did not win a medal, he set his sights on the 2006 Games. In the meantime, the small (5 foot 9 inches, 180 pounds) but fast athlete had been recruited by the University of Colorado Buffalos as a wide receiver, and enrolled that fall. In his first game, on the third punt return team, Bloom didn’t expect to see any action, but the coach sent him in. He ran 75 yards for a touchdown. Bloom set a pile of records at CU and earned All-American honors freshman and sophomore years, all while continuing to compete full time in skiing. 

“I had to radically change my body for each season,” explains Bloom, who had to gain 15 pounds for football, and then lose it almost immediately for the competitive ski season. Mentally, however, doing both sports was an advantage. “When I was ending football season, my skiing competitors were coming off eight months with no competition. Mentally I was so sharp and ready to jump back in.” Additionally, he was familiar with the pressure of playing in front of 50,000 people. 

Off the slopes and the field, Bloom was also building his brand in mainstream culture, sought after for modeling, product endorsements, TV guest hosting and celebrity appearances (he won the 2003 CBS Superstars Competition). While playing for CU, Bloom battled the NCAA for the right to keep his earnings—upwards of $350,000 per year— from skiing, his non-NCAA sport. Before starting his junior year in 2004, the NCAA declared him ineligible to compete in college football, and Bloom chose to focus on skiing and the 2006 Olympics. Bloom dominated the 2005 season, winning a then record six straight competitions. Off the hill, he had near rock-star status, and entered the 2006 Winter Games in Torino as both a celebrity and the heavy favorite for gold. The capriciousness of athletics struck, however, and the gutsy, usually rock-solid Bloom bobbled, finishing 6th. It was a surprise for fans, and devastating for Bloom, who calculated that he “missed a medal by an inch.” 

Three days later, despite not having played football for two years, Bloom crossed the pond back to Indianapolis and the 2006 NFL Combine for prospective draftees. In April he was picked in the 5th round for the Philadelphia Eagles as a returner and wide receiver. While in Philadelphia, Bloom enrolled in the NFL program that arranged for players to attend MBA classes at Wharton after practice and in the summer. Sidelined with a hamstring injury, his passion for training started shifting towards business and entrepreneurship. After two years, Bloom was traded to the Steelers, and quit football a year later, at age 27.

RETIREMENT AND REBOUND

That same year, Bloom started his first business, inspired by his love for his grandfather Jerry, and his grandmother Donna (who lived in his home 19 years), and also by the profound experiences while traveling with the U.S. Ski Team. He saw how elderly people are revered, respected and treated with dignity in other cultures like Japan and Scandinavia, and wanted to bring some of that respect home by starting Wish of a Lifetime, a nonprofit that grants seniors their wishes. The first year Wish of a Lifetime granted four wishes, and now, ten years later, the organization of 40-50 people grants one wish per day, in the U.S. and Canada. These range from trips to reconnect with family, to fulfilling lifelong dreams, to revisiting favorite activities or places, to getting something as simple as a warm rug underfoot. The effect on recipients is not so much about the wish, “but that someone cares,” says Bloom.

Though Wish of a Lifetime remains a top priority in Bloom’s life, he realized that this dream would not be a path to the economic success he desired. After putting management in place, he embarked on his next venture, co-founding Integrate, a marketing software technology firm. Integrate was named best new company at the 2011 American Business Awards, the same year Bloom was named to the Forbes 30 under 30 list for tech innovation. In 2013 he was a finalist for the Ernst & Young Entrepreneur of the Year, and was also inducted into the U..S Ski Hall of Fame.

A decade after its founding, Integrate, and Bloom, continue to expand and evolve. Bloom hosted CNBC’s Adventure Capitalist for two seasons and is a keynote speaker at various events. He is on the board for U.S. Ski and Snowboard, where he is focused on athlete education. “I’m passionate about the transition from sport, specifically under the lens of mentorship,” says Bloom. “That, and mental health, which is as important as physical health.”

Last year Bloom married Brazilian actress Mariah Buzolin. Now living in Denver, the couple is building a home in Boulder and looking forward to starting a family. “I’m not sure what it’ll be like,” says Bloom. “People can only prepare you so much. I’ll be assembling that parachute on the way down. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

Edie Thys Morgan is a former U.S. Ski Team member and two-time Olympian. She grew up in Squaw Valley and now lives in New Hampshire with her husband and two ski racing sons. Follow her on skiracing.com and at racerex.com.

From the January-February 2020 issue of Skiing History.

 

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This Glossary of Historical Ski Terms is from the book "Story of Modern Skiing," by John Fry, published in 2006 by University Press of New England, 380 pages, 90 illustrations, $24.95."

The author is indebted to Seth Masia, to Doug Pfeiffer, and to the editors of the Professional Ski Instructors of America Alpine Technical Manual for their help in assembling this Glossary.  

Acclimatize, Acclimate. Adapt to a change in altitude, ideally done in stages to reduce physiological stress.

Alpine. When the A is capitalized, the word Alpine relates to the Alps. In lower case, alpine may refer to anything mountainous like the Alps, and specifically applies to downhill skiing, as contrasted with nordic (cross-country and jumping). Downhill, slalom, giant slalom and Super G are alpine competitions.

Alpine Combined. A downhill and a slalom race either held intentionally as a combined event, or the linking of two races on the calendar to produce a combined result. Result of a combined competition was once derived from mathematically computing FIS points. Today it is done by adding up the times.

Angulation. Any movement or positioning of the leg or body to roll the ski onto a higher edge angle relative to the snow. Before the introduction of higher plastic boots, ski instructors assumed that this could best be achieved by angling the torso down the hill (or toward the outside of the turn) , at the same time as the hip and knees were angled into the mountain. This was known as the comma position. The improved control provided by modern boots has rendered the comma position obsolete. Angulation can now be achieved with the lower leg and emphasized with the hip, independent of upper body position.

Anterior cruciate ligament (ACL). The knee ligament that connects the femur (thigh bone) with the tibia (shin bone) and prevents the forward movement of the tibia on the femur. The posterior cruciate ligament prevents backward movement of the tibia on the femur. ACL tears became a common ski injury after 1980, as a result of changed boot design, ski shape and binding height combined with the skier’s feet-apart stance.

Anticipation. The skier’s upper body anticipated the direction of the coming turn, acting as an anchor for the lower body to turn against. As the tension was  released (muscles relax) and the skier “let go” of the old turn, the legs realigned with the upper body and started the turn.

Arlberg. A mountainous region of western Austria encompassing the classic ski resorts of St. Anton, St. Christof, Lech, Zurs. Home of famed ski teacher Hannes Schneider, who formulated the Arlberg technique, and of Stefan Kruckenhauser, who popularized wedeln. 

Arlberg Strap. A leather strap that was wrapped around the boot and attached to the ski to prevent it from running away when the binding released.

Arlberg Technique. A series of movements taught in progression, starting with the snowplow and progressing to turns made with the skis parallel, developed by Hannes Schneider. (See Arlberg, above.)

Arete (French). Sharp mountain ridge with steep sides.

Backscratcher. While airborne, the skier’s knees are bent so as to force the ski tips to drop sharply downward. The tails of the skis may even scratch one’s back. Also called a Tip Drop.

Backside. The backside of the snowboard is the side where the rider’s heels sit. The backside of a snowboarder is the side where the rider’s back faces.

Bathtub. See Sitzmark.

Bear trap. A binding that did not allow release. It had fixed toe irons, and the heel was often lashed to the skis with a leather strap, long thong or laniere.

Bevel. Modifying the edge of a ski so that it forms something other than a perfect 90-degree angle.  The ski edge has two surfaces: the base edge contiguous to the ski's sole, and the side edge meeting the ski's sidewall. A beveled base edge is "softened" by about one degree -- in effect it's recessed relative
to the sole surface -- so the ski rolls more smoothly on and off the edge. A bevelled side edge -- sharpened to 1, 2 or 3 degrees of acute angle -- can
help a racer to hold a more aggressive line on ice.

Biathlon. A competition among rifle-bearing skiers originating in the 18th Century, which rewards skill in skiing cross-country and marksmanship. Results are computed in time. Minutes are subtracted for errant shots. Biathlon has a separate sports governing body recognized by the International Olympic Committee.

Binding platform. In the days of carved "ridgetop" skis of hickory and ash, it was common to provide a flat, and usually slightly raised, platform at the ski's center for mounting the binding and boot. Beginning with international standards for bindings (see DIN), the binding mounting zone on the ski was defined as flat platform or plate designed to anchor the binding screws. In 1989, World Cup champion Marc Girardelli began using the Derbyflex plate, a solid aluminum plate glued to a thick sheet of neoprene rubber, inserted between the ski and the binding. The platform provided an additional inch of leverage relative to the ski's edge for more edging power, and additional boot clearance so that the ski can be pitched onto a higher edge angle.  The leveraging power from the elevated platform also leverages the power of forces coming back into the knee from the snow. To reduce knee injuries among racers, the FIS limited the total "stack height" -- the distance between the snow and the sole of the boot -- to a maximum of 55mm. A typical high-performance recreational binding today has a stack height of 45mm; the ski itself may be about 15mm thick.

