Two Days in Beaver Creek – Skiing for Sarah.
When I first learned of Sarah Burke’s passing, I was crushed. There is no simpler way to put it. She had a light and without her the world is a little dimmer. Shortly after I heard the news and my sobs had subsided somewhat, a friend said to me, “I didn’t know Sarah, just knew of her. And clearly she was a special person beyond her awards and accolades.” He then asked me to tell him a little bit about her.
It took me a minute to think and in that minute I realized that through my tears I was smiling a quirky little smile with my lips pressed together and one side puckered into a smirk. The Sarah Smile. Not the one she used when standing on top of podiums or walking the red carpet. It was the one she reserved for when she was out of the spotlight. The one that let you know she was so much more than the beautiful person and Olympic-caliber athlete you saw in the media.
It was the smile that said she could be goofy and wear fake neck tattoos and make wizard staffs of empty beer cans when pent up in a house with eight girls.
It was the one that said a night at Sushi Village with her friends or a day of snowboarding in pow with her dad was just as important as her medals.
It was the one she wore when talking about being stoked when a camper she was coaching learned a new trick.
It said that no matter how frustrating, she would never give up promoting and advocating for the sport she loved so much.
Sarah’s form of advocacy — to which not just female skiers, but females and skiers alike owe a debt of gratitude — was not the “in your face”, “make a lot of noise”, “look at me” advocacy. Rather, Sarah took a behind the scenes approach and let her actions both on and off the snow speak for her. If contest promoters said, “Not until girls step up,” when asked for more prize money for girls or more females allowed in contests, then step up she would with tricks not before seen in women’s skiing, as if to respond, “How about now?”
Through all of the advocacy and achievements Sarah never stopped smiling. Sometimes her quirky smirk and other times her bright, beautiful smile that could light up any room. Because from that smile came such a genuine warmth and light. There was not an unkind bone in Sarah’s body and you could feel that the moment you met her. She had a gift of making everyone around her comfortable and happy to be where they were. Her smile could make your day better and she always had one for you when you needed it.
For someone so often in the spotlight and so busy with all of her endeavors, Sarah always had time. Whether is was to sit down with a nervous assistant editor for an interview, take 15 girl campers to the salon to get manicures or text you on your birthday, Sarah always had time. If someone told me she had a tree in her backyard where not money grew, but hours in the day, I would believe them. How else could someone accomplish all she has? And rather than being sad about not seeing that smile anymore, I’m going to be as strong and determined as Sarah was in her life and remember just how lucky I am to have had her in my life at all.
And instead of being sad and sulking around the house when learned I lost a friend, I did what I knew she would want me to do. I went skiing. And I skied for Sarah.
I skied groomers. I skied trees. I skied fast. I skied slow. I skied park. I skied pow. I skied from first chair until my legs were burning.
While skiing Beaver Creek’s nearly empty slopes, I happened across a group of five nine-year-old girls skiing together on one of the first pow days of the year. I had to stop them and ask them at the top of the run if I could take their photo. Because when I saw them, I couldn’t help but smile and think of Sarah. These girls may not know who Sarah was or why some strange lady wanted their photo. But they were out there skiing and to me, they were a great representation of Sarah’s legacy. Wearing pink goggles and riding twin tips, they are a part of what Sarah worked so hard to accomplish and I can’t help but think she was smiling at them as she was sending them their first powder day.
