“’Piping it’ means the course is skiing you,” Bennett says.
You have stiff legs and you’re putting in a lot of distance around the gates.
“Basically, you’re sucking,” he adds. It’s not only painful to watch, but chaos can ensue.
When he’s off his game, Bennett’s wondering what’s for lunch. Maybe not the best thing to mull over, but, hey the guy’s honest.
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“There’s usually a pretty distinct track where most of the guys go,” Goldberg says. “I’ve always liked to push the line; it’s definitely risky but you can make up time.”
A downhill skier is always adjusting the line—or driving, as Ganong puts it.
“The course will be bumpy and gnarly,” he says. “If you’re apprehensive going into a bumpy section, you’ll lose your line.”
When skiers are racing downhill, they assume a tuck position: knees bent at 90 degrees, back parallel to the ground, hands forward, head up, weight over the middle of the skis.
“Aerodynamics is a big deal,” Goldberg says. “We spend a lot of time in wind tunnels testing our drag. Every time you open your arms and stand up it’s pushing you back, so finding out which tuck position is the fastest can save you precious time.”
Hitting jumps in a downhill race can send athletes into the air for nearly the length of a football field. When their arms start spinning mid-air (“rolling down the windows”) it usually means this bounty of sky time has come as a surprise.
“It’s an ‘Oh shit’ moment,” Ganong says.
There are always faster speeds and bigger jumps on race day.
“A few hundredths of a second can be a couple meters of length at the finish when you’re going at such high speeds,” Goldberg says. “Crossing the finish line and coming to a stop is like slowly turning the volume up on your radio—the sound of the crowd slowly becomes louder and louder.”