Blindside. In snowboarding, when the rider approaches or lands “blind” to the direction of travel.

Boarder Cross. Snowboarders race through turns and obstacles and jumps in heats of 4-6 riders, starting simultaneously.  The term derives from a similar format used in motorcycling – motocross.

Bonk. In snowboarding, to hit a non-snow object hard.  

Boilerplate. A glazed covering of solid ice on a trail, usually produced after rain or after wet snow freezes.

Boogying. To ski the bumps all out -- a 1970s hot dog skiing term.

Canting.  The process of making adjustments – primarily to bindings and boots – in order to improve the alignments of feet, knees, hips and upper body. The alignment is typically done mechanically by a footbed in the boot, and/or by adjusting the boot’s cuff.

Carving. Turning the skis by causing them to travel on edge with minimal lateral slipping or skidding. The tail of the ski is on a forward moving path that follows the tip of the ski. A pure carved turn, whether on skis or on a snowboard, is defined by its leaving a clean, elliptical track on the snow.

Camber. The arch built into a ski from tip to tail. Camber was created to generate even pressure on the snow along the length of the ski. A “stiff” ski resists being de-cambered or pressed flat.

Catwalk. Narrow road often built to enable wheeled machines to ascend the mountain in summer and snowcats in winter. Catwalks double as ski trails in winter, characterized by long traverses that link to another trail, a lift or to another section of the resort.

Center Line. A conceptual model created by the Professional Ski Instructors of America “for selecting appropriate movement patterns under a variety of circumstances.”

Chattering. The ski’s edges grip on ice but rebound, vibrating and chattering -- as opposed to carving or skidding smoothly.

Christie. A contraction of the word Christiania, describing a turn made with the skis parallel (a parallel christie), as distinct from a turn made with the skis partially in a stem or vee configuration (known as a stem Christie), or a turn made wholly with the skis stemmed (known as a stem turn, snowplow or wedge turn). In post-20th Century ski schools, the term christie may denote a skidded parallell turn, as opposed to a carved turn. 

Cirque. A bowl-like shape, typically at the head of a valley, created by a former glacier.

Concave Running Surface. A frequent defect for many years in the manufacture and curing of fiberglass and plastic skis produced in molds. The concave ski’s bottom resists turning. The defect is corrected by flat-filing or machine-grinding the skis to bring the edges down to the level of the running surface.

Convex. The opposite condition of concave. A convex base feels unstable to the skier, doesn’t track accurately, and sideslips on ice. In the factory, when a new ski receives its final grind before the resin is fully cured, it can be delivered to a ski shop concave in the shovel and tail, and convex in the middle.

Corn snow. Pellet-sized particles formed from repetitive thawing, refreezing, and recrystallizing of the snow. Corn snow has a texture that facilitates turning and causes skiers to feel as if they’re skiing on ball bearings.

Cornice. Overhang of snow and ice typically found on a high ridge. Dangerous  skiing to the skier who stands for long on one, and extreme skiing to those who jump off one.

Counter rotation. Simultaneously twisting the upper body in one direction (usually opposite to the direction of travel), and the lower body in another direction.

Cross-Country Relay. See Team Event.

Crossover. Swinging one ski around the other so that the feet point in opposite directions, then extricating the standing ski to re-align itself to the other.

Crud, Breakable Crust. A condition in which the snow surface has frozen into hard crust over soft snow underneath. Crud often refers to settling snow that has been cut up by skiers. When the skier’s weight is sufficient to break through the crust, but unpredictably, the resulting condition is difficult to ski.

Daffy. An early freestyle stunt, the daffy was a mid-air split – the skier extended one leg forward, the other rearward. If airborne long enough, the skier could sky-walk – that is switch legs fore and aft two or three times. The term daffy, according to freestyle pioneer Doug Pfeiffer, originated in the idea of the stunt  being daft, or slightly crazy.

Damping. Quality in a ski which prevents it from vibrating excessively, a problem with early metal skis. Skis insufficiently damped are unstable, and may chatter on ice. An over-damp ski, on the other hand, feels heavy and sluggish, doesn’t glide easily on wet snow especially, and tends not to rise to the surface in heavy powder. 

Deep-crouch Christie. While traversing at a comfortable speed the skier suddenly assumes a low crouch position. Taking advantage of this unweighting movement, he turns the skis toward the fall line while keeping the weight on the inside-of-the-turn ski and letting the outside one drift off as if about to do a gymnast’s split. Once the desired new direction is obtained, a normal skiing posture is resumed. Obsolete.

DIN Setting. Every binding has an adjustable release setting which determines the torque required to release the skier in a fall. Beginning in 1979, bindings used a standard scale to measure release values. The standard, DIN, stands for Deutsche Industrie Normen -- German Industrial Standards. The number,  usually visible in a tiny panel on the toepiece, theoretically represents the torque in decanewtons per degree to release the binding toe. The higher the number, the greater the force required to release. An expert recreational skier might set his binding at 8; a beginner, depending on weight and strength, much lower, say 3. The setting of the binding’s heel piece is proportional to the toe setting at a ratio determined by the manufacturer.

Down-unweighting. A lightening of the pressure of the skis on the snow made by a sudden dropping of the skier’s body. (See up-unweighting.)

Fakie. In snowboarding, to ride backwards without facing the direction of travel; also Switch.

Fall Line. Line down the hill that gravity would direct a rolling or falling object. The steepest or shortest line. A sequence of ski turns is typically made by a skier crossing back and forth across the fall line.  

FIS. Federation Internationale de Ski, the International Ski Federation, made up of almost a hundred national ski federations around the world, headquartered at Oberhofen/Thunersee, Switzerland.

Flying Sitzmark. In deep snow, with a modicum of speed, the skier launched  airborne from between both poles, kicked the skis forward and vertical, typically  in an X-configuration, and landed with his rear end first in the deep stuff, leaving a giant sitzmark in the snow.

Four-way Skier. One who competed in downhill, slalom, cross-country and jumping. The four-way champion was often called Skimeister. (See Skimeister.)

Frontside. The frontside of the snowboard is the side where the rider’s toes sit.

Grab. To hold the edge of the snowboard with one or both hands while airborne.

Halfpipe. A vertical U-shaped structure sculpted from snow. Snowboarders and skiers use the opposing walls of the halfpipe to get air and perform tricks as they travel downhill. At ski areas, specially designed grooming machines are used to make halfpipes.

Jib. In snowboarding, to ride on something other than snow --- e.g. rails, trees, garbage cans, logs.

Garland. A teaching exercise used to develop skill in unweighting and edging the skis. The skis are alternately slipped downhill and traversed, without the skier making a turn.

Gate event. Refers to a slalom or giant slalom race. A gate or technical skier specializes in slalom and giant slalom, in contrast to the speed competitions of downhill and Super G.

Gelandesprung. A powerful jump off a bump or a built-up jump, executed by the skier using both poles and often spreading his legs in mid-air.

Geschmozell, Geschmozzle. A downhill competition, in which all the racers started at the same time. The practice was abandoned for most of the 20th Century, but was revived with the popularity early in the 21st Century of skier-cross and boarder-cross races.

Goofy, Goofy-Footed. In snowboarding, riding with the right foot in front instead of the left foot, which is the normal stance

Graduated Length Method (GLM). A system of teaching in which the pupil progressed from shorter to longer skis.

Hairpin. In slalom, two gates set vertically down the hill and close together.

Heel side. The edge of the snowboard under the rider’s heels.

Herringbone. A technique for climbing the hill by putting the skis on edge in a vee-configuration, with the tips fanned outward. The skier walks up the hill on alternating feet while edging to avoid slipping backwards. The pattern left in the snow resembles the skeleton of a fish.

High Back Boot. See Jet Sticks.

Huck. In snowboarding, freeskiing and a variety of other sports, to fling the body into the air -- that is, to launch a jump. A huckfest is a big-air contest, formal or informal. 

Inside ski. In a turn, the skis describe an arc or partial circumference of a circle. The inside ski is the one closer to the circle’s center. At the start of the turn it is the downhill ski; at the weight transfer it becomes the unweighted ski, and at the turn’s conclusion, it has become the uphill ski.

IOC. International Olympic Committee is headquartered in Lausanne, Switzerland. The IOC recognizes the FIS as the official governing body for the sports of skiing and snowboarding.

ISHA. International Skiing History Association publishes a bimonthly journal, Skiing History (formerly Skiing Heritage), and operates the most extensive website about the sport’s history. Office and subscription services at the U.S. National Ski and Snowboard Hall of Fame in Ishpeming, Mich.

Jet Sticks, Jet Stix. Beginning around 1966, the French introduced an aggressive style of slalom skiing called avalement, which depended in part on storing energy in the stiff tail of the ski, then releasing it for acceleration. To aid in loading the tail, racers began experimenting with ways to build up the back
of their leather and plastic boots, using tongue depressors, aluminum plate, fiberglass, duct tape -- anything that fell to hand.  By 1969, most boot manufacturers responded by offering plastic "spoilers" to build up the back of the boot.  An aftermarket option was Jet Stix, a set of spoilers with a buckle strap which could be attached to any pair of classic ankle-height boots.

