I am currently sitting in seat 22B on Delta flight 131 to Atlanta. I wish that I were on my way to Val d’Isere, France for World Championships, but I did not qualify. The last three weeks were the final push to make it, and, not for lack of trying, it never came together. I was aware after Cortina that I hadn’t been named to the World Champs team. I went into Garmisch wanting to show everyone, including myself, that I have what it takes to be among those athletes. In the slalom I started 60th and, with nothing to loose, just went for it on the technical course. I finished around 40 after some bobbles but was satisfied with my skiing. In the SG, I had the same attitude and plan, and, regrettably, experienced the same outcome; I was pleased with sections of my run, but there were mistakes. Needless to say, I was a bit deflated. However, family, friends, and fans reading this, I want to remind you that I am having a ball. I am not having the decorated season for which I’d hoped, but with age comes clarity and, after doing this for almost a decade, I have gotten better and better at enjoying the ride— road blocks, bumps, flat tires and all.

After the race, there was some extra time before I needed to get to the hotel by the Munich Airport. A dear friend was visiting and we decided that, instead of just driving the short way to the “flughafen,” we would do some sightseeing. It sounds incredibly macabre, but I have always had a desire to see the Dachau Concentration Camp. It is not a fun tourist attraction; it is a somber, historical reminder of the evil which human beings are capable. As soon as you enter, there is an oppressive silence that enfolds you. The atrocity that was committed on that ground almost suffocates you when you begin to register the horror. We first walked to the crematorium. As I strolled between the disrobing rooms into the gas chamber, disguised as showers, I became overwhelmed; thousands of innocents had lost their lives within those walls. We continued onto the other side of camp via the Lagerstrasse, the main camp road. What struck me most were the mature poplars that lined the path. The Dachau museum exhibit had pictures, circa 1940, taken during the height of Hitler’s occupation. In many of those photos those exact same trees were present as mere saplings. It dawned on me that these trees would soon be the only living thing to have survived Dachau. I wondered about all they would share could they speak. Those trees witnessed some of humankind’s most horrible acts of atrocity. However, those trees also observed the outcome of nations coming together to put an end to such inhumanity and liberate the persecuted. Even today, they continue to see people of all motherlands come pay respect to the dead and learn about the malevolence so that it will never happen again. If those trees could talk I dream they would speak of the future with hope after watching our development from such a dark time forward. As the sun set on Dachau and the gates closed behind us, I couldn’t help but think about how telling it would be to have a conversation with one of those poplars.

After a solemn visit to Dachau, I made the executive decision that for the evening activity a little frivolity was due. We managed to jumble our way through Munich to the old town center, Marienplatz. From there we wandered taking in the gigantic facade of the Rathaus and the medieval architecture of Frauenkirche. Finally, our need for a good German meal of sauerkraut and sausage became too great, and we retired to the famous Hofbrauhaus for adendessen or, in English, dinner. Once in the celebrated house of imbibing, we partook in some hearty wurstel noshing and pretzel nibbling. Laughs were had and memories made.

Two very different exploits in the course of one afternoon, but both of worth. Life is such an adventure; one of my many mottos is “experience everything.” Life is too short not to.

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