Here is a picture from the selection races in Whistler, because I don't really have any other eye candy to grab your attention, and the block of text that follows is visually mind-numbing. I figure even my backside is better to look at ...

So, let me tell you about the past 48 hours. It is a story of elation, exhaustion, stubbornness, good luck, bad luck, inclement weather and an obscene amount of caffeine. It is a story with such a packed plot, that I am actually going to have to break it up into several posts, lest this entry become a saga of epic proportions. Because who has time for an epic saga. Certainly not me.

After Sunday's Classic Bartleman stunt at the Canadian Championships, I was planning to start the 12-hour drive back to Squamish the next morning, so I could get to Whistler and forerun for the International Training Weeks (where sliders from around the world have the chance to come train on the Olympic track). This plan had been in the works for several weeks, and when the head forerunner asked me back in September if I could shuttle his sled with me from Calgary out to Whistler, I told him no problem at all, since I was already going that way. (Keep this little tidbit of information in the back of your mind, because it becomes a key plot point later on.)

After the conclusion of Sunday's race, which also acted as our final selection race, a coaching committee met to make its final decisions about who would be appointed to which team for the coming season. I had done reasonably well in the series of four races, and thought I would be able to maintain my position on the Europa Cup circuit, but the competition on the Canadian development team is nothing to sneeze at. There is a lot of coach's discretion involved at the development level, and as my teammate Micaela said "Until I am on a plane crossing the Atlantic, I won't believe I've made the team."

Since we didn't know exactly when the team announcements would be made, I left Calgary around lunchtime on Monday, thinking I'd be home around midnight, enough to get a decent night's sleep before heading up to Whistler for 8 am the next morning for the forerunning gig.

Fast forward three hours, as I cruised down Ten Mile Hill just outside of Golden, BC and across the Kicking Horse Canyon bridge, and Rufus picked up a cell signal again, and I saw that the long anticipated Team Announcement email had finally arrived. I couldn't even wait the five-minute drive to Golden, so I pulled into the rest stop at the bottom of the bridge, took a deep breath and opened the email.

And my name was not on the list of the Europa Cup team members.

Why?

Because it was on the list of the next circuit up, the Intercontinental Cup team.

I believe my response could be summarized as a delightfully bizarre combination of expletives and praises, especially after what had amounted to a struggle through that last selection series in Calgary, and because my competition was stiff. My goal had been to simply hold onto my Europa Cup spot, since an IC spot seemed a little beyond my reach.

Now, I would also be remiss if I didn't mention that throughout the selection process, an IC spot was indeed a little beyond my reach. But within the final week there was an unanticipated shakeup on the World Cup team which resulted in a vacant spot ... a poignant lesson in the skeleton world: it REALLY ain't over 'til it's all over. Anything can, and does, happen in this weird world of spandex.

So this is it ... right here:

The moment I became a certified national team member of ... uhhh ... anything ...

Exactly three years ago, I stood at the top of the Calgary track about to go down for the very first time wondering whether I would even like this sport at all (by the way I did ... mostly ... ). My slogan back then was "Moving to a town I have never been to, for a sport I have never done, on a track that doesn't exist."

Who'd've thunk it?

Turns out that a combination of hard work, a moderate amount patience, a drop of obstinance, equal parts blood, sweat and tears, unseemly amounts of spandex, copious amounts of chocolate, the occasional passing thought that you're kinda a big deal tempered by the regular and forceful reminders that you definitely are not, a little bit of glitter, some luck and another dollop of plain ol' hard work ... produces some perfectly delightful results.

I'm pretty sure it was the glitter that sealed the deal ...