Kicker, Kicker Jump. Steeply built jump designed to hurtle the freestyle aerialist vertically into the air, making possible flips and various inverted aerial stunts. By contrast, the lip of a classic nordic jump is designed to maximize the jumper’s horizontal distance.

Klister. An extremely sticky or tacky wax enabling cross country skis to grip and glide on warm, wet or frozen granular spring snow. 

Kofix. One of the early brand names for a polyethylene laminate bonded on to the ski’s base to form its running surface.

Langlauf. German word for cross-country skiing.

Laniere. Shorter version of the long thong (see below).

Long Thong. A leather strap used by racers and good skiers until the 1960s to hold the foot securely on the ski and to strengthen the leather boot’s lateral support of the ankle. As long as six feet and wrapped around the boot, the long thong attached to steel rings on the sides of the ski, or it was threaded through a mortise drilled through the wooden ski under the foot.

Lift Line. A line of skiers waiting to get on a lift. Long lift lines are synonymous with waiting a long time in the lift line. The term lift line also refers to the cut through the trees where the lift ascends the mountain.

Massif. A mass or group of summits.

Mid-entry Boot. A design usually incorporating an overlap lower shell to provide accurate shell fit, and a hinged upper cuff that opens wide for easy entry and exit. Mid-entry boots were aimed at intermediate skiers who wanted a more precise fit than was available with rear-entry boots, but who didn't want to wrestle with the stiff flaps of an overlap racing boot. (See also overlap boot, and rear-entry boot.)

Mogul. A bump formed as a result of skiers repeatedly turning in the same place.

Moraine. A ridge formed of boulders, rocks and gravel pushed downhill or aside by a glacier and left behind after the glacier's retreat. A terminal moraine appears at the end of the glacier; lateral moraines at its sides.

NSAA, National Ski Areas Association. A trade association of more than 400 mostly U.S. ski areas, headquartered in Lakewood, Colorado.

NSPS, National Ski Patrol System. Association of ski patrolmen and women, headquartered in Lakewood, Colorado.

Nordic Combined. The result of competitors racing cross-country and jumping. Distance and style in the jumping event and times in the cross-country event, were converted into points. Beginning in 1968 in Norwegian meets, and then in the mid 1980s in international meets, the finish order in the jumping event established the starting order in the cross-country race. The first man crossing the finish line in the cross-country race wins the Combined.

Off-piste. Terrain that is not on a prepared slope. See piste.

Outside ski. (See inside ski.)

Overlap boot.  A plastic boot into which the foot is inserted as it would be into a conventional work boot or old-fashioned leather ski boot -- that is, through the top of the cuff.  Overlap boots typically consist of a lower shell with overlapping flaps over the instep, which are closed tightly around the foot with over-center buckles. A hinged upper cuff with overlapping flaps in front of the lower shin closes tightly around the ankle and lower leg with over-center buckles and velcro straps for maximum control of a high-performance ski. The stiff plastic flaps can be difficult to flex for entry and exit.

Piste. French word for trail or track or groomed slope.

Platterpull, Poma lift. A stick with a round, flat disk is attached at its other end to a moving steel cable. To ride uphill, the skier inserts the stick between his or her legs, with the flat disk placed behind his or her derriere. The other end of the stick mechanically grabs the moving cable and the rider is pulled along the snow uphill. The platterpull is often called a Poma lift, after the name of its inventor Pomagalski.

Polish Donut. In freestyle, a variant of the Worm Turn. Skier, usually while traversing, suddenly sat down to the side of the skis, raised them sufficiently to clear the snow, and spun around in a full circle before continuing.

Pre-jump. A technique for reducing the tendency to become airborne when confronting a bump or terrain irregularity. The skier jumps before reaching the bump or drop-off, skims over its top and lands on the downhill side.

PSIA, Professional Ski Instructors of America. National association of certified ski instructors, headquartered in Lakewood, Colo.

Rappel. Descending a mountain on a rope using braking devices. In English, it translates as "to slow" or "brake." German: abseil. Frequently misspelled as "repel."

Rear-entry boot. A plastic boot into which the foot was inserted through a "door" or flap at the back. The main shell was seamless, and the rear flap was  secured with over-center buckles or ratcheting straps. The advantage of the rear-entry boot was that it was easy and quick to get in and out of. The disadvantage was that the shell didn't close accurately around the foot. Aggressive skiers and magazine testers found the rear-entry boot inadequate for performance skiing, and it went from the most widely sold boot in the 1980s to one that is almost unavailable in shops.

Reuel (Royal) or Flying Christie. Moving in a traverse, the skier picks up the lower ski and angles it downhill toward the fall line. The turn is done with the weight entirely on the inside or uphill ski, the opposite of what is considered “normal” skiing. For greater spectator effect, the last ski to leave the snow is raised into various positions such as a T-position or back-scratcher. Named for the freestyle pioneer Fritz Reuel (pron. royal).
 

Schuss, Schussing. To ski without making turns or checking speed. From the German word meaning gun shot, rush, rapid movement.

SIA. SnowSports Industries America, formerly Ski Industries America, a trade association of equipment and clothing manufacturers and distributors, headquartered in McLean, Virginia, near Washington, D.C.

Shaped Skis. Skis with an emphatic or exaggerated sidecut. Over a period of several years since the 1990s, “shaped” skis have come to be the norm and represent the bulk of current ski sales. Future technological advances could change this in unforeseeable ways.

Sidecut. The linear curved side shape of a ski that facilitates its turning when the ski is on edge. Sidecut, or side camber, causes a ski, viewed from the top or bottom, to resemble a wasp shape. It is wider toward the tip or shovel of the ski, narrow at the waist, and flares again at the tail.

Short Swing. A series of short, tight turns executed down the fall line. Called wedeln in German and godille in French.

Shred. In snowboarding, to tear up the terrain.

Sitzmark. A term used to describe the depression in the snow left by a fallen skier. 

Skier Cross. A giant slalom type sprint with bumps and mounded curves, in which a half-dozen competitors start simultaneously (see Geschmozzel), and the winner crosses the finish line first. Top finishers from each heat move on to the next round.  The event is patterned after motocross racing.

Skier-day, Skier-visit. One skier or snowboarder participating one day at a ski area. The skier-day is the most common measure used by ski areas to measure the volume of their business.

Skijoring. A skier holding a rope is pulled along the snow by a horse, snowmobile or four-wheel vehicle. Popular activity in the 1930s.

Ski Flying. Ski jumping on a jumping hill rated greater than 120 meters. On March 20, 2005, Finnish ski flyer Matti Hautamaki jumped 235.5 meters, a distance of 772.7 feet.

Skimeister. German word meaning an all-round proficient skier in both alpine and nordic. A skimeister was the winner of a four-way competition involving slalom, downhill, cross country and jumping. (See Four-way). The term Snowmeister was used in 1995 to describe the winner of a competition involving skiing and snowboarding.

Serac. A tower of ice, found among glaciers, and often spectacular in appearance.

Scree. Rocky debris on mountainsides.

Sick. Expression for something radically good.

Slab. Layer of compacted or frozen snow that creates the potential snow lying on top of it to avalanche.

Slow Dog Noodle. Skier rode up a steep side of a mogul to dissipate speed while assuming an exaggerated sitting back position. At the crest of the mogul and while still crouching, with skis now balanced directly on the crest, the skier swiveled the skis. The slower the motion, the more perfect the execution.
Snowplow, Wedge. Going straight down the hill or making slow turns with the skis in a vee configuration -- tips pointed in, tails fanned out.

Steepness, Pitch. The gradient of a slope’s steepness can be determined by two measures – degrees or percent. Percentage – the figure commonly used by ski areas -- is determined by dividing the vertical height of the slope by its horizontal distance. For a hill that drops 20 vertical feet and projects out by 100 feet, the division yields .20 and the hill is said to have a 20% gradient, equal to a steepness of 11 degrees. A hill with a 60-foot drop and projecting out 100 feet has a 60% grade and a 31-degree steepness. A 100% slope is 45 degrees steep, dropping one foot for every horizontal foot. Beyond that steepness, snow has difficulty holding and only the most extreme skiing is performed. About 70 percent of the terrain at ski areas falls between 15% and 40% of grade, according to the ski area design consultant, the late Jim Branch.

Stem, Stemming. Technique for slowing speed. (See snowplow, Christie.)

Super-Diagonal. A 1940s rubber strap that attached to hooks on the ski’s sidewall and that stretched around the ankle to hold the boot heel firmly in place.

Switch. In snowboarding, to ride with the tail of the board in front.

Team event. The oldest team event in skiing is the cross country relay race involving four competitors, with men racing a 10-kilometer leg and women 5 kilometers. In the Olympics and FIS World Championships, all members of the first, second and third-place relay teams win medals. Beginning in 1982, team competitions were introduced in jumping and Nordic Combined.

Technical racer. See Gate event.

Telepherique. French word for an aerial tramway and cable car. Most telepheriques are jigbacks, in which two large cabins are suspended from cables; as one goes up, the other comes down. 

