December 1, 2005 – An old Taoist saying states, “a thousand mile journey starts with one step.”

Although it may seem a stretch from the laissez-faire teachings of Taoism to the arena of high-performance athletics, the old Chinese proverb rings true in the life of a committed athlete.

In the past six months of my twenty-two year existence, life on the National Ski Team has encompassed many extraordinary adventures. From the perfectly groomed ski tracks of New Zealand (in July!) to the same wilderness that captured the heart of famous American photographer Ansel Adams in Yosemite National park, I have worn out a few pairs of runners and trained 500 hours since training commenced May 1st of this year. I have flown up to the Haig glacier, nestled high in Alberta’s Canadian Rockies for a morning ski only to be back on a patio eating a lunch at my favorite restaurant here in Canmore, Alberta in shorts and a t-shirt that same day.

The trips just get better and better the harder I work and faster I race. As a member of the 2006 Olympic team, I realize that the thousand-mile journey to achieving my Olympic aspirations started the same as any kid with a dream… with that first single step.

Back in early January of 1984 I took that first step that seemed to have started it all. It was on the Windy Lake ski trails, situated outside the “nickel city” (or the “smoke stack city,” or “treeless town”) of Sudbury, Ontario. My parents, both avid skiers and environmentalists, decided it was time for me to take my first steps. But I couldn’t just learn to walk on the nice warm carpet of my living room; my first steps were going to take place out in nature, in twenty below temperatures. And so, bundled up to Michelin man proportions, two long narrow boards were strapped to my snow boots. At the time I didn’t know it, but those long narrow pieces of wood were known as skis and would become a key part of my identity later on in life. So, as the story goes (and my mom will confirm this), my first steps EVER were on skis; the journey of thousands of miles on skis had begun.

Much to my parents dismay, those first steps on skis did not propel me into the gorp-eating, knicker-wearing lifestyle of the recreational cross-country skier. Instead, growing up in the mining town of Sudbury, Ontario I did what any good Northern Ontario kid would d I played hockey. To be honest I lived and breathed hockey. I was playing hockey in my basement at two and begging my parents to put me in a league at the mature age of three. They finally caved and I was playing hockey at age 4, (there was no league back then for three year olds, let alone equipment that fit such a small dude). I didn’t stop until I was 14.

From a young age I knew I wanted to represent my country. Seeing the greats like Gretzky and Lemieux donning the Maple Leaf would give me shivers up my spine. Yes sir, hockey was my deal, and being an Olympian was the goal. I remember a conversation with my teammates in the hockey locker room about what team we were all going to play for when we grew up. There were the standard answers like, “Toronto, the Habs, etc…” and I would always chime in with Canada. Everybody would then stop, frown and say, “Devon, there’s no NHL team called “Canada.” “Yes there is,” I would answer smartly, “in the Olympics.”

My enviro-parents, although not at all familiar with hockey, were good sports – helping me (ok, doing all the work as I looked eagerly on) make a rink in the backyard year after year, and sitting calmly as their son would get crunched into the boards while other “real hockey parents” would be screaming things like, “kill ‘em Billy!” It’s questionable whether my Dad had ever seen a hockey game in its entirety before I was born, but he played along, driving me to rink after rink, morning after morning.

Luckily for the parental units I was a lover of all sports, not just Canada’s obsession. As the years went on I continued to ski (that was the deal, I could play hockey but I would ski as well) first with the ever-popular Jackrabbit program, and then progressing through regional, provincial and national ranks. Steps…

As for my hockey career… like any busy family we were squeezed for time, and when things started getting ridiculously chaotic it was decided that every year a sport would have to go. I would get upset as I dropped volleyball, running and checkers club (kidding), but at fourteen, only two were left; hockey and ski racing. I picked ski racing, maybe because I found the girls to be a little better looking but probably because I loved that feeling of pushing myself beyond limits I thought possible, and the rest is history.

As I sit here in my hotel room on Silver Star Mountain in British Columbia, looking out at all the great snow, I have come to a realization. As a kid, making the Olympics was held high on a pedestal, the end of my thousand-mile journey. I see now, with my first Olympics a mere four months away, that the journey doesn’t end there. I will go to Torino to compete with the best in the world and battle for top results, but I will also use these 2006 Olympics as experience for Vancouver when I hope to step onto the podium.

The journey doesn’t end – it just takes a turn and continues on. Many steps and experiences are between myself and achieving my athletic dreams, I just need to believe in myself, and have the drive, determination and guts to keep on the path that leads to the apex of my Olympic journey. Any Great Taoist master would be proud.