Anders shook out his arms and strapped on his skis. Poised at the top of the Slalom, he thought about what he was about to do. He was representing his country, he was representing his families’ legacy, he was representing himself.  This was it:  the last run in his last qualifying year. He knew he had made the right decision.

                This was Ander’s last Olympics.  He thought back to Torino, his first.  He had been an eighteen-year-old phenom, winning Gold in all the events.  In Vancouver, he won gold again.  Then there was Sochi.  So disappointing.  Now here he was in PyeongChang.  He must win gold.  His new coach Jan had worked his aging body almost to the breaking point, and he was fitter than he had ever been in his life.  All that training had paid off. Combined, silver.  Downhill, silver. Slalom, gold. Giant slalom, gold.  The kids called him “old man,” but they couldn’t deny that he still had the goods. One event remained. The Super G.  And he was going to win the gold. This would be his swan song, possibly literally.

                Two nights ago, after the amazing gold medal run in the giant slalom, he suddenly felt a stabbing pain in his head. He staggered.

                “Are you ok, Anders?” asked Jan.

                “I’m… good.” Anders said, “Just a headache.” He staggered again.

                “We’re getting you checked out.” Jan insisted. 

                Anders knew better than to argue.  He went to the Olympic Village Clinic where they checked him out, head to toe, including an MRI.  He waited in the exam room with Jan while the radiologist read the results and talked to the doctor.

                The doctor came in after what seemed a ridiculously long time.  Her face was sober.  “This is so hard,” she said.  “Anders, you have an aneurysm.  We must operate right away to save your life.  I am so sorry.”

                Anders felt a chill as deep as his bones. Tomorrow was the Super G. His last shot at gold. He looked at Jan whose eyes were suspiciously shiny. 

                “Do I get a say in this?” Anders asked, with a voice as firm as he could make it.

                “Well,” Said the doctor, “Not really.  If you ski again there’s a good chance that the aneurism will burst.  It’s not worth risking your life.”

                Anders closed his eyes.  He could practically taste the gold, picture himself on that top podium, hear the national anthem.  This was it.  In Anders’ mind, the choice was obvious.  He had trained all his life for this shot.

                “No.” he said.

                Anders pulled his goggles down and gazed at the course.  He quickly glanced to the side where he could see Jan, a tear running down his face.  Anders could still call this off.  He had had many years in the game and many successes.  But this was it.  What would it matter if he lived if he did not earn this gold? He took a deep breath and leaped.