Sunday, March 12, 2006 1:46:58 PM
Skiing blind
Visually impaired alpine skier Chris Williamson (back) and guide Bobby Taylor
have skied together since the fall of 2004.
(Photo: Andre Springer).
By Jesse Campigotto
cbc.ca
World-class ski racing is a tricky business. Even assuming one ignores the example of Bode Miller and arrives at the mountain with a clear head, there are myriad obstacles to navigate on the way down those steep slopes.
Tricky turns, icy patches and pesky snowfalls lurk at every turn, not to mention speeds that can exceed 100 km/h. It's often all a guy can do to get himself down the hill in one piece.
But, what if the guy also has to worry about making sure another man made it down the hill, too? And what if one of them is blind?
Such is the challenge Canadian Paralympic alpine skier Chris Williamson and guide Bobby Taylor will face at the 2006 Paralympic Winter Games in Turin, Italy. If history is any indication, though, the pair shouldn't have much trouble.
Taylor, an able-bodied 31-year-old Vancouver native, and Williamson, a 33-year-old resident of Markham, Ont., who is completely blind in his right eye and has only six per cent vision in his left, head to Turin on the heels of a magical season. The pair reached the podium in all 11 World Cup races they entered en route to capturing the 2005-06 slalom, giant slalom, super-G and overall titles.
Williamson and Taylor were among the favourites in the downhill, too, but the season's only scheduled race was wiped out by weather before it could be completed.
In Turin, the team is aiming for a medal in each of the four disciplines and Williamson says a victory in alpine skiing's marquee event would be especially sweet.
"Being from Canada, everyone wants to win the downhill," he says. "It's like winning the 100-metre sprint. It's the highlight of the Paralympics."
They make it look easy, but what Williamson and Taylor accomplish when they cross the finish line ahead of an increasingly talented field of international competitors is incredibly difficult.
Here's how it works: Taylor, who skis slightly ahead of Williamson, uses a two-way voice system in the skiers' helmets to bark instructions to the blind skier on how to handle the snow-covered slope ahead of him.
By the time Williamson and Taylor hit the course on race day they've taken several practice runs and Williamson has memorized the course. Still, Taylor's role is essential during competition as he warns his partner of any unexpected obstacles that have crept up in the meantime.
Williamson helps his guide, too. Despite his perfect vision, Taylor can't see the trailing Williamson, who must notify his guide every time he passes a gate, lest Taylor get too far out in front. Staying together is no mean feat, especially in the downhill where speeds exceed highway speed limits. If Taylor doesn't cross the finish line, Williamson's time doesn't count.
As suggested by the slew of titles they won this season, Williamson and Taylor have become perhaps the finest Paralympic alpine skiing team in the world. Part of the reason for their success, they say, is their friendship off the course.
"We spend a lot of time together," Taylor says. "We're always roommates whenever we're at a hotel. I don't know if Chris is getting tired of me by now or not."
While some other pairs only come together for competitions, Taylor believes that a close relationship between teammates is crucial to excellence in the sport.
"You can have two technically good skiers, but to really work together well and gel as a team it takes a bit extra," he says. "Alpine skiing is an individual sport. But in blind alpine skiing, it's more of a team sport. To have that team rapport and communication is very important."
Williamson and Taylor have been building that rapport since the fall of 2004, when Williamson was searching for a ski racer willing, and good enough, to guide him.
"One year I went through four guides," Williamson says. "I had one guide that tore his knee apart, then the next guy threw out his back after four races so I had to use a German coach for one race."
As if finding a guide with the requisite skills wasn't difficult enough, Williamson also had to find someone he could connect with on a personal level.
"You can have a great skier but if your personalities don't match then it probably will show on the hill," he says.
Enter the affable Taylor, an elite skier who had raced on the NCAA circuit while attending the University of Alaska Anchorage. After hearing from a Canadian coach that Williamson was looking for a guide, Taylor took a few trial runs with Williamson and the two immediately hit it off.
"We just clicked," says Taylor, who became Williamson's ninth guide in eight years on the national team. "Everything worked really well."
Both men are hoping their wildly successful run continues in Italy. If Williamson leaves Turin with the four medals he desires, his success will be well-deserved after the disappointment he endured at the 2002 Salt Lake City Paralympics.
A day before the opening ceremony, Williamson agreed to ski for a TV crew that wanted footage of him in action. Racing down an ungroomed slope Williamson caught an edge, fell and suffered a complete tear of the medial collateral ligament in his left knee.
On the day of the opening ceremony Williamson was told he probably wouldn't be able to compete. Rather than accept the diagnosis Williamson got fitted with a knee brace, then skipped his first event, the downhill, to rest. He returned to the hill for the super-G and giant slalom but didn't fare too well ("I was still getting used to my knee brace," he says).
Then, 10 days after the injury, Williamson won gold in the slalom.
"It was a lot of physio, some anti-inflammatories and a lot of pain while trying to ski race," he says. "But, as they say, (the Paralympics) happen once every four years if you're lucky, and for many people once in a lifetime."
Indeed, a ski racer never knows whether his next run could be his last. But when Williamson and Taylor shoot out of the start gate in Turin, each man will know he has the teammate of a lifetime right there with him.
http://www.cbc.ca/paralympics/indepth/headlines.shtml?skiingblind.html
Visually impaired alpine skier Chris Williamson (back) and guide Bobby Taylor
have skied together since the fall of 2004.
