Xtreme Attraction
 
Extreme sport exerts an incalculable pull for youths seeking to take their chances with the elements and with themselves. A mother ponders the attraction of danger Published: The Vancouver Sun, February 26, 2000 Op-ed column By Deborah Jones Ever since Brett Carlson died in a bizarre skiing stunt in Whistler last month, my 12-year-old -- a hot young skier in his own right -- has repeatedly asked, "Mom, why did he do it?" Why, indeed? I'm tongue-tied before my son. Like parents through the ages faced with danger to offspring, from wars to plague and pestilence, I want to do and say just the right thing to keep my child safe. Perhaps, if I knew why Carlson died, I could protect my son from his influence. "Don't take drugs," we tell our kids. "Do up your seat belt. Wear your helmet. Don't smoke. Don't drink and drive. Don't have unsafe sex." We hope our words will hold sway over daunting social pressures. My own mother's favourite challenge, whenever she thought I'd fallen under someone's spell, was an acerbic, "If they told you to jump off a cliff, would you?" Back then, jumping off a cliff seemed like such an absurd idea. Now, jumping off cliffs is de rigeur among certain athletes, in search of not just big air and peer respect, but also fame and fortune. Extreme athletes land lucrative sponsorships and salaries from equipment and clothing manufacturers. They star in movies and TV shows. When they die -- as do several each year -- they become heroes. Carlson jumped into extreme sports history Jan. 17 in a residential area of Whistler. As his buddies videotaped the scene for a ski movie, the 24-year-old launched himself from above a sheer rock face, aiming for the other side of a two-lane road during a break in traffic. He fell short of his mark, hit the pavement and died. The crash site was marked with skis crossed in the snow with a sweater wrapped around them, bouquets of frozen flowers, seven empty bottles and one empty can of beer. A written tribute signed by his friends, stuck on the skis with duct tape, says, "There is a huge hole in everybody." "Everybody" includes my impressionable son, who admires skiers who jump off cliffs. He visited Carlson's memorial, shook his head and repeated, "Mom, why did he do it?" A classic reply, coined by George Mallory when the mountaineer was asked why he wanted to climb Mount Everest, would be "Because it is there." An addendum might be, "Because he was told to." It's a plausible, if partial, explanation. On one hand, peer culture encourages risk. Hang with a group of youngsters and listen to the boasts about big air. Or look for those stickers that say "Trevor would do it." Whistler resident Trevor Petersen was typically portrayed in outdoor magazines, TV shows and commercials gracefully plunging, on skis, down slopes suited for eagles. His legend has grown since he died in 1996 in an avalanche while skiing near Chamonix, France, age 34, leaving behind a wife and two pre-school children, and a legacy of athletes who do "it" because wherever they look they're told that Trevor would. On the other hand, business actively markets risk. There are "extreme" brand names like Xscream skis. There are "extreme" companies in phone directories, where "extreme" arborists share space with "extreme" adventure tour operators. Corporate-sponsored extreme competitions abound, including the made-for-TV annual X- Games. Am I the only one who thinks all this has become, well, extreme? "No risk, no fun!" exclaims a friend, a superb skier and, in his youth, sometime cliff jumper. My friend, the proponent of risk, is backed by research that suggests risk-taking is human nature, and necessary. American psychologist Frank Farley contends risk-taking occurs across a continuum, calling big risk-takers "Big Ts." Big Ts help ensure human survival: Members include tribesmen who faced down predators, warriors who protected villages, adventurers whose epic journeys helped people new lands or open trading routes. But I don't think the extreme trend is so easily or admirably explained. Perhaps an answer lies in the Freudian theory of Thanatos, the notion that each of us harbours a dark compulsion towards death and destruction. Or perhaps we're just bored. Our ancestors, after all, had wars and the threat of starvation to thrill and chill them. I accept that there's risk in life -- and to some degree embrace it when I step into my skis or hop on my bike -- but I think taking sports to a death-defying extreme is an aberration. Marketing, peer pressure, human nature and psychology may all play roles in this sick trend, but another element is surely a factor: social approval. Most cultures dissuade youngsters from undue risk. Ours tacitly encourages it as an athletic, healthy lifestyle. Brett Carlson's mom reportedly told his friends at his memorial, "Live for the moment and in the moment, dream your dreams and make them happen... Be just a little bit crazy at times." As much as my heart goes out to any mother whose child is lost, I don't want such advice to influence my son. This wonder called life is already short enough. I prefer to pass on the lesson my mother taught me: Jumping off a cliff is senseless, in the extreme. Deborah Jones is a journalist who divides her time between Vancouver and Whistler. Copyright Deborah Jones 2000 About this website: Text and photos by Deborah Jones except where otherwise noted. Please contact me for reprint rights. All material copyrighted ../About.htmlshapeimage_1_link_0
Big air, big fame plus big brands = death
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