Telemark turn. The outside ski of the turn is advanced forward and is stemmed, with the knee bent, causing the skis to change direction. Requires use of bindings that allow the skier’s heel to be raised. 

Three Sixty. An airborne skier doing a complete 360-degree rotation.

Tip Drop. See Backscratcher.  

Tip Roll. The skier traversed the slope, and with both poles held close together he suddenly jabbed them into the snow on the uphill side of the ski tips. Skier then vaulted with stiff arms, pivoting on the ski tips, and swung the skis in a 180-degree arc so they landed pointing in a direction opposite to the original direction of travel. In a 360-degree Tip Roll, the skis were whirled around in the air so as to land in the original direction of travel.

Top-entry boot. See overlap boot.

Torsion. The resistance of a ski to being twisted along its length. Skis with high torsional resistance (or torsional stiffness) set an edge into the snow more quickly, especially at the tip and tail. Skis with softer torsion set an edge into the snow less emphatically, and can feel more forgiving. 

Track!  A verbal shout or warning by a descending skier to a person below. “Track left” indicates that the overcoming skier intends to pass the person on his or her left; “Track Right,” on the right. The skier above is responsible for avoiding the skier below.

Tracking. Ability of a ski to hold a line in straight running.

Transition. A change in ski terrain, as in going from a flat area to a steep pitch, or going from steep to flat.

Turntable. A binding heelpiece which holds down the heel while allowing the boot to swivel when the toepiece rotates.

Twin tip. Skis turned up at both ends. A snowboard’s nose and tail are shaped identically, so the board rides equally well in both directions.

Unweighting. Taking varying amounts of weight off of the skis to manipulate and control pressure. There are four types of ‘unweighting’: (1) Up-unweighting, produced at the end of the turn with a rapid upward extension of the body. (2) Down-unweighting, produced by a rapid downward flexion of the body. (3) Terrain-unweighting, produced by using the terrain to help unweight the skis. (4) Rebound-unweighting, produced by the energetic force of the skis ‘decambering’ at the end of a turn. Up-unweighting was the classic technique employed for years to get weight off the skis so that they could be twisted or pivoted in the direction of the turn. It allows a flattened ski to be steered more readily.  

Uphill ski. (See inside ski.)

Vertical drop. The difference in elevation between the top of ski run and the bottom; the difference in elevation between the summit of a ski resort and its base; or between the top of a specific lift and its base. A resort typically advertises its vertical as the elevation change from the top of its highest lift to the base of its lowest.

Wedge turn. (See Snowplow, Christie).

Windmilling. Flailing-about of a ski after the binding releases. At one time, skiers wore “safety straps” so that when a ski released it wouldn’t take off downhill at high speed and become a potential source of injury to other skiers. The trouble was that the windmilling ski attached by the safety strap could seriously injure and cut the falling skier. With the invention of the safety brake  -- a double prong that snaps downward and prevents the released ski from sliding – the safety strap was no longer needed and the danger of windmilling was eliminated.

Worm Turn. At a slow moderate speed, skier headed straight down the fall line, lay back on the skis, rolled over like a log, then stood up to continue downhill.

 

(c)2006 John Fry, all rights reserved, not for reproduction.
 

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BODE: LOOKING BACK TO THE 2006 OLYMPICS

By John Fry

Even before they turned off the gas to the Olympic Winter Games flame at Turin, the celebration of the world’s most famous skier had become a roast. At websites, Bode Miller fans despaired about their zero-for-five hero who didn’t try hard enough. The U.S. Ski Team’s trustees seethed at Miller’s expression of gratitude to them, “unbelievable a-holes, rich, cocky, wicked conceited super-right-wing Republicans.”  Washington Post sports columnist Tony Kornheiser created bodemillersucks.com about "one of the more colossal losers in recent sports history."

But then a remarkable thing happened. After a couple of weeks of playing golf and sightseeing in Paris, the prodigal star showed up at the World Cup finals in Sweden and did what he was supposed to have done in Italy. He won the Super G and placed second in the winter’s last downhill. He was relaxed and focused. Contrary to popular perception, Miller said that at the Olympics he’d been physically prepared and had tried hard. He complimented the Ski Team and its coaches. And his skiing reminded us of his prodigious talent.

Miller is the only American racer to have gold-medaled twice in a single alpine world championships. He is the first American to have won the overall World Cup title in more than 20 years. At his best, he combines Jean-Claude Killy’s natural feel for equipment with Hermann Maier’s colossal strength at his peak.

Along with Maier, he has shone a needed light on the invasive, less than foolproof way that the IOC’s Dick Pound and WADA are dealing with performance-enhancing drugs and blood enhancement.

Contrary to his self-indulgent image, Miller embraces the sport’s heritage. While other racers gobbled up World Cup points and money by specializing, Miller idealistically pursued the historic World Cup title of all-round skier, competing in every event. A purist undertaking.

In suggesting before the Olympics that participation is his main goal, Miller, in fact, echoed the ideal of Baron Pierre de Coubertin, who founded the modern Olympics. Participating, not winning, is a good message to send to kids, even though Miller is not every parent’s idea of a role model.

Before the Games, Miller accurately reminded us, as Phil Mahre did 20 years earlier, of the slim chances of winning Olympic gold in alpine skiing, where the difference between winning and losing a two-mile race can be as little as one-hundredth of a second, only a few inches of distance. However, that insight, along with Bode’s weak performance leading up to the Games, was ignored by the national media as they played up the exotic story of a White Mountain Tarzan.

Miller has two personae which resonate with contemporary society and the press: the spectacular athlete and the celebrity bad boy. The squandering bad boy, rebelliously bristling at institutions, was on full display at the Olympics, willing to declare that he was comfortable with not winning a medal. He seemed barely to study the courses. Critics wondered: Why practice and go to Carnegie Hall just to be seen on the stage?

When the U.S. Ski Team was in need of leadership, Miler was AWOL. He lacked the grace to show up at the finish line of the Combined slalom to congratulate teammate Ted Ligety on winning the gold that Bode was expected to win. He failed to shut down the motor on the mouth that quipped it was convenient not to have to motor to Turin to accept a medal.

Not that Bode’s sponsors minded. It is sufficient today for an athlete not to win but to talk about his fantasies of meeting a certain figure skater or to perform a cockamamie stunt before the finish line and miss winning the gold medal. The reward of behaving like an arrested adolescent before or at the Olympics is that magazines and TV shows, which seldom cover winter sports, will play up any color and controversy they find.  Bode perfectly fit their quest. He was the gold medalist of publicity.

It was not the kind of publicity, however, that pleased Bill Marolt, the U.S. Ski Team’s chief executive officer and the architect of its recent successes, who had flown to Europe before the Olympics to give his best racer a verbal spanking. Asked later about athlete deportment during the Games, Marolt stiffened his lip and said that, “We will manage these situations with both short-term action with those involved.”

The truth is that the U.S. Ski Team has never enjoyed much success in keeping its competitors in a state of sober obedience. Marolt’s own earlier governance in the 1980s drew resentment from the Mahre twins and wild Bill Johnson. In the 1970s, Spider Sabich and Tyler Palmer rebelled against alpine chief Willy Schaeffler. Miller is heir to an undistinguished American ski racing heritage.

To succeed the team must create an environment for individuals like Miller to succeed. On the other hand, the racer who is selfish and overweening forgets why he needs the team. He may even move into a motor home.

As a consequence of his stoic, lonely Outward-Bound upbringing as a child, Miller tends to isolate himself in a world-defying solipsism. “I don’t have to be what you want me to be,” he seems to say. Actually, it was Muhammad Ali who said that. Not coincidentally, Miller brings to skiing the kind of wondrous technique that Ali brought to boxing.

Having persuaded myself to forgive his Olympic conduct, I suggest that you do the same. A tad of perspective may aid the act of forgiveness.  Skiing itself has not been without its malingerers, including racers who ignored Olympic rules by taking money under the table. Professional athletes are not models of decorum, as newspaper sports pages sordidly remind us daily. But Bode Miller is not among those who have assaulted coaches and hotel receptionists. He hasn’t Terrell-Owened his teammates, or served prison time. He’s simply an eccentric Yankee who tries people’s patience because he stubbornly persists in learning about life on his own.

After Sochi, and another bronze medal, Bode stands 11th on the men's all-time list of "Most Valuable Racers" in Alpine Olympic events. See Matteo Pacor's statistics here.

 

 

Bode Miller explodes out of the starting gate
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By Seth Masia

By Seth Masia

At the 19th convention of the International Society for Skiing Safety, held at Keystone in May, 2011, researcher Jasper Shealy, Ph.D., professor emeritus of engineering at Rochester Institute of Technology, reported that from 1995 until 2010, helmet use increased from 5% to 76%. Over that period, the rate of serious head injuries dropped by about 65% —from 1 injury in 8,775 skier days to 1 injury in 25,690 skier days.

In 2009, the two largest ski resort companies in North America—Vail Resorts and Intrawest—extended their mandatory helmet rules to cover not just kids in ski school and terrain parks, but all employees working on the snow. At the same time, state legislatures in New Jersey and California passed laws to require kids under 18 to wear helmets (though Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger vetoed a companion bill that would have required California resorts to enforce the rule). Partly as a result of these measures, retail sales now total about 1.5 million ski helmets each winter. 90 percent of kids under 10 wear them. Snowsports Industries America (SIA) reports that the helmet market is growing at about 5% annually.

