Miller time

Renegade skier has transformed himself into a champion

After winning his unprecedented fifth medal in five races at the World Alpine Championships in Vail in 1999, Norwegian Lasse Kjus offered some advice for a wayward also-ran who had a maddening habit of having to extract himself from the trees after bouncing and sliding off the course. "Control your abandon," Kjus mused, apparently more adept at juggling medals than metaphors.

His target that afternoon was a New Hampshire iconoclast named Bode Miller, a precocious talent who, because of his aggressive style, had an unsightly knack for skiing on his backside. Austrian great Hermann Maier put it succinctly: "[Miller] would be good if he could stay on his skis." Two years later at the next worlds in St. Anton, Austria, Miller seemed to have learned little. He wrecked one knee in a fall, tearing an ACL, but he had been bashing the other knee so badly during the year that he required surgery on both.

Now look at him. For all Miller accomplished last year (winning two silver medals at the Salt Lake Olympics), he made an even more convincing breakthrough in the season that ended last weekend, finishing second overall in the World Cup standings, a measure more highly esteemed by his fellow racers than the one-race glory of an Olympics. At the world championships in St. Moritz last month, he won two golds (combined and giant slalom) and three total medals (including a silver in the Super G), the first U.S. male skier to accomplish either feat. Before being passed in the season's closing weeks by Austria's Stephan Eberharter, Miller was the first U.S. man to lead the overall World Cup standings at any stage since Phil Mahre won the title in 1983. In half the years since, no U.S. male skier has finished in the top 10 at season's end.

What's more, in an age of specialization in either the speed (downhill and Super G) or technical (slalom and giant slalom) races, Miller was the only skier on the circuit to have competed in every event. Miller being Miller, he didn't finish all of them: He notched a DQ or a DNF in eight starts, and inspired a lot of ughs and oofs in the races he completed.

Miller's silver in the combined at the Olympics came after a remarkable recovery (Miller called it a "bad butt bounce"). "I should have blasted my knee right out of its socket," he said, "but somehow I stood up." Miller still sits back on his skis and dangles his hands at his sides, which skiers usually are weaned from doing long before they become 25-year-old stars. He doesn't so much lean into turns as toss himself at them, relying on an innate sense of how far he can let his feet diverge from his arms. "He has a touch on the snow you can't teach," said Miller's teammate, Erik Schlopy.

But Miller has always been a little different. He was home-schooled by his father, Woody, a medical-school dropout, until fourth grade, and his house in the New Hampshire woods had no running water or electricity. He has a sister named Genesis Wren Bungo Windrushing and a brother named Nathaniel Kinsman Ever Chelone Skan. For the record, Miller still doesn't have a high school diploma, because he refused to rewrite what he felt was an acceptable paper after coming up two points short of a passing grade.

Miller broke onto the junior national team seven years ago sporting side-cut skis that looked as out of place as a left-handed shortstop. These days, he skis with impractical mittens that don't allow him to grip as well as gloves, but keep his hands warmer. According to Miller, his hands became sensitive to cold last year after he sliced one of them open in a losing fight with a broken soda bottle. In the starting gate, Miller is almost placid. Unlike most skiers, who fidget, fuss and growl as though they are ready to eat a bear, Miller begins his runs as though he were just rousing from a nap. Only after a few gates does he turn into Franz Klammer, breaking every rule of technical sanity.

Though he isn't loud, Miller has rebelled against nearly everyone who has tried to change his style. He has never expected well-meaning coaches to ski for him or others to speak for him. Asked about the publicity from his success at worlds, he told reporters, "It makes me a less pleasant person when I have to deal with a lot of this other stuff I don't really enjoy. ... I enjoyed the struggle more than what's happening now." He has frequently expressed open dissatisfaction with the impending war in Iraq. "I think I do a better job of representing the U.S. than they [government officials] do of representing me," he said. Miller is no more politically correct après-ski than he is technically correct en course. In his candor, there is just a little abandon.

Sports Illustrated staff writer Brian Cazeneuve covers Olympic sports for the magazine and is regular contributor to SI.com.

 

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