The truth is, skeleton is not that dangerous. Flipping over or being thrown from the sled, which, granted, would be bad, aren’t likely scenarios. At speeds nearing 70mph (yes, 70–and no matter how fast that sounds to you, trust me, it’s faster) the pull of gravity all but glues you to your sled, and your sled to the ice. The real worry is “quality of life” injuries like, say, biting off your tongue. You come out of a straightaway into a sharp turn and–whammo!–the sudden G-force snaps your head like a Pez dispenser and the tip is history. During one run, my right tricep rubbed the wall for a split second; the bruise I ended up with looked like a de Kooning and lasted, swear to God, 13 days. For me, that was the worst of it. But doing this sport, you learn that “danger” and “terror” are not synonymous. You don’t need much of one to have a whole lot of the other.
I lug my 3 1/2-foot, 80-pound steel sled to the track, then pull my goggles over my helmet. (The goggles, borrowed in a pinch from Hass, are pink and purple. I have been roundly mocked for this.) My stomach does one last somersault, and I flop onto the sled.
This is the next minute of my life:
The speed, right away, is stunning, and it keeps getting faster–like that scene in “Spaceballs” where they go from Warp to Ridiculous to Ludicrous speed. To settle down, I repeat Hass’s three quick instructions to us. (1) “Hold on tight.” Done. I am strangling this poor sled. I am making steel cry. (2) “Look down the turn.” Translation: if the track bends to the right, look right. Skeleton pros use their shoulders and thighs to choose their “line,” but at this speed even eyes can steer. “Where you look,” says Hass, “is where you go.” Depending on your personality, this is either comforting (“Just follow the track and you’ll be fine”) or mortifying (“Don’t look there, you idiot! You’ll die!”). The fact is, I’m moving way too fast to do anything but look down the turn. The pros will make a thousand tiny adjustments in each of the track’s 20 bends and then, after the run, they’ll say things like, “Man, I should’ve checked down [rode lower on the ice wall] in turn 13.” Me, I don’t recall turn 13. My guess is it looked like all the other turns: blurry. (3) “Enjoy the ride.” This one I have some trouble with. See, nothing can prepare you for the sensation of having your face mashed into a sheet of ice at highway speeds. It’s a hoot. It happens in the turns, where the crushing G-force overpowers your neck and shoulder muscles. The world goes black. Involuntary groans bubble up and pour out–really deep, scary, “Exorcist” stuff you’ve never heard before. Then there’s the sound of your helmet grinding on the surface as you think “That is not my chin… that is not my chin…” All of this is normal. It goes on, seemingly, for hours.
In fact, it takes me only 1:07.87, about 10 seconds off World Cup pace. I slide through the finish and three track workers fish me out. (Incidentally, Hass’s fourth instruction should have been, but wasn’t, “Get off the sled just before it stops.” On my first trip down, I failed to do this and ended up sliding backward all the way to turn 19.) I am wheezing and sore–who knew lying on my stomach could be so draining?–but I manage to climb into the paddy wagon idling nearby for a ride back to the top. “So?” asks the driver, a loopy chain smoker named Tim who likes to shout “Banzai!” “Whaddya think?” My brain is so scrambled I can’t tell if I’m answering him. “Are you kidding me?” I hear myself say. “I loved it.”
THE OLD DAYS: WHY SKELETON’S OUT OF THE CLOSET AGAIN
HISTORY: Skeleton isn’t an Olympics rookie. It debuted at the 1928 Games and returned in 1948, both times in St-Moritz, Switzerland. But then it disappeared. Why? For starters, because it was dangerous. Which is funny, considering that skeleton is back in part because it’s…dangerous. Mostly, though, skeleton faded for the same reason as the jitterbug: by the 1960s, no one was doing it.
THE NAME: A big debate. Is it because of the bare-bones steel sled? Could be. Some say it refers to how you look while sliding (glat, motionless). Others joke that it refers to how you look a few weeks after sliding. Get it?
