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Seventeen Days of Gold Chapter One The view was breathtaking. Red and orange plateaus rose up from the snow covered ground. The azure sky was clear and beautiful. Evergreens accented every valley and hill. A small covey of birds burst from a distant pine and dotted the sky briefly before disappearing. I stood on the balcony of my hotel room and inhaled the sweet smelling air. This land was comforting; a welcome destination from ravaged lands and sterile buildings I have seen of late. Yet a skyline filled with buildings is what I longed to see. My city on Lake Michigan never seemed sterile to me, though, and I missed it. I've been away too long. I wondered how the winter was treating them this year. The air around me was cold and crisp, but produced no breeze. Certainly not like the Windy City. I inhaled again; you could at least give this place credit for having cleaner air. I had heard that winters in these desert mountains could be brutal. I laughed to myself. This girl has been hardened by one too many Chicago winters to take these cowboys seriously, but it would have to do. I highly doubted there was anything this city on the Salt Lake could send my way that I couldn’t survive. “Well, let’s get started then!” I said out loud. I went back inside my room, throwing off my robe, and changing into my jogging suit. I put a t-shirt on underneath for extra warmth, but I doubted I needed it. After all, it had to be almost thirty degrees outside! I slipped on my shoes, and after fishing around my suitcase for my portable CD player, stood in front of the mirror to braid my long auburn hair, tucking away the gray strands and sighing. This job’s going to kill me some day. Snagging one of my CD’s, I grabbed my key card and headed out the door. It was quite early in the morning, but already a few souls had ventured out onto the streets. With last night’s opening ceremonies out of the way, the athletes were getting down to serious business. I admired their spirit. It was they that made up most of the morning crowd, I could see, heading off to early practice sessions. I jogged along, singing softly to myself. Thankfully, I had some time to take in the layout of Olympic Village before heading to my post in Park City later this morning. Although I knew jack-squat about lugeing and I couldn’t ski my way out of a paper bag, I was excited to have the chance to work the security at an outdoor venue. A lot better than sitting inside with all the figure skaters, I laughed to myself. Hell, I was just excited to get the call to come to Salt Lake, period. It was an honor. And a welcome relief from following around boring old politicians. I looked forward to finally meeting some of the athletes I have heard so much about. Too bad most of the ones I remember have retired by now. Already feeling warm, I took off my jacket and tied it around my waist. The hotel, dormitory, whatever they call it at the University was a short jog from the Ice Center, where a few groups of skaters were just getting off their shuttles.  It’s surprising how easy it is to tell the speed skaters from the figure skaters, I thought. Figure skaters: leaner and for lack of a better word, daintier. Speed skaters: a little rougher and a lot more muscular. Now speed skating, there’s a little Midwestern pride and joy. Good old Bonnie Blair. I was looking forward to seeing Chris Whitty take up Bonnie’s torch and win a few medals. I scanned the crowd a bit, smiling, and looking for anyone recognizable. Quite a few of the men, I must admit, seemed a bit enchanted by this redhead jogging by in the early morning cold. Something nice to wake up to, eh boys? I smiled a little more, and then there was a familiar face! “Eric Heiden?” I said, stopping in front of the tall, dark haired man. He confirmed my question, and shook my hand. I tried not to gush. “Oh my gosh! I’ve always wanted to meet you! I loved watching you skate back in, what was that? Lake Placid...1980?” So much for composure. “You’ve got a good memory.” He smiled. “But you can’t be that old.” “I remember, though! That was the first Olympics I watched. My father told me all about speed skating. He tried to get into the Olympics back in the 60’s, but there were so many great skaters from Illinois and Wisconsin.” And I always felt a little stupid for being such a fan of speed skating, I thought. But what can I say? I cried every time Dan Jansen fell down and cheered my heart out for Bonnie. Eric seemed rather flattered by my adoration of the sport. As I talked to him and tried to think of what I could use as a temporary autograph book, I began to realize that a few skaters had ventured for a closer look at me. It’s such an ego trip sometimes. Eric informed me he was now the team doctor and I smiled broadly as he introduced me to a few of the US team members that stood around. “Speed skaters? But shouldn’t you guys be over at the Olympic Oval in Kearns?” I inquired. “This is short track.” Explained a particularly attractive blonde named Rusty. “That’s long track at the Oval.” “Short track, eh?” I raised my eyebrow, a little flirtatiously at Rusty. “I think I’ve heard about you guys.” “You’re probably referring to this one here.” Said the tall, lean one called Shani, gesturing toward a shorter, quiet skater sporting a bandana. “Apolo here is giving us all a bad name.” Several of the skaters laughed. I thought for a second. Yeah, now I know why I remember that name. Something about fixing races so his friends could make the team. And those articles in Sports Illustrated where's he's making himself out to be such a bad ass. He had a cocky attitude that reminded me of all the pathetic posing those pro wrestlers do. I was surprised he even made the team; he seemed to lack the discipline needed in this sport. Apolo glanced at me with his dark eyes and smiled briefly. Maybe he got in on his good looks. Too bad I've already decided I didn't much care for him. I looked away. “Aren’t you cold in just a t-shirt and jogging pants?” Asked Rusty. I clapped my hands together and rubbed them, attempting to distract the men from the t.h.o. show I had going on. “You must be from California.” I laughed. “This is nothing where I'm from! If it were any warmer, I’d be in shorts and a bikini top!” Now that raised a few eyebrows. I soaked up the attention. A girl could get used to this, I smiled. “Look, I know you guys have work to do, so I’m going to let you get to it.” I said to Eric. “I’m just kicking myself now for not having anything for you to sign, I’d really like your autograph.” OK, I’m sounding stupid again, time for me to go. “We’ll be here for the next two weeks.” He assured me. I thanked him and started to turn away, just as a member of the Russian figure skating team sauntered over. “You can have my autograph, and my phone number to go along with it.” He said in his heavy accent. I glanced in the direction of the US short track team and rolled my eyes. “Maybe some other time, Smirnoff.” I said and turned on my heels. “Smirnoff?” He replied, bewildered. The previously quiet Apolo threw his head back and laughed. Some of the other skaters snorted and headed for the entrance to the Ice Center. I jogged away, humming to myself. I could feel my braid brushing against my back, along with the retreating glances of some seriously good looking men. Oh thank God I am single! Maybe this little old town will provide some challenge after all. Scene Music: "Higher Place" by Journey Chapter 2 Copyright material TMS2002 Return to Home   page created with Webpage Designer (NS)