How did we get here? As recently as 1990, the ski helmet barely existed as a consumer product—this despite wide acceptance of helmet use by cyclists, kayakers and rock climbers. In snowsports, only downhill racers were required to use helmets, and slalom racers used them mostly to protect the goggles from impact with breakaway gates.

The modern ski helmet derives directly from earlier helmets developed for motorsports and cycling. From the earliest days of bicycle racing, heat stress was a more immediate concern than blunt trauma injury, and racers weren’t about to use any headgear that blocked cooling air from the scalp. By 1900 the racing “helmet” of choice was a “hairnet” of lightly padded leather straps. As skull protection it was a joke. One cyclist said his hairnet would keep the ears from being ground off when sliding on the pavement. By 1910, most ice hockey and football players wore boiled-leather helmets with felt or shearling liners, and motorcycle racers had begun wearing football helmets.

Helmet design, such as it was, was pure guesswork. The first scientific examination of head injuries and helmets was begun in 1935 by Sir Hugh Cairns, an Australian-born, Cambridge-trained physician who had studied neurosurgery at Harvard. He was one of the attending physicians when T.E. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia) died of brain injuries suffered in a motorcycle crash that year. Cairns conducted a series of impact tests using cadaver heads, and determined that the best protection for the brain is achieved with a liner that could deform to reduce the deceleration of the skull, along with a frangible hard shell (the shellacked linen shell, for instance) that would itself absorb energy by fracturing.

Helmets Hit the Slopes

Until the development of modern alpine racing, skiers had no need for helmets. Downhill speeds were slow, and the snow was soft. But with the development of steel edges and the Kandahar binding, racers began to achieve speeds over 30 mph, on purposely-iced courses. In January 1938, alpine racing suffered its first fatality when Giacinto Sertorelli—the seventh-place finisher at the 1936 Garmisch Olympic downhill—went off the same course and into a tree. A few ski racers adopted the cycling hairnet, worn over a woolen Seelos cap (a light toque, like a sailor’s watch cap). See photo above of Jean Vuarnet wearing a ski-specific leather helmet during his gold-medal run at Squaw Valley in 1960. This helmet went into production before 1934.

Real progress in crash-protective helmets came after World War II, with the development of fiberglass-reinforced epoxy resins and crushable plastic foams. Fiberglass was just the right stuff to meet the Hugh Cairns prescription for a tough but frangible shock-absorbing shell. Among the first to adopt the fiberglass crash helmet were American and British pilots testing the first generation of jet fighters. In 1947, Charles Lombard of Northrop Aviation, along with Herman Roth and Smith Ames at the University of Southern California, patented a fiberglass helmet containing an inch-thick crushable liner of cellulose acetate foam. This was the U.S. Air Force P1 helmet, which was actually produced using polyurethane foam, custom-poured into the helmet for each pilot using a process similar to that adopted later by Peter Kennedy for his early plastic ski boot. In England, Cromwell, Stadium, Kangol and Everoak began selling fiberglass-shell motorsports helmets. In 1953, AGV in Italy, a manufacturer of leather bike saddles and motorcycle helmets, produced a fiberglass helmet, and the following year adapted it for use by speed skiers competing in Cervinia’s Kilometro Lanciata – the first recorded use of a hardshell ski helmet. On the race circuit, more downhillers began adopting leather bicycle-style helmets, from manufacturers like SIC in France.

In 1954 Herman Roth found that expanded polystyrene bead foam (EPSB or EPS), brand-named Styrofoam, made a cheaper, lighter, equally shock-absorbent liner. With Lombard, he launched a company called Toptex to market the fiberglass/EPS helmet for motor sports, and the first customer was the motorcycle corps of the Los Angeles Police Department. At the same time, in nearby Bell, Calif., Roy Richter, owner of Bell Auto Parts, began making fiberglass helmets for race-car drivers patterned after the polyurethane-cushioned Air Force design. The Bell 500 was state of the art for motorsports. But in 1957 it failed the first round of testing by the new Snell Memorial Foundation. The only helmet to pass the new impact test was the Toptex, with its EPS liner. The difference: unlike resilient rubber and polyurethane foams, the EPS material crushed and stayed crushed. It didn’t rebound to slosh the brain around inside the skull. Bell licensed the Toptex technology and the stage was set: in future, all crash-protection helmets would be based on EPS crushable foam, with or without a protective shell.

At Winter Park, Steve Bradley had a crew of hardy youngsters piloting his new Bradley Packer-Grader grooming machines. Jim Lillstrom, one of the pilots, recalls that in 1955 Bradley furnished the new Bell Toptex helmets to the grooming crew, and he believes they were the first skiers so equipped.

The U.S. Ski Team took note. In 1958, the U.S. team took Bell Toptex helmets to Europe. Europeans laughed at the hard hats. But while practicing for the Hahnenkamm, Tommy Corcoran had a bad fall just above the Ziel Schuss, going over backward on the ice. He hit his head so hard that he barely remembers the accident today. The impact broke the shell of the Bell helmet, but Tommy escaped serious injury, got up and skied the next day. The team began to regard the helmets with some respect.

The following year, Canadian downhiller John Semmelink was killed at Garmisch, hitting his head on a rock while wearing a leather helmet. And so, for the 1960 Olympics at Squaw Valley in California, hard-shell helmets were decreed mandatory for the downhill. No specific standards were imposed—national teams were free to set their own requirements, and usually chose their own domestic production. And so the Europeans turned up with a variety of dome-shaped “pudding pots” with leather earflaps, made by AGV, Carrera, Cromwell and others. 

 

Linda Meyers, Beverly Anderson and
Penny Pitou at Squaw Valley in their
Bell fiberglass helmets.

 

Penny Pitou, silver medalist in downhill and GS at Squaw, remembers that Bell helmet. “It was huge, a bit like a diver's helmet,” she said. “And the wind whistled through it when I went fast, so I thought I was breaking the sound barrier. And it was heavy, too. I hated wearing it, but rules are rules. At least it didn't push my goggles down over my nose. I retired that big blue helmet to the garage. Eventually the mice made a nest in it and I could, in good conscience, toss it out.”

 

Not all teams obeyed the 1960
hard-shell rule. Here's Jean
Vuarnet in his S.I.C. leather
casque.

 

Hard-shell helmets arrived just as downhillers transitioned to metal skis, skin-tight suits and the streamlined “egg” position. Speeds rose quickly, and catastrophic injuries, too. Stefan Kaelin, a star of the Swiss team during that era, remembers using a cork helmet with a fabric cover, made by Vuarnet, in 1962. Then Australian skier Ross Milne died in training for the 1964 Innsbruck Olympic downhill. The following July, racing in New Zealand, the Swiss had fiberglass helmets.

Ski racers complained about the weight, and about interference with goggles. “When in a tuck for a long time it was hard to keep your head up, and you didn’t see as well,” remembers Canadian downhiller Scott Henderson. “Some goggles, like the old Boutons, worked. The newer double-lens goggles didn’t.”

Manufacturers responded by departing from standard motorcycle-helmet design. In 1973, the Snell Memorial Foundation published a ski helmet standard calling for something like a lighter motorcycle design. Bell then adapted a motocross helmet with a lighter fiberglass shell to produce the SR-1 (for ski racing). The original motocross helmet had a jaw protector meant to ward off clods of dirt thrown up by spinning tires, and a larger face cutout to accommodate big goggles. The SR-1 offered the same features, certified to a lower impact standard. At least two skiers weren’t impressed. Steve and Phil Mahre ran downhill in their Bell 500 motorcycle helmets. “The ski helmets were a joke for impact protection,” Phil said.

Another solution to the weight problem was acrynitrile butadiene styrene (ABS). Butadiene is a synthetic rubber. It made the tough plastic resilient enough for use in auto bumpers. An ABS shell could be designed to split or crush to absorb impact, rather like a glass shell. Most important, it could be injection-molded, making it much cheaper than fiberglass, which had to be laid up by hand on a steel form. ABS helmets, lined with EPS, were cheap enough to market to the public. By 1973, European companies like Jofa, Boeri, Uvex and Carrera were marketing inexpensive plastic helmets, especially for kids.

Beginning around 1974, regional cycling associations began looking for improved bicycle helmets. A number of good helmets were produced based on climbing-helmet designs, but they provided inadequate cooling, or were deemed too heavy. Eventually the bicycle business settled on a simple EPS helmet with a light fabric cover, or only a very thin decorative polycarbonate shell. Giro was founded in 1987 based on this design, just as the U.S. Cycling Federation began requiring certified helmets in all competitions. By 2003, when the Union Cycliste Internationale followed suit, dozens of factories filled the need for lightweight bike helmets. Most of them immediately adapted their cycling helmets for the ski market. By 2010, Snowsports Industries America listed 31 different brands of ski and snowboard helmets, all of them based on EPS liners and most certified to the European EN1077 or EN812 standard. Some meet the more stringent ASTM 2040 standard and a very few meet Snell’s RS98 standard, which tests at more than 30 percent higher impact for the anvil tests simulating tree or rock collisions.

