December 13, 2020
Cam Alexander was laid out on his back on a hard X-ray table. He had just arrived at the clinic via toboggan and ambulance, and was undergoing an assessment of his knee. As the french nurse positioned the imaging machine over his leg, he heard a commotion outside the room in the clinic hallway. He craned his neck to see through the doorway, and to his surprise saw me sitting in a chair against the wall. My head was tilting backwards, eyes drifting shut. A doctor had his hand around my neck and was shouting, “Stay with me Brodie! Stay with me!”. With a hefty dose of ketamine in his system, Cam took in the scene and thought he was watching his teammate die before his very eyes. “This is the worst day ever,” he thought.
Let’s rewind a few hours. We were at the top of the mountain in Val d’Isere, France, getting ready to race the first World Cup downhill of the season. It was the first post-COVID race season, which was to be held entirely in Europe because of travel restrictions. I believe Cam was racing with a bib in the mid 30’s, and I was starting in the mid 40’s. As I went through my pre-race activation routine, our physio informed me there was course hold, likely for 10-15 mins. He had just walked over from the start house after Cam left the gate, and I knew a course hold of that length usually means there was a crash. I was already dealing with the classic first-race-of-the-season jitters, so I did my best to put the thought out of my mind that it could have been my teammate who went down. I had my own race to focus on. Eventually the race got underway again, and soon I stood in the start gate myself. The course was very physically demanding, but I was coming off a strong training performance which gave me some confidence. I skied well and was looking poised for a strong finish as I came into the last gentle left-hand turn towards the finish line. I was in my tuck and looking past the last gate towards the line, going about 120kph, when I caught an edge in a strange groove. My skis came together, then hooked up and sent me into a mid-air splits, and tumbling head over heels towards the finish. I felt myself rip through the side of the finish banner, bump against the A-net, and come to a rest in the middle of the stopping zone. I sat up and began to assess whether everything was intact, and was relieved to find everything seemed to be working normally despite some pain in my chest and shoulder. The FIS director of race operations (a fellow Canadian named Mike) came jogging up to where I sat. He asked if I was ok, to which I replied, “tell me I still made it through the finish”. He shook his head to indicate I was probably disqualified, then helped me collect my gear and escorted me to the finish tent for a medical checkup. I was having some chest pain while breathing, and they informed me I would have to go to the clinic to make sure it wasn’t anything too serious. Then Mike said, “bad news is you’ll have to wait a little bit for the ambulance to get back after delivering your buddy”. That was when it sank in that it was indeed Cam who had crashed.
That brings us back to the clinic with me sitting on a chair in the hallway, waiting for an available nurse since they were all busy with Cam. He doesn’t remember this part, but I did actually speak with him through the door to ask how he was doing and let him know I was there too. The doctor then decided to put an IV line in my arm while we waited. He inserted the needle, then realized he had to grab some other attachment, so left me for a moment to hold the needle in my own arm. I watched a slow trickle of blood begin to drip out onto the floor, and coincidentally felt my adrenaline wearing off and making me woozy. I could tell I was going to faint, so I said to the doc, “I’m getting light-headed, I think you need to hold the needle”. This was the moment I began to nod off, fooling Cam into thinking I was dying.
In the end we were both assessed, Cam was given a serious leg brace and crutches, and my arm was put in a sling because of a fully separated AC joint. One of our team vans was out front waiting to take us back to the hotel, we just had to figure out how to best fit the both of us on the same bench seat. I climbed in first to sit against the window, and Cam, unable to bend his leg, sprawled out along the bench beside me. With his head leaning against my shoulder he turned to me and said, “Man, this really sucks we both got hurt, but I’m kinda glad we’re here together”. What a softy.
The story doesn’t quite end there. Following the initial drama in the Val d’Isere clinic, we both flew back to Canada to see our team surgeon in Banff. We shared a hospital room and had back-to-back surgeries. We even stayed in the same house in Calgary, offered up by a friend who was out of town. It was Cam’s parents who took care of me while we both recovered, and even put together a Christmas dinner two days after our operations. But the best gift I received that year came later that evening. Cam and I sat on the couch watching the Christmas NFL game, which was also the culmination of our fantasy football season. It just so happened to be the two of us facing off in the league final, with the game featuring one of my star running backs against Cam’s favourite team, the Minnesota Vikings. We had a dual attachment hooked up to the GameReady ice machine, so we could ice our injuries simultaneously. But nothing would cool the burn Cam felt that night watching Alvin Kamara set the single-game record for 6 touchdowns, dismantle his beloved Vikings, and help me crush his fantasy team. I guess it’s like they say, when it rains, it pours.
Cam, love you buddy. As I write this, Cam happens to be going through another rehab following a new injury to the same knee. I’m sure he will be back just as strong as ever, and we all look forward to seeing him on top again.
