I'm not sure I've ever been prouder of an athlete than I was today.
Libby Ludlow came across the finish line in tears this morning. Skiing a downhill course with a couple of bulging discs and a knee still trying to behave like a knee after major off-season surgery will do that. It was a training run, not competition, but she finished 4 seconds off the pace, an eternity on a world-class downhill run.
Not in a lot of pain, she said later, but tentative, holding back, too conscious of the bad back and the weak knee, unable to relax and attack the hill, embrace the speed and the terrain and perform like she knows she can when her body is right. Too conscious of what it all meant...
When she spotted us in the interview area she turned away at first, knowing the camera was there, knowing we were there to see her race and interview her afterward. Still crying she made eye contact after a bit and waved us off. She needed time. 
After a talk with a coach, some hugs and more tears, she composed herself and walked over.
She's a 10-year veteran of the US ski team, a lifetime skier who hit the slopes when she was two and started racing at age six at Crystal Mountain. She skis for a living and skiing is her life. And as she crossed that finish line she may have been facing not just the end of a season but, once again, the possibility it was the beginning of the end of a career.
Because of the quirks of age (she's 26) and the performance demands and brutal math of her sport, she needs to have a strong showing in the final races of the season. If she doesn't, her status with the ski-team could change. She could lose some of her financial support. Her livelihood is threatened by injuries and age and she knows it. Her life could be changing. There are big decisions ahead, not all of them hers. There are huge physical and emotional challenges ahead and they are hers and hers alone. It was all too much she later admitted. Too much at one time on a ski hill at 65 miles an hour.
So all of that was going through her mind as she came down the mountain and as she stood in the interview area, and as she turned to face me and the camera. She made a visible effort to pull herself together. She dried her tears and smiled and said, "How was your drive up?"
How was your drive up?
It's hard to explain but that cheerful, issue-deflecting question hit me very hard. What tremendous courage. What tremendous grace. What tremendous strength. With all of this happening SHE's asking US how our day is going.
I didn't respond immediately. Couldn't in fact. I just smiled back and waited, waited to see if I was going to join her in tears. Close. I was there to do an interview and I did the interview. And she was great, talking openly about the day and her injuries and the World Cup event and what it meant to Whistler and to her. About the Olympics in two years and how cool it will be to compete so close to home. She waited while we got a two-shot. She posed with Photographer Ken Jones. She was generous with her time, thoughtful in her answers, vulnerable and tough as nails. And all the time the truly important things in her world were jumbled and spinning in her head and heart; lots of problems, few ready answers.
How was your drive up?
The innocuous words of a true champion.
My compliments to Allen for an entry that does a fine job of presenting Libby's admirable combination of centered concentration as well as generosity and concern for others. Years ago I was one of her teachers, and I too have observed these qualities, though in the quiet arena of a classroom.
Mike Roberts