It’s unfortunate that wide acceptance of helmet use has had to ride on tragedy. Off the race course, helmet sales were spurred by the tree-collision deaths of Michael Kennedy and Sonny Bono, six days apart at the turn of 1998. Helmet use by highly visible athletes in half-pipe and terrain-park competition has also helped bring helmets into mainstream use.

Serious head injuries have always been rare. Minor injuries are even more rare: there’s no question that helmets prevent superficial but bloody scalp lacerations, and also the head-bumps consequent to the dropping of the ski-lift safety bar.

Besides, if we didn’t have helmets, we wouldn’t have helmet covers, and the ski school lift lines wouldn’t now be filled with small colorful unicorns, pussycats, tigers and zebras.

The trouthead helmet

 

Steve McKinney in an early
"trouthead" streamlined helmet.

 

In the summer of 1963, Sun Valley racers Dick Dorworth and Ron Funk went to Portillo with the goal of breaking the world speed record on skis, then owned by Alfred Plangger at 101 mph, set at Cervinia. Injured, Funk withdrew from the running, but Dorworth and Portillo patroller C.B. Vaughan pushed the record up to 107 mph. Dorworth learned that putting his head down to stare at the snow turned the smooth top of his Bell helmet into a nose cone, improving speed a few percentage points. And so the record was broken by a skier who didn't always look where he was going. Around 1972, the Austrian downhiller Erwin Stricker created a streamlined helmet that allowed racers to sneak a look ahead without disrupting the airstream. In 1977, the new record-holder Steve McKinney, with Tom Simons, redesigned it with extensions to smooth airflow over the shoulders and even provided a small fairing under the chin where a skier could tuck his hands. McKinney and Simons didn’t have a wind tunnel for testing, but patterned the shape after the slick front end of a trout. The trouthead helmet helped McKinney break the 200-kph barrier the following year. In 1982, Franz Weber brought in some pros: Richard Tracy of Learjet and ultralight aircraft designer Paul Hamilton created an even slicker helmet shape. Carrera produced about 500 units. Every speed record-setter since then has used a helmet patterned after the trout-head design.

Slalom helmets

With the introduction of the Rapidgate slalom pole in 1980, ski racing changed forever, and slalom racers began to dress like hockey players. The padded sweater gave way to the plastic vambrace and greave for forearm and shin. Ski pole grips grew saber bells. The first generation of slalom helmets weren’t even designed to protect the cranium, but just the jaw and the goggles. One form was a kind of minimalist catcher’s mask, protecting just the face and forehead. Another, from the fashion house Conte of Florence, was a rubber cap with a peak extending far enough forward to bounce the plastic gate away from the goggles. Today, slalom racers use a simple jaw-bar attached to a standard ABS-shell skier’s helmet.

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By Byron Rempel

A century-and-a-half after a Norwegian woman soared 20 feet in the world’s first recorded ski-jumping event, female flyers were still fighting for international recognition.

At the first recorded event in history dedicated solely to ski jumping, one of the jumpers wore a skirt. Ingrid Olavsdottir Vestby probably left the ground for around six meters, or almost 20 feet—“past the point where many a brave lad had lost his balance earlier in the competition.” Spectators shouted bravos because “they had never seen a girl jump on skis and they had been more than a little anxious as she flew over their heads.” She jumped in Trysil, Norway. She jumped in 1862. She landed in obscurity.

Today the history of women’s ski jumping has just begun to be written. Only in the 1990s were women first allowed to fully participate in international jumping competitions. For more than a century after Vestby’s historic jump, the spectacle of woman soaring on skis was widely regarded as dangerous, unhealthy, immoral, unladylike and unattractive. Of course, there’s a good explanation for the latter: the horror of mussed-up hair. Austrian Paula Lamberg, the “Floating Baroness” who set a world record in women’s ski jumping at 22 meters, was given grudging admiration in her country’s Illustrierte Zeitung magazine in 1910. But the quote provides a glimpse into the on-again, off-again history of women’s ski jumping—and the stubborn prejudice with which the sport has long been forced to contend.

“Jumps of this length are very good, even for men. It is understandable that ski jumping is performed very rarely by women, and taking a close look, not really a recommendable sport. One prefers to see women with nicely mellifluous movements, which show elegance and grace, like in ice skating or lawn tennis…and it is not enjoyable or aesthetic to see how a representative of the fair sex falls when jumping from a hill, flips over and with mussed-up hair glides down towards the valley in a snow cloud.”

How embarrassing was that?

Women’s jumping were not on the schedule at the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver, but they will be in 2014 at Sochi, Russia.

In November of 2006, in response to a proposal from the Fédération International de Ski (FIS), the International Olympic Committee (IOC) ruled that there was not enough technical merit among women ski jumpers to allow them on the jumps, and then immediately stated that the decision had nothing to do with gender. “There is no discrimination whatsoever,” IOC President Jacques Rogge said.

With a quick look at history, it becomes obvious that women’s exclusion has everything to do with gender. The reason too few women have been able to develop enough technical merit for the IOC’s standards is because they have been actively discouraged from ski jumping, from 1862 until today.

Under today’s helmets, nobody’s hair gets mussed, so that can’t be the problem. Could there be another reason why women have been kept from this last fortress of manliness?

Ladies Can’t Jump

At the beginning of the last century, the infant sport of skiing was introduced to North America by immigrant Norwegian miners and lumberjacks. They had a name for their sport: Ski-Idraet, meaning the sport of skiing that showcased high ethics, courage, discipline and physical fitness. By contrast, they preferred their women sweet, pleasant and soothing—and safely tucked away at home.

“To keep women away from sports and primarily men’s sports, medical arguments were quite often used,” says Annette Hofmann in her paper, “Female Eagles of the Air: Developments in Women’s Ski Jumping,” published in New Aspects of Sport History in 2007. “Vital energy theory,” for instance, said that women were born with a limited amount of energy; as child-bearers their bodies were reduced to “a morbid state” and thus were at risk when performing jumps, said Norwegian Christian Døderlein in 1896.

By the 1920s, doctors and female physical educators began to understand the importance of physical activity for women. They encouraged them to get out in winter, and enjoy themselves with skating, snowshoeing and skiing. But jumping was still out of the question. The latest medical concerns focused on the jolt of landing or a possible fall; at the time, uterine stress was believed to cause sterility. “Ski-jumping is not good for the female organism,” declared Gustave Klein-Doppler in the 1926 Wintersports Yearbook.

“This might be physiologically explained by the different construction of this sex. At this time there is no need or reason to organize jumping competitions for the ladies. Because of this unanswered medical question as to whether ski jumping agrees with the female organism, this would be a very daring experiment and should be strongly advised against.”

Those that spoke out against women in ski jumping even included sports women, like Germany’s Alpine World Champion skier Christl Cranz: “Cross-country skiing and ski jumping are athletic performances…for which a lot of strength and endurance is necessary, more than women can give without harming themselves…Certainly no reasonably sporting girl would think about participating in a marathon or boxing, and that is how it is with us women skiers; there is no interest in running or jumping competitions.”

Spooked mothers kept their daughters off ski jumps for more than half a century. Those fears and excuses seem positively Jurassic more than eighty years later. Imagine someone today saying, for instance: “Ski-jumping is like jumping down from, let’s say, about two meters off the ground about a thousand times a year, which seems not to be appropriate for ladies from a medical point of view.”

Yet that’s what FIS and IOC official Gian Carlo Kasper said—in February of 2006. Meanwhile, women are participating in much more dangerous Olympic ski events, such as the downhill, in which racers are occasionally killed, and in the brand new skicross and snowboard cross, where four racers hurtle down a twisting, bumpy track at the same time.

At the 2006 Winter Olympics in Torino, Alissa Johnson sat on the sidelines and watched her brother slide down the inrun instead. “So far, we’ve been told every excuse in the book. That it’s too ‘dangerous’ for girls. That there aren’t enough of us. That we’re not good enough. That it would damage our ovaries and uterus and we won’t be able to have children, even though that’s not true. It’s so outdated; it’s kind of funny in a way. And then it’s not.”

To Make a Long History Short

Ingrid Vestby may have made a daring venture into ski jumping in 1862, but she certainly didn’t jump into any history books. She must have influenced a few of her fellow Norwegian women, however, because by 1896 there were enough of them to organize the first (unofficial) national ski-jumping competition for women.

The self-proclaimed Mecca of ski jumping, the mighty Holmenkollen, was built in 1892 to host the Norwegian national cross-country and jumping competitions, and Scandinavians held tight to their tradition. Even as they immigrated to North America, particularly the American Midwest, they set up their rickety scaffolding and continued to dominate the sport. Early men’s competitions literally put Norwegians in their own class to give newcomers a fighting chance at winning a prize of their own. Women didn’t have any class at all, on either side of the Atlantic. No woman would “diminish the allure of the sport” by being allowed to jump at Holmenkollen in Norway until 1978.

