Jit's Journal: Finding the X-factor

The ski season has finally gotten under way and I find myself once again on the road enjoying the life of a ski racer. My duffle bags have become my moveable apartments, and everything to my name can fit into a single hotel room. Laundry is done when a washer can be found, and my briefcase is packed with my laptop and books on German and French. I have become a one-man circus that’s part of an even bigger circus known as the U.S. Ski Team, and I love every minute of it.
    I’m the kind of person that doesn’t like to be stuck in one place for too long, so the road and I get along just fine.

THE SKI SEASON has finally gotten under way and I find myself once again on the road enjoying the life of a ski racer. My duffle bags have become my moveable apartments, and everything to my name can fit into a single hotel room. Laundry is done when a washer can be found, and my briefcase is packed with my laptop and books on German and French. I have become a one-man circus that’s part of an even bigger circus known as the U.S. Ski Team, and I love every minute of it.
    I’m the kind of person that doesn’t like to be stuck in one place for too long, so the road and I get along just fine. Growing up, all I could think about was how bad I wanted to see the world. The idea of getting lost in other cultures, educating myself on languages and philosophies from around the globe made me so determined to be successful as an athlete. Now I’m 21 years old, going on 22, and I am doing just that. Most guys hate being in Europe because of the language barrier, the different food and the different cultures. For me, I take it in stride and have come to appreciate it. I feel as though there is an invisible badge on my shirt, knowing that I can handle myself wherever I go. I’m proud of it.    
    Though I haven’t received a degree from a college, I feel like I have, or I’m in the process of, getting a degree in life. I speak three languages and my goal by the time I retire is to have at least five down. I have traveled the world over and seen the sun set and rise in more beautiful places than I can remember — which is why I carry a digital camera with me where ever I go. Even with all that said, I realize there is still so much left for me to see and do. It’s an exciting reality that I’m happy to be living in.
    The season got under way with the NorAms at Keystone much the same way they did last year. This year, however, things were a little bit different for me, as I was returning from a month off due to a leg injury. I felt like I was stepping off the plane and into the gate almost immediately. I thought to myself, “Sometimes I play my best golf when I haven’t done it in a while, so why can’t it be that way for my skiing?” Wrong.
    Standing atop the GS course, I realized that the moment I had thought about since my injury a year ago was upon me. When I kicked out of the gate for my first true race run since blowing my knee out, I let my nerves get the better of me. I just didn’t feel confident in myself. My skiing lacked the passion that it had had all summer. My muscles felt tense and I was unwilling to walk the fine line. I wasn’t generating any power with my skis and the desire to just let go seemed gone. I finished the run well back of the leader and felt slightly embarrassed for myself. “This isn’t me!” “What was that?” I thought.
    It’s tough as an athlete to know that you didn’t give all of yourself out there on the playing field, or in this case the race hill. I think athletes at any level can relate to this. As I sat at the top lodge between runs, I tried to pull myself together and drum up the confidence to go out there and really let myself go on the second run. This is troubling because I have found myself doing this all too frequently in the past and I decided right then and there that if I was ever going to have that all important breakthrough as a skier I needed to adopt a new mental approach, or philosophy. I like to call it the “WTF factor,” and I’m sure you can figure out that one out for yourselves.
    This summer, I was having lunch with Daron Rahlves, and he said something to me that stuck. He said, “Jit, what feels better, coming into the finish after absolutely laying down everything you had on the run and crushing it, or skiing to make it to the finish and feeling empty because you left a lot of yourself out there on the hill?” It’s that ugly feeling you get, when you know that you’re better than you showed but were just too afraid to prove it. I didn’t want to have that any more, so I made my new pact with myself at the top of Keystone before the second run. I needed to start my return to racing in a manner that would help me be successful. Not return me to a rut from the past. It was time to believe in myself.
    When I stepped into the gate second run, I had no nerves and I was at complete ease with what I was about to do. My mental state was solid and if anything, furious. Everything that was out my control drifted from thought and things that were in my control were ready to be used as if they were weapons in battle. I wanted to feel that deep feeling of satisfaction when I crossed the finish line. It’s a feeling I hadn’t felt in long time and I needed it badly. “It’s time to step up to the plate and hit the ball out of the park,” I thought.
    With a final deep breath that was revealed by the coldness of the air, I vaulted out of the gate with every ounce of my strength and found myself charging as hard as I could down the course. I felt like I was in fast-forward. My skis were definitely running fast, which meant my technician Robby had nailed the wax. Everything was smooth and calm. I nailed everything I had planned in my inspection. I was letting myself put it all on the line, and it felt good. However, most of the run itself was, and still is, a complete blur to me. To be honest with you, instinct and skills learned over the years take over after that. If you find yourself in trouble, your body reacts like you have trained it to do. Gates fly by so quick you find yourself on autopilot. All distractions disappear and even the bitterness of the air seems to fade; this is generally a good sign.  
    As I approached the finish, my lungs and legs burned from the high altitude and length of the course. I was so tired. My body was overloaded with lactic acid and needed air quick. I had to shin off the last three gates to just barely make the course. I reached my arms out to hit the invisible timing beam and skidded to a difficult stop. I was completely exhausted and unable to breath. Either the finish was eerily quiet, or I was deaf because I had no blood left higher than my heart. Then it hit me; that feeling of utter satisfaction. It seemed to warm my entire body over. I did it.
    Now I could sit here and talk to you all day about the times from that race, but that isn’t what I’m trying to get at. The important thing here is finding the ability to reach your full potential as an athlete; to feel that feeling of complete satisfaction because you’re mentally ready to believe that you’re good enough. I did it sitting in that top lodge reflecting on my past and thinking of my future. I created a plan and made it happen. As we speak, I am still skiing with that same philosophy and I’m proud that I have progressed with it. Whether it’s in ski racing, your job, or your life, you have to get yourself into a position mentally where you’re confident to be successful. Find th
e X-factor or philosophy that brings out the best in you.

— Jit