(Photo: Andre Springer).
By Jesse Campigotto
cbc.ca
World-class ski racing is a tricky business. Even assuming one ignores the example of Bode Miller and arrives at the mountain with a clear head, there are myriad obstacles to navigate on the way down those steep slopes.
Tricky turns, icy patches and pesky snowfalls lurk at every turn, not to mention speeds that can exceed 100 km/h. It's often all a guy can do to get himself down the hill in one piece.
But, what if the guy also has to worry about making sure another man made it down the hill, too? And what if one of them is blind?
Such is the challenge Canadian Paralympic alpine skier Chris Williamson and guide Bobby Taylor will face at the 2006 Paralympic Winter Games in Turin, Italy. If history is any indication, though, the pair shouldn't have much trouble.
Taylor, an able-bodied 31-year-old Vancouver native, and Williamson, a 33-year-old resident of Markham, Ont., who is completely blind in his right eye and has only six per cent vision in his left, head to Turin on the heels of a magical season. The pair reached the podium in all 11 World Cup races they entered en route to capturing the 2005-06 slalom, giant slalom, super-G and overall titles.
Williamson and Taylor were among the favourites in the downhill, too, but the season's only scheduled race was wiped out by weather before it could be completed.
In Turin, the team is aiming for a medal in each of the four disciplines and Williamson says a victory in alpine skiing's marquee event would be especially sweet.
"Being from Canada, everyone wants to win the downhill," he says. "It's like winning the 100-metre sprint. It's the highlight of the Paralympics."
They make it look easy, but what Williamson and Taylor accomplish when they cross the finish line ahead of an increasingly talented field of international competitors is incredibly difficult.
Here's how it works: Taylor, who skis slightly ahead of Williamson, uses a two-way voice system in the skiers' helmets to bark instructions to the blind skier on how to handle the snow-covered slope ahead of him.
By the time Williamson and Taylor hit the course on race day they've taken several practice runs and Williamson has memorized the course. Still, Taylor's role is essential during competition as he warns his partner of any unexpected obstacles that have crept up in the meantime.
Williamson helps his guide, too. Despite his perfect vision, Taylor can't see the trailing Williamson, who must notify his guide every time he passes a gate, lest Taylor get too far out in front. Staying together is no mean feat, especially in the downhill where speeds exceed highway speed limits. If Taylor doesn't cross the finish line, Williamson's time doesn't count.
As suggested by the slew of titles they won this season, Williamson and Taylor have become perhaps the finest Paralympic alpine skiing team in the world. Part of the reason for their success, they say, is their friendship off the course.
"We spend a lot of time together," Taylor says. "We're always roommates whenever we're at a hotel. I don't know if Chris is getting tired of me by now or not."
While some other pairs only come together for competitions, Taylor believes that a close relationship between teammates is crucial to excellence in the sport.
"You can have two technically good skiers, but to really work together well and gel as a team it takes a bit extra," he says. "Alpine skiing is an individual sport. But in blind alpine skiing, it's more of a team sport. To have that team rapport and communication is very important."
Williamson and Taylor have been building that rapport since the fall of 2004, when Williamson was searching for a ski racer willing, and good enough, to guide him.
"One year I went through four guides," Williamson says. "I had one guide that tore his knee apart, then the next guy threw out his back after four races so I had to use a German coach for one race."
As if finding a guide with the requisite skills wasn't difficult enough, Williamson also had to find someone he could connect with on a personal level.
"You can have a great skier but if your personalities don't match then it probably will show on the hill," he says.
Enter the affable Taylor, an elite skier who had raced on the NCAA circuit while attending the University of Alaska Anchorage. After hearing from a Canadian coach that Williamson was looking for a guide, Taylor took a few trial runs with Williamson and the two immediately hit it off.
"We just clicked," says Taylor, who became Williamson's ninth guide in eight years on the national team. "Everything worked really well."
Both men are hoping their wildly successful run continues in Italy. If Williamson leaves Turin with the four medals he desires, his success will be well-deserved after the disappointment he endured at the 2002 Salt Lake City Paralympics.
A day before the opening ceremony, Williamson agreed to ski for a TV crew that wanted footage of him in action. Racing down an ungroomed slope Williamson caught an edge, fell and suffered a complete tear of the medial collateral ligament in his left knee.
On the day of the opening ceremony Williamson was told he probably wouldn't be able to compete. Rather than accept the diagnosis Williamson got fitted with a knee brace, then skipped his first event, the downhill, to rest. He returned to the hill for the super-G and giant slalom but didn't fare too well ("I was still getting used to my knee brace," he says).
Then, 10 days after the injury, Williamson won gold in the slalom.
"It was a lot of physio, some anti-inflammatories and a lot of pain while trying to ski race," he says. "But, as they say, (the Paralympics) happen once every four years if you're lucky, and for many people once in a lifetime."
Indeed, a ski racer never knows whether his next run could be his last. But when Williamson and Taylor shoot out of the start gate in Turin, each man will know he has the teammate of a lifetime right there with him.
http://www.cbc.ca/paralympics/indepth/headlines.shtml?skiingblind.html
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