Official recognition didn’t stop them from jumping. In 1904, a Norwegian Miss Strang jumped 14.5 meters; Tim Ashburner’s History of Ski Jumping (Quiller Press, 2003) noted that the English Miss Hockin jumped “very gallantly” at the first British Ski Championship in 1911, landing seven meters without falling.

Probably the best-known woman jumper of the era—even of the century—was “the Floating Baroness” Paula Lamberg, from Kitzbühl, Austria. She set a record of 24 meters in the 1920s. By 1926, the Norwegian Olga Balsted Eggen had jumped 4.5 meters further.

The extent of the Baroness’ fame was obvious even in Canada in 1921. That year at an Ottawa jumping championship, the Montreal Star reported, spectators were shocked to see that the world title for ski jumping was going to be challenged by a woman. The flamboyant “Countess Alma Stang” soared off the platform, looking to set a new record—until her wig fell off and revealed her as a man in drag. It was a backhanded compliment to the Baroness.

Queens of the Skies

Before the 1990s, ski jumping for women probably enjoyed its biggest surge of popularity in the Roaring Twenties. When a new jump was built in 1922 in Brattleboro, Vermont, the first person to fly off it was the man who got it built, Fred Harris, founder of the Dartmouth Outing Club; the second person was his sister Evelyn. All over town, the local papers reported, “youthful interest manifested itself by the innumerable ski jumps built all over town by the boys and girls.”

It may have sounded like equal opportunity, but during the 1920s and 1930s women were kept off the official jumping programs. Norwegian stars like 14-year-old Hilda Braskerud and 17-year-old Johanne Kolstad matched the boys in their distances, but were regulated to jumping “outside” as “trail jumpers” during the breaks. After a decade of constant scolding by the Norwegian Ski Federation that “women’s cross-country skiing and ski jumping are not desirable,” Kolstad left for the USA. Re-christened the “Queen of the Skies,” she proved it by jumping a world record of 72 meters in 1938.

When women did go off the same jumps as men, they often went as “glider girls,” taking off while holding hands with a male partner—a trick that seems more dangerous than going solo.

One woman who didn’t want her hand held was Isabel Coursier. Born in Revelstoke, British Columbia, Isabel watched the boys leaping off the new jump there, but nobody thought to ask her to join them. Instead, at a winter carnival she entered the “ski-joring” competition, a race in which the skier is pulled behind a galloping horse. “She beat all the boys,” says Wendy Bryden in her book Canada at the Olympic Winter Games. That finally got her the invitation to jump on the “Boy’s Hill” on Mount Revelstoke.

By 1923 Coursier got on the big jump, and promptly bested the Baroness’ world record by jumping 25.5 meters (84 feet). She was the only woman on the jump that year to compete unassisted, and went on to soar from numerous jumps across North America. Her fame led to a jumping exhibition with men’s world-record holder Nels Nelson for then U.S. President Warren G. Harding.

Like Coursier, many other women were able to jump throughout North America, for the most part in winter carnivals. At Colorado’s Steamboat Springs, for example, “ladies and girls” had their own jumping events. One of the most notable jumpers was Beatrice (Bea) Kirby. Since 1993, a trophy in her name as been awarded to the best jumper.

Another exceptional (in every sense of the word) American jumper of the period was Dorothy Graves of Berlin, New Hampshire. After jumping with the Queen of the Skies at an indoor international meet at Madison Square Garden in 1938, she went on to a career competing with men in both Class A and B during the 1940s.

In 1924 at the first Winter Olympics (which weren’t given that title until a year later) in Chamonix, France, ski jumping was one of the original six sports. But despite all the proof of women’s skill and bravery in making world record jumps—despite the Floating Baroness, despite the Queen of the Skies, despite Isabel Coursier’s Presidential jumps—women’s ski jumping was banned from those first Games.

It would take the IOC until 1991 to rule that each event must have a female equivalent. They made an exception, of course, if the sport was “grandfathered” in without a women’s component…like jumping.

With such a lack of respect for their abilities, and without encouragement for future generations, women’s jumping soon faded into the background. Over the next decades even men’s ski jumping (with its high insurance premiums) lost popularity to slalom, downhill racing and ever more extreme sports. It took until 1972 for a woman to beat the 72-meter jump record of Johanne Kolstad. Anita Wold of Norway, who had started during men’s competitions and was the first woman to jump at Holmenkollen, jumped over 80 meters that year. Four years later, while trying to bust the 100-meter mark, she reached a world record of 97.7 meters in Sapporo, Japan. In 1981 Finnish jumper Tiina Lethola soared 110 meters. Then things got quiet again, until a girl who had begun ski jumping at six years old entered the scene and began to forever change the complexion of women’s ski jumping.

The First Competitions

A modern ski jumper slides onto a horizontal start bar. Beneath the skis drops a narrow strip of snow and ice 90 meters (300 feet) long, with two perfect tracks and only one way to go. As the light turns from red to green, the jumper shifts forward and commits to sliding down the track at 60 miles an hour. When the tracks end and the slope flattens at the take-off, the jumper springs forward, arms pinned to the sides, head just above the ski tips, splayed skis slicing the air.

And then, a few seconds later, they land back in reality.

In 1991, Austrian Eva Ganster and her friend Michaela Schmidt, who had both headed down those slick slopes since they were young girls, began ski jumping at competitions. Only there weren’t any competitions for women. They jumped at men’s events as pre-jumpers, or jumped against men, or if they were lucky, like Karla Keck in the United States, they jumped in junior competitions. At every turn, like most women before them, they fought against officials who did not want the girls to jump, no matter how successful they were.

But by the mid-1990s, both Ganster and Schmidt had secret weapons: their fathers. Dr. Edgar Ganster and Hans-Georg Schmidt saw no reason why their daughters were not allowed to compete.

FIS officials trotted out that century-old scare of the female uterus bursting upon landing, but Dr. Ganster was having none of it. He and Schmidt began to push towards getting women their own jumping competitions so their daughters would have a place to show their stuff.

It soon paid off. Eva Ganster made a pre-jumper appearance at the famed Viersschanzentournee (Four Hills Tournament) in Europe, and then in 1994 made a breakthrough by starting as a pre-jumper at the Olympics in Lillehammer, Norway. She was 16 years old, and set a women’s world record of 113.5 meters at that event.

The FIS cautiously began to notice the girls, and in 1994 set up a group to study the possibility of accepting women. Meanwhile, in 1995 women were allowed demonstration jumps at the FIS Nordic World Cup in Thunder Bay, Canada, and again in 1997 in Trondheim, Norway.

By that time Ganster had set another record by being the first woman to jump on a ski-flying hill, designed for long jumps; she set a new women’s world record of 167 meters. Six years later fellow Austrian Daniela Iraschko would break the record with a 200-meter jump.

That summer of 1997, the first international meet for young female jumpers was held in Voukatti, Finland. It was a slow start; the competition was unofficial, the girls jumped in the men’s pre-program, and they were given no score. Not content with that, Dr. Ganster and Mr. Schmidt then organized a girls-only competition at the Junior World Championships in St. Moritz in 1998, hosting 17 jumpers from seven countries on a 90-meter jump. It was not sanctioned by the FIS.

With that minor success, the fathers put together a Ladies’ Grand Prix as a counterpart to the Four Hills Tournament for 1999. The 13-day tourney hosted 29 women from nine countries, with five different competitions. That year too, the US Ski Association included for the first time a women’s class in the US Ski Jumping Championships.

By the 2002-2003 season, the Ladies’ Grand Prix became the FIS Ladies’ Tour Ski Jumping; that summer a Summer-Tournee Ski-Jumping was established as well, and in the United States, FIS-sanctioned ski jumping competitions were held with five competing nations. But the USSA still refused women the opportunity to win prize money at the national level, even though they did so in all other skiing disciplines.

At the Nordic National Jumping Championships in Steamboat Springs, Colorado that season, coaches and parents pressured the USSA to get a prize together for the girls. The organization yielded, and a big deal was made of presenting a check so large three people had to hold it up. The amount first place winner Jessica Jerome received was $150. The men’s winner took home $1,200.

Thanks to Eva Ganster’s record-making jumps and her father’s history-making stubbornness, the Austrian Ski Federation became the first country to form a national female ski-jumping team in 2000, with its first members Ganster and Iraschko (Ganster retired in 2005). The next year, both Norway and Japan had national teams too, followed by Canada in 2004 and Germany in 2005. Although the United States had a team by 2004 (and a regular sponsor in VISA), the USSA accepted the American team in 2006. Since then, the Germans have ranked first in the world in women’s ski jumping, followed closely by the United States.

Another event in 2004 triggered more attention for the women jumpers. One of the best female jumpers of all time who had already won the Holmenkollen women’s title in 2004 and 2005, Norwegian Anette Sagen, was not allowed to jump K185, the Ski Flying platform in Vikersund. Torbjørn Yggeseth, FIS chairman of the ski jump committee, opposed Sagen, saying the jumping ability of women was not good enough to jump at international venues like this one. Media coverage was ferocious, and the debate led to an open battle over women’s rights in sports.

