For Dan Jansen, redemption on the ice was worth the wait

Published 11:49 pm Saturday, November 14, 2009

You’ve heard stories like this. An athlete suffers a grievous loss. Yet he or she decides to go ahead and play the big game or run the big race — Mom or Dad, Sis or Bro’ would have wanted it that way — and, despite the burden, performs heroically.

Of course, you might never have heard about a bad performance; there can be no reason to pile on somebody’s grief.

But there was no sparing Dan Jansen the public spotlight after he tried to perform too soon after a family tragedy and upon the world’s biggest stage. The result would haunt Jansen and pain sports fans for years to come.

At the 1988 Calgary Olympics, the 22-year-old Jansen was America’s premier speed skater, having just won the world sprint championships. But only hours before the start of his first and best event, the 500 meters, Jansen received word that his sister, Jane, had died of leukemia.

Jansen had talked to her early that morning, as his brother, Mike, held the phone to her ear. Before hanging up, Mike had assured him that the entire family wanted him to race — Jane had nodded her head in assent, he said — regardless of circumstances back home.

That afternoon Dan did toe the line. And he performed heroically — just, sadly, not well. In the very first turn, Jansen buckled to the ice, as if he couldn’t keep his feet under the burden of such a heavy heart.

Still, by his next race, the 1000 meters, four days later, Jansen seemed buoyed by the outpouring of support from athletes and fans. He blazed through 600 meters at gold-medal pace. But on a straightaway just 200 meters from the finish, he caught an edge on his skate and crashed to the ice.

A fall on a straight path was almost without precedent at elite levels. “I trained so many years,” Jansen lamented afterwards, the pain etched on his face as clearly as skate tracks on the ice, “and I didn’t even finish a race.”

Nobody blamed Jansen. Nobody saw it as failure, only as the cruelest of fates. And Jansen could set his sights on redemption at the 1992 Games in Albertville, France.

Speed skating is one of the many winter sports that find traction here only during the Olympics. So while Jansen had returned to top form in the intervening years, by the time we caught up with him at the ’92 Games — up close and personal, as was the TV mantra back then — he was once again that young man who had been felled by grief.

Jansen managed to keep his feet in Albertville. But that would be about all he managed. In the 500 meters he skated far too cautiously — his time was more than a second off the world record he had set only a few weeks earlier — and wound up just off the podium, in fourth place. Then in the 1000 meters, a deflated Jansen dragged himself to a 26th-place finish. “I’m just relieved its over,” he said.

But Albertville would not be his Olympic epitaph. A change in the Olympic timetable meant it would be only two years until the next Games in Lillehammer, Norway. And in 1994, Jansen would only be 28 and still in his athletic prime.

Jansen arrived in Norway having once again won the sprint championships. Once again he had just set a world record in the 500 meters. And once again, the Olympic 500 was a disaster. He didn’t fall, just slipped on the final turn. His hand grazed the ice, costing him precious split seconds and any chance at a medal.

The eighth-place finish seemed to erode much of the sympathy with which his efforts had been viewed. For the first time that cruel c-word — “choke” — was bandied about. Against all hope, a nightmarish ending to Jansen’s Olympic odyssey appeared inevitable.

And in the 1000 meters, everybody’s worst fear seemed about to be realized. Jansen was blazing along at a record clip when, in the penultimate turn, he again slipped. Again he barely kept his feet, his left hand grazing the ice. But this time — somehow out of desperation — Jansen regained stride without breaking his rhythm. He finished in world-record time and, more critically, with the gold medal.

The world seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. To the frenzied plaudits of the crowd, Jansen took his victory lap. The gold medal was around his neck and his nine-month-old daughter — named Jane of course — was in his arms.