Racing for gold with God: Derek Parra and Caroline Lalive - interview with Olympic athletes

Vibrant Life, Jan-Feb, 2002 by Pam Mellskog

Some skeptically eye sheer ice and hard-packed snow as hazardous places to slip or crash out of control. But if you tried pegging hope's fullest potential in degrees Fahrenheit, it would be on [H.sub.2]O at 32 or less--at least for winter athletes racing for Olympic gold. At these temperatures, water that once felt soft as a kitten's paw or frothy like bubble bath suds hardens into something cold and carvable by skate blades and ski edges.

Speed skater Derek Parra and alpine skier Caroline Lalive compete on these frozen platforms of ice and snow at top speeds--up to 35 and 85 miles per hour, respectively. Why? It gives them a ticket to fly. All their training since childhood focuses on going faster. So, despite the potential danger and disappointment high-level participation presents, these two Americans plan on setting personal best records at the 2002 Winter Olympic Games in Salt Lake City, Utah.

The classic victory image of flags, flowers, and flashbulbs represents the end game, and it remains fixed. However, the means to this end couldn't be more customized. Besides designer workouts, Parra and Lalive each bring faith experiences as unique as a snowflake to cope with the vice-griplike pressure.

For instance, with talent and training being more or less equal at their caliber, even the secular athlete knows it takes faith, if only in one's self, to produce that coveted performance X factor--confidence. But as Christian athletes, these two agree that their confidence comes from Something beyond themselves. In the midst of thrills and spills, faith in Christ helps them succeed in and out of their Spandex skin-tight uniforms. Here are some snapshots of two racers soon to blur across your TV screen:

DEREK PARRA

Have you ever seen those tracks where the car is on a rail? It feels like you're on a rail, and you're getting whipped around the turn. When it's a good day on the ice, it's like leaning your left shoulder into the car window and just hanging there with the centrifugal force. It's like riding a bike in the perfect gear. It's almost like you're floating. It's like, "Yes! I am going so fast!"

Square One

Long before he hungered for gold, Derek Parra jokes that he thirsted for sodas. They cost nothing at San Bernardino's Stardust Roller Rink--if you finished the two-lap fun event faster than the other kids. So when he debuted there at age 14 without much jingling in his pocket, he quickly picked up the pace until he had a fistful of maroon tickets to cash in for carbonated drinks.

When the in-line skating craze exploded in the U.S., Derek sped into a whole new world as a Team Rollerblade exhibitor. Upon retiring in 1996 he had earned 18 individual gold medals and stood as the most decorated athlete at the 1995 Pan-American Games. But to skate toward his Olympic dream, he had to trade in his wheels for blades, since in-lining is not yet a category.

Rock Bottom

In 1997, only a year into this transition, Derek dejectedly glided off the outdoor oval in Balsega de Pine, Italy, after barely finishing his first speedskating 10K world cup competition. He blamed the tears in his bloodshot eyes on the drizzle that pockmarked the ice into a sandpaper surface--until a Dutch skater rushed up after the race.

"Are you still alive?" she inquired of his physical meltdown. The gun cracked, and he had sprinted too fast too soon. Furthermore, he sat back on his blades to ride the bumpy surface, but the tactic only tightened his leg muscles like guitar strings. His competitors soon nearly lapped him. Then, like the wet weather, bone-weary fatigue found every cranny of his frame. His Olympic dream seemed drowned in an ice-cold puddle.

"I came from being number one in the world [as an in-line skater] to being beaten at first by girls that were 12 years old. On that day I was so tired, but I went on this jog in the snow afterward and cried to God, `Help me, help me. Give me a clue.'"

Scrapping

After all, he paid some dues to get that far. To buy equipment and get to training camps, Derek had mowed lawns and delivered the Penny Saver shopper paper. He occasionally sold all his nonessentials--from his camera to his Guess jean jacket. He hitchhiked. In this way, he once got from Colorado Springs to Couderay, Wisconsin. There he beseeched training ground owners Brad and Jeanette Bradner to let him work in their small skate factory and in grounds maintenance in exchange for the program.

Turning Points

Derek stayed on at the Bradner place to train and lived in a ramshackle mobile home surrounded by thick Wisconsin woods and an occasional black bear. Going without plumbing or electricity in his remote sleeping quarters forced him to think more about his dreams, his fears, and his faith. That's when the Bradners' son Bruce handed him a Bible and encouraged him to "read it and see if it helps you." Derek opened it nightly by candlelight.

"When my parents divorced they got away from taking us to church. I got away from religion, but I never lost the belief. That's when I came back," Derek recalls. Today he's duct-taped that Bible's spine twice.