That same year, the FIS allowed the women the “B” category. The points won during the Grand Prix count for the Grand Prix and the total score of the Continental Cup, now the closest thing to a World Cup and “A” status for women jumpers. In 2006, women had their own category at the Junior World Championships in Slovenia.

All that was missing was their own World Cup, and inclusion in the Olympics.

The Real Fear Factor

By the mid-1990s, men’s ski jumping was in a deep crisis. Fabled Norway had more ski jumps than jumpers in the Norwegian Federation. Sexy and more dangerous sports like inverted aerials, skicross and snowboard cross were all over the place—and women were doing them. Those factors may have contributed to the FIS finally recognizing the first women’s ski jumping event on the eve of the new millennium. What took them so long?

There are a few theories, but it’s the way officials act towards the athletes themselves that gives the broadest clues. When FIS ski-jump chairman Yggeseth denied the “little girls” the right to ski fly, he said most jumpers were “doing something similar to sledding. They should stay on the small hills,” he counseled.

This kind of belittling of women jumpers happens, says Annette Hofmann, because “There is a hidden fear that women will be as good as men, and thus threaten men’s dominance.” A study published in the Journal of Biomechanics (commissioned by the FIS and IOC) proved that women jumpers could become “a real competitive threat,” thanks to their lower body weight. Both organizations introduced strict rules in 2004 to take away any weight advantage—men were already “dieting to the point of illness,” said an official in SKI magazine. Anorexia in men, traditionally a female disorder, has contributed to the fear that the sport (judged not only on distance but by mellifluous style as well) will be taken over by women. More concretely, there’s a real fear that women asking for a piece of the pie would cut into resources like contracts, prize money and positions.

Not in My Olympics

Nothing helped get women into the Olympics in 2010, including the fact that women’s ski jumping was a demonstration sport at the 2006 Olympics. Not even the historic decision on May 26, 2006, when the FIS accepted that women jumpers would have their own World Cup at the 2009 Nordic World Ski Championships in Liberec, Czech Republic. Or the FIS decision to let women have a team event at the 2011 World Championships.

The IOC’s decision to ban women from ski jumping in the Games (they had done it in 1998, 2002 and 2006 as well) were:

• Women’s jumping was still developing in its early stages

• It lacked a sufficient number of countries participating

• It didn’t meet the technical standards required

Also cited was the problem that two world championships had not been held. That rule seemed flexible—women’s cross-country skiing had its first world championship two years after it was accepted in the Olympics in 1952. Then one year after the IOC’s decision to disallow women, the rules were changed to a sport only needing one world championship.

“There are 80 women” ski jumping, IOC President Jacques Rogge said. “In any other sport you are speaking about hundreds of thousands, if not tens of millions of athletes, at a very high level, competing for one single medal. We do not want the medals to be diluted and watered down.”

Those in the sport come up with different numbers than the IOC. Jumpers claimed there were 135 elite female ski jumpers registered internationally, in 16 countries. To put that in perspective, snowboard cross had 34 female competitors in ten countries; bobsled had 26 women in 13 countries; and the new skicross had 30 women in 11 countries.

In 2006 Women’s Ski Jumping USA said that “there are more women jumpers worldwide, and competing on a higher scale, now than there were women competing in bobsled or skeleton at the time those sports were added to the Olympic program for women.”

A Legal Right?

American downhill and World Cup overall champion Lindsey Van is a fighter, and she’s hungry. She’s been jumping internationally since she was 13 in a sport that itself is fighting for recognition. She parties hard, she works hard at her sport, and she works hard at keeping her weight in line. “I’ve been hungry for twelve years,” she says.

In May of 2008, a who’s who of international women’s jumping stars filed lawsuit in the British Columbia Supreme Court against the Vancouver Organizing Committee (VANOC), the host of the 2010 Olympics. Canadian taxpayers footed a $580 million bill, they claim, for facilities with a men’s only sign; lawyer Ross Clark said that the absence of a women's competition is a violation of Canada's equal rights law, which is guaranteed in the Canadian Charter of Rights.

The plaintiffs included Lindsey Van, along with Americans Jessica Jerome and Karla Keck, Annette Sagen of Norway, Daniela Iraschko of Austria, Jenna Mohr and Ulrike Grassler of Germany, Monika Planinc of Slovenia, and retired Canadian Marie-Pierre Morin (who had earlier moved to the U.S. after facing discrimination in Canada). Seventeen-year old Canadian Zoya Lynch joined the lawsuit later, but has since resigned from the Canadian team “out of frustration.”

“We're not asking for a new sport,” said Jessica Jerome's father, Peter, the vice president of Women's Ski Jumping USA. “We're not asking for a new discipline. We're just asking that an existing Olympic event allow women to compete.”

Yet the protests of women ski jumpers  did not fly. “It’s not a human rights case,” says Dick Pound, the Montreal lawyer and chancellor of McGill University—and member of the IOC since 1978. “It’s a decision on the part of the IOC. And it’s not going to stand them in good stead to sue a bunch of grumpy old men.”

Pound is no stranger to controversy and protests, and may even include himself in the Grumpy Old Men category. He was a mediator on the Court of Arbitration for Sport, the Chair of the Anti-Doping Agency, and as the ethics watchdog for the IOC, the investigator of the Salt Lake City Olympic scandal.

“They’ve missed the mark,” he said of the plaintiffs’ suing VANOC for not letting women use a Canadian facility, “because women will use the jump before and after the Olympics.” (The Continental Cup for women took place at Whistler in the middle of December 2008.) Conversely, “The International Committee is using that facility for just one event.”

Instead, Pound says women jumpers should look to the real source of their problem: the FIS. “We looked at the proposal from the FIS [in 2006]. It was made without much enthusiasm. It was made with them knowing the IOC would refuse it. The FIS have not done their job in promoting women’s jumping.”

Do the Right Thing

The long struggle of women jumpers for recognition is not the first time the FIS has dug in its heels against new sports. There was that incident in the last century where an upstart and extreme version of skiing tried for recognition too, and came up hard against a “Scandinavian ski aristocracy.” The new-fangled thing—out of Britain, mind you—was slalom and downhill skiing, first raced in 1921. The FIS banned slalom and downhill from the first “international world ski championship” (only later called the Winter Olympics) in 1924 at Chamonix, as founding editor Morten Lund has written in these pages. Those new sports missed two more Olympics, those in 1928 at St. Moritz and in 19832 at Lake Placid, and Alpine ski racing’s acceptance into official world competition came only in 1936 at the Garmisch Olympics after having been “delayed at least ten years past the time when it was ripe.” There was, however, a plus side: At Garmisch, for the first time, women had their own slalom and downhill competitions.

Cold comfort for women ski jumpers, perhaps, but what else do they have to hold on to? Well, for one thing, perhaps the International Olympic Committee’s own mission statement and charter?

First there was the new equality rule of 1991 that called for each sport to have male and female components. That didn’t work. Then there was the announcement in 1996 that “The IOC strongly encourages by appropriate means, the promotion of women in sport at all levels and in all structures, particularly in the executive bodies of national and international sports organizations with a view to the strict application of the principle of equality of men and women.” That from the IOC, an executive body consisting of 15 men and one woman.

And then there’s the part of the Official Mission and Role of the IOC that says the Olympics will:

6. Act against any form of discrimination affecting the Olympic Movement;

7. Encourage and support the promotion of women in sport at all levels and in all structures with a view to implementing the principle of equality of men and women.

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They spent almost an hour in line, yet more and more skiers came, bonding as they waited  . . .  and waited.

Beginning after World War II and for the next 40 years, weekend skiers waited in lift lines so long that the person next to you had time to describe where he was born, his best powder day, his favorite music, why he deserved a promotion at the office, and . . . hey, look at that babe in the Bogner pants. Waiting could last an hour, all for a 12-minute ride up the mountain and the reward of a quick descent.

The problem of egregious lift queues, exasperating and bone-freezing,  arose from the relentless supply of young babyboomers demanding to ski. Their numbers exceeded the growth of new ski areas and lifts, even though that growth itself was spectacular. In the ten-year period between 1956 and 1966 alone, more than 580 ski areas with chairlifts and T-bars came into being, many of them previously equipped with rope tows. Yet it wasn’t enough. The number of U.S. skiers quintupled in the same period. And when a million or more of them arrived at the bottom of the mountain on a Saturday morning, the place looked like a standing-room-only Beatles concert. Waits of 45 minutes and more were common across the country, from Stowe to Boyne to Big Bear.

Some relief arrived with the advent of triple and quadruple seated lifts, but the big breakthrough came in the 1980s with the engineering of the detachable chair.  Climbing speed doubled. Time-wasting mishaps in boarding the lifts were sharply reduced. The new chairs and gondolas were people-eaters. In the last five years of the 20th Century alone, North American ski resorts installed 250 lifts capable of carrying more people uphill than all of the lifts that existed in the winter of 1965-66!

In the 1950s and 1960s, observed writer Morten Lund, lift lines allowed enough time “to meet a member of the opposite sex, get infatuated, engaged and plan the wedding.” Today, a Saturday or Sunday lift line scarcely allows time to work up an après-ski date. While no one wants to regress to long queues and slow lifts, history suggests that they once helped to develop skiing’s reputation as a sociable sport.

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