Marching to Their Own Beat

By J.D. Reed

"I get my happiness, my life, from the act of striving for excellence "

Far from the flash and golden glamour that glint off U.S. Alpine skiers, figure skaters and hockey players, another breed of home-grown Olympians will drive themselves beyond reason in strange and dangerous events without so much as a pat on the back or, for most, even a faint hope of gold, silver or bronze medals. U.S. athletes in the "minor" winter sports of biathlon, Nordic skiing, bobsled, luge and ski jumping have won only one silver and one bronze since 1956. But despite archaic equipment, meager training and, in most cases, pitifully small funding, they persist against the lavishly bestowed resources of Scandinavia, East Germany and the U.S.S.R. And this year, while perhaps only four have medal prospects, the 50 or so plucky Olympians have dreams of personal bests and extra effort that will bring the U.S. a wisp more respect on the back slopes of the mountains. They are, says Bob Hughes, manager of the U.S. luge team, "the last real amateurs."

They may be the last real madmen as well. Lyle Nelson, 34, devotes himself to exasperating events that combine grueling cross-country races with marksmanship. Biathletes ski a demanding course, periodically halting to fire a .22-cal. rifle from 50 meters at small metal discs. Trying to steady on a target with a heart beating 200 times a minute from skiing is, says former U.S. Coach Art Stegen, "like a high jumper running a 5,000-meter race as an approach."

Nelson, an erratic performer during his early days in the event, temporarily left the sport two years ago to develop his own sport-promotion business. "When you spend ten hours a day doing one thing," says the resident of Serene Lake, Calif, "there's not a lot left for finances, family or social life." But the competitive fire never died. The oldest member of the team returned this year with renewed dedication, fine-tuning his skis and firing 6,500 practice rounds. He continued rigorous training even when his father became terminally ill. "I'd like to be at home," he says, "but this is an Olympic year." His sacrifices will probably earn Nelson, who on past international performance is America's best, no better than 15th place next month in his third and possibly last Olympics. But that is not the point. "I've given up too much just to be an athlete for the good times," he says. "Before, if I went out there and turned in a mediocre performance, it was all right. Now it takes more than that."

American bobsledders, on the other hand, are trying to recapture former glory. Until 1956 the U.S. dominated the sport, with 14 medals. But the Swiss and the East Germans have been masters of the 90-m.p.h., highly technical thrill ride in recent decades. The East Germans now recruit the cream of their summer sprinters for the event's crucial 50-meter running start. The U.S. has moved slowly to catch up. Long controlled by several venerable clubs around Lake Placid, U.S. bobsledding has become parochial and, some critics claim, possibly racist. Efforts to add speedier newcomers have prompted tensions. Blacks, notably Gold Medalist Hurdler Willie Davenport, who competed in 1980, have not been warmly welcomed to the chill upstate New York Olympic site. But the prime reason for America's slide from gold is less-than-state-of-the-art equipment. After a typical defeat in an international meet last year, novice Pusher Joe Briski, 28, encountered an East German who told him, "You Americans can send a man to the moon, and you still drive down the mountain on this."

The oft-screened "agony of defeat" image of a ski jumper blowing it on ABC'S Wide World of Sports is an ironically accurate one: Americans have not landed a medal in the 70-or 90-meter event since a 1924 bronze. In Sarajevo, all eyes will be on Finland's renowned Matti Nykanen. That is just fine with Jeff Hastings, 24, and Mike Holland, 22, both legitimate medal contenders. They have flown on their 16-lb. skis since their childhood days in Norwich, Vt. It was not a desire for the limelight that has had them flying. "Defying gravity for a few seconds is kind of addictive," says Hastings, who bested Nykanen at a December meet. The pair trains year round with four two-week European jaunts, warm-weather practice on plastic-matted jumps and such regimens as daily rides on unicycles for balance or diving for form with the University of Vermont swim team. Obscurity is an advantage, Hastings believes. "With the Norwegians, everybody's butt is on the line. We don't have to deal with that."

The Nordic Combined might as well be a smorgasbord entree to most Americans, but it may become less exotic after Sarajevo. Many consider Coloradan Kerry Lynch, 26, the world's best at the event, which pairs a 15-km cross-country race with a 70-meter ski jump. Lynch hopes for an end to the sport's, and his own, obscuri ty. For the U.S. to take the gold away from the defending champion East Germans, he says, "would be like the South Pole coming up and winning the Super Bowl."

The U.S. luge team would be happy to finish in the top ten, but even then the sport may remain mysterious. A Congressman once asked if the luge was something to eat. An empty stomach would be more in keeping for anyone climbing onto the 4-ft.-long, 48-lb. sleds that offer the wildest ride in sports.

Dressed in sleek bodysuits and helmets, lugers lie on their backs inches above the ice, descending feet first at 70 m.p.h. or more. The problem is finding enough enthusiasts for the sport. There are only 250 competitors in the U.S. (Hey, kids, want to go to the Olympics? This could be your best bet.) Stanford University Junior Bonny Warner, the top woman slider on the improving squad, had never heard of luge four years ago. She won a magazine contest to be a 1980 Olympic flame carrier and on a lark attended a Lake Placid luge development camp. One ride did it: "I was just a maniac for the sport," she says. "I couldn't get enough." After she was hooked, though, the problem was getting enough money. Until this season she had to scratch as much as $4,000 together each year for equipment and travel. "One night I slept in a closet. I only had $20 in my pocket," she says. Warner will probably not have a medal either. Maybe by 1988, the 21-year-old hopes.

America's premier minor-sports figure, Nordic Skier Bill Koch, 28, trains relentlessly for the first U.S.

gold in the sport. "Cokie," as the hard-driven Oregonian is known to teammates, astonished observers two Olympiads ago by winning America's first medal (a silver) in the Finnish-and Soviet-dominated event, but he unexpectedly quit a 1980 Olympic race, prompting complaints that he was an arrogant loner. He says he would rather be "an anonymous person."

In 1982 he returned to form, winning the World Cup cross-country competition. But Koch has remained intense and intensely private as he prepares for one of the most demanding and certainly the longest-distance event in either the Winter or Summer Games, the 50-km (31-mile) cross-country race. He fears Russians less than microbes. Says he: "You spend years preparing for a specific event and then sit next to someone who's coughing. It could be all over."

Koch stresses mind over medals and effort over interviews. Perhaps that is the inevitable legacy of all those years when the U.S. finished far out of the running, unnoticed and unremarked. His goal: to be out on the course alone, skis singing in the tracks and his true Olympian's heart pumping anonymously, gloriously to its limit. Says he: "I get my happiness, my life, from the act of striving for excellence.

Winning is just the frosting." For Koch and the other U.S. competitors, Sarajevo will be no piece of cake. --By J.D. Reed.

Reported by Steven Holmes/Lake Placid

With reporting by Steven Holmes