During the late 1970's as Monte was adjusting to having a disability, Jason Lalla, who
was the same age, was growing up in New Hampshire. On a warm summer day when Jason Lalla
was eighteen-years-old, he hopped on his motorcycle to ride the familiar eight miles from
his home in Lake Sunapee to go for a swim. On the way back, he revved up his bike to see
how fast he could go, a habit that had once gotten him up to 140 miles per hour without
any disastrous consequences. This time he wasn't so lucky. Just when he reached 100 miles
per hour, he crashed.
Instead of spending the summer following high school graduation working a summer job,
Jason spent it in the hospital, recovering from the left leg above-the-knee amputation
incurred from the accident. After being discharged, Jason was fitted for his first
artificial leg at a prosthetic shop in Bedford where he met Bob Emerson, a former USDST
member. While Bob fitted Jason for his prosthesis, he and other prosthetists told Jason
about disabled skiing. But Jason wanted nothing to do with disabled sports. After all,
Jason was a jock. During high school, he'd excelled in both lacrosse and hockey, and
hockey had absorbed him completely. Before the accident, Jason could probably have walked
on to any Division II college hockey team.
Despite losing his leg, in a sense, Jason didn't consider himself disabled. His picture
of disabled athletics wasn't very positive. He pictured people who were either elderly,
barely able to get around, severely handicapped, or stumbling around on walkers, more like
the Special Olympics. For some reason, Jason didn't picture athletic people being
disabled. Like most people who become disabled, Jason didn't know anyone else with a
disability, except for Bob at the prosthetic shop. So instead of pursuing sports, Jason
just hung out with his friends. But, as Jason would later discover, the picture he had of
disabled sports was completely wrong --
* * *
When Sarah Will arrived at the 1992 Paralympics in Tignes France, she knew she was ready
to race. She had trained all summer on her own, lifting weights, taking long treks on her
chair, and participating in road races. Because she was physically prepared, she was also
more mentally prepared than she had ever been. She'd also gone to a certified Rolfer to
cleanse her body of toxins and increase flexibility. Standing at the top of the downhill
racecourse, she'd never felt better. Her goal was not to do her personal best; it was to
be the best skier in the world.
As soon as she flew out of the starting gate, Sarah knew that she was going to take the
race to the finish line. As she raced, the adrenaline rushed through her body and her lips
and hands became completely numb. Throughout the race, she set herself up exactly where
she wanted to be for the next section. As she came to the last pitch, she reached 60 miles
per hour -- the fastest she'd ever gone on a mono-ski -- and felt terrified. She crossed
the finish line knowing she was safe at the bottom, and that it was the best run of her
life.
When Sarah turned around to look at the scoreboard, her thoughts were confirmed. She was
in first place. All of her training and preparation had paid off, and it became the
highlight of her career. Later, as Sarah sat proudly on the podium to receive her medal
for herself and her country, she felt a sense of accomplishment that comes only from doing
one's best. She vowed that someday she would give back that incredible feeling of
accomplishment to others, and she knew she would succeed, for now she knew what she was
capable of --
