The Fall Line: How American Ski Racers Conquered a Sport on the Edge

What does it take to win?

The new age snake oil salesmen will tell you it’s all about attitude.

The Silicon Valley titans will tell you it’s all about failing.

But the truth is it’s a feeling deep inside that you can succeed, followed up by tons of practice and sacrifice, oftentimes by your loved ones, and then a ton of luck plopped on top. Are you ready?

No, most people are not. Most people don’t want to miss out on the pleasures of life. The prom, the tv series, all the rites of passage. But the truth is our winners miss out on so much to grab the brass ring. And you might know their names for a fraction of a second, they may ultimately become footnotes. But they are our beacons. They point the way. And after finishing Nathaniel Vinton’s “The Fall Line” I’m pondering my own next journey in life.

You’ve got to have a goal. And unlike the boastful rappers, you’ve got to hew to it when you’re sick and hurt and nearly defeated. Because success is never about spin, that can factor in, but it’s always about effort. Which most people are unwilling to make.

Yes, “The Fall Line” is about skiing. But except for the last third, which is competition dominated, anyone would be riveted. It’s the story of Lindsey Vonn and Bode Miller and the U.S. Ski Team, how they all convened at the Olympics in Whistler, Canada for success.

So Lindsey Vonn is skiing laps at 310′ Buck Hill, Minnesota under the lights. First you’ve got to have the passion, the desire. If what you’re doing is not fun, turn around and go in another direction.

Bode Miller is bombing the icy slopes of Cannon Mountain, New Hampshire on ill-fitting borrowed equipment, having been dropped off there by his hippie parents every afternoon.

And there you have the dichotomy. The daughter of upper middle class attorneys who moved their family to Vail, Colorado so their daughter could succeed and the son of counterculture parents who were lucky a friend granted a Sugarloaf, Maine ski academy scholarship to their son who was home-schooled.

And when they both have success, they both cope with it in different ways.

Lindsey deflects. She lets her team handle it.

Bode gets in the mix and speaks his truth. And anyone who’s dealt with the press knows you never speak the truth.

So this is athletics. This is very different from the modern music business where oftentimes the star is just a face, all the work being done by ancient men most people are unaware of. In athletics you’ve got support, but it’s only you on the field.

But America is fascinated with team sports. We lionize the individual but we pay fealty to the team. But going it alone is so much harder.

And there are only a couple of sports where you’re out there completely alone. Tennis is one, golf another. But in tennis the conditions remain the same, or close to it. The golf courses change, but neither sport has an element of danger. In downhill skiing you can lose your life, or your leg, as one recent skier did.

And until recently there wasn’t much money in it, certainly not for American skiers.

But in Europe downhillers are stars. And with the loosening of Olympic amateur rules and the corporatization of the world, it’s now all about corporate sponsors. You can make a mint if you’re a winner.

But it’ll cost you. You’ve got to stop in New York to debut a watch even though you’d rather fly straight to Europe to compete. You’ve got to fly to Europe for the day, getting unbelievably jet-lagged in the seventy two hour turnaround. But you need the cash.

And here lies the difference between music and athletics. The corporate sponsors don’t invade the field of athletic play, but they do in art. Can you forgo the cash and hew to the beat of your own drummer? Can you stand outside the system and do it your way, appealing to an audience of your own device?

With today’s victory, Lindsey Vonn is the most successful woman ski racer of all time. She has 63 World Cup wins. And she’s beautiful. And wealthy. And she dates Tiger Woods. But she’s cold. You can’t warm up to her.

Bode Miller is nearly as successful, a jangle of rough edges, and despite his excoriation by the press as a result of his lack of success at the 2006 Olympics, he’s the people’s favorite, those who pay attention. Because he’s sui generis. He says what he thinks. And he never holds back.

We need people to believe in. And we’re drawn to those who break the rules. Because the truth is we are not cookie-cutter, we’re all unique in a world telling us to be like everybody else. So when someone wins on their own terms, we glom on. We want to believe we can do it our way and succeed.

And in skiing there’s the twin issues of weather and course preparation. And the difference between medaling and not can be a hundredth of a second. That’s what separates a winner from a loser. But you can’t complain. Nobody likes a whiner, certainly not in sports.

Are you willing to practice when no one is watching? When no one will notice?

I became a great skier by going to the Middlebury College Snow Bowl when no one else would. When it was raining, when it was far below zero. Not because I wanted a medal, but because I loved it.

And my brief tenure on the ski team proved that it wasn’t for me. They’re jocks. With the concomitant practical jokes and hazing, all of which I hate.

But in the modern world everybody specializes. And if you don’t start early, if you don’t have parents who will support you, you have no chance. Kind of like the underprivileged kids living in poverty going to bad schools. Winning is ingrained at a young age.

And the winners in ski racing don’t take it casually, they all go to academies, usually sponsored by the state. Because you’ve got to dedicate all your time if you want to succeed. That’s the truth about the Silicon Valleyites, they’re nerds who didn’t date in high school who excelled to get into Stanford, you’re just catching them in the last lap. And a lot of them fall by the wayside in the interim, very few “make it.” But making it has nothing to do with social networks and shaving the edges, it’s all about hard work, put in, once again, when no one is watching, never mind listening.

“Fall Line” is the “Hit Men” of ski racing. The inside story of what really goes on. The autocratic executives who mess with athletes’ heads, never mind their careers. The ski contracts that not only allow you to get rich, but come with a supporting cast of characters that make the difference between victory and defeat.

That’s right, if you tune in once every four years for ten minutes you’ll see who emerges victorious. But you won’t know that the skiers don’t care about the Olympics, they care about the World Cup, a season-long endeavor, and you’ll be unaware of all the hard work and heartbreak expended, not only by those who achieve, but those who don’t.

What are your goals? What are you doing to achieve them? Like Bode Miller do you know that sometimes you’ve got to listen to criticism and sometimes you don’t? After all, it’s just you on the hill. Like Lindsey Vonn do you stand up to the team and make them play by your rules?

All of this and more is covered in “The Fall Line.” I spent all day reading it. I couldn’t put it down. You don’t have to finish it.

But you don’t have to be successful either.