Two lugers crashed. One's career ended. The other is at the Olympics with guilt

BEIJING — In the moments before the crash that ended one’s career but not the other’s, Chris Mazdzer and Jayson Terdiman felt free.

They were zooming down a luge track in Sigulda, Latvia, just as they had hundreds of times over the years. They were speeding around curves, blissfully at one with each other and their sled. They were two luge lifers, partners as teens and now again in their 30s, flying toward the 2022 Olympics. Muscle memory took over. Autopilot kicked in. It was everything they’d envisioned, everything they’d worked for, everything that, they hoped, would take them to a Beijing podium in February, a long-awaited medal around Terdiman’s neck.

Then, in an instant, it all vanished.

Mazdzer, for just a split second, relaxed. The duo went late into Curve 13, and crashed into Curve 14, and tried to flip their sled to finish this one-run, do-or-die race, but realized, Oh no. S***. What did we do?

And there, laying on ice on a frigid Friday morning last month, the emotions tied to years of effort and countless ounces of energy washed over them.

A few weeks later, one of them, Mazdzer, arrived at the Olympics. Shortly after the crash, he qualified for the singles luge competition, barely. On Saturday night, he’ll begin his defense of a historic 2018 medal, the first for an American man in this European-dominated event.

But as he prepared to board a Beijing-bound plane last week, he dialed up Terdiman on FaceTime. He thought about his doubles partner, and about his focus of the past quad, as he landed, and again earlier this week.

“Really wish that my doubles partner Jayson was here to experience this journey with me,” he said.

“I wish he was here.”

Crash ends Beijing hopes

In the moments after the crash, as devastation sunk in, Mazdzer and Terdiman fell into each other’s arms. And Mazdzer apologized.

Terdiman refused the apology — “There’s no sorry here,” he said — but they both knew what this meant.

While Mazdzer had another shot to qualify for yet another Olympic Games later that weekend, Terdiman’s career was over.

It had spanned decades and multiple partners, World Championships and Olympic Games. Throughout it, Terdiman developed tunnel vision. He’d dedicated his life to this niche sport, chiseling his muscles and fine-tuning his sled, which he’d bought with his own money. As he entered his 30s, and body maintenance became more burdensome, he gradually realized that this Olympic quad would be his last. He underwent shoulder surgery. For his 33rd birthday, he received a PRP shot in his elbow to combat tendonitis. As he and Mazdzer battled through the 2021-22 season, as the top U.S. doubles duo but not quite as formidable as they’d hoped, he knew it was “time for me to move into the next phase of my life.”

He assumed it would begin after a wild ride in Beijing, perhaps with a team relay medal in tow. And then, on that Friday morning in Latvia, it blindsided him. The tunnel caved in. His goals disappeared.

He’d thought about his plans for that next phase of life. He’d never even considered that it would confront him here, or how it would feel. After hugs and unvarnished emotion, he retired to a rented apartment. He pondered it. And he decided, mere hours after unfathomable disappointment, that he’d begin it by helping the youngsters who’d qualified ahead of him prepare for the Olympics.

Ultimate teammate will watch from afar

This is why Mazdzer and other U.S. lugers have brought Terdiman with them to Beijing in spirit. Throughout his career, he developed a reputation in a mostly individual sport as the ultimate teammate. In the days after his final race, with whirling thoughts eating into sleep, he hopped in a sprinter van, and trucked team cargo down through Lithuania and Poland, across Germany. He hopped on a plane in Frankfurt, and flew to Park City, Utah, where he tutored first-time Olympians Zack DiGregorio and Sean Hollander. He’d even offered them his own sled.

Teammates saw this selflessness and told him they were proud. A few, including Mazdzer, pushed for Terdiman to accompany them to China as a coach. Logistics wouldn’t allow, so instead, as DiGregorio and Hollander headed halfway across the world, Terdiman headed home.

But he didn’t hide. He’s been in touch with Mazdzer and others. Throughout the next week, he’ll gather with DiGregorio’s and Hollander’s families, and other members of the broader USA Luge family, at a watch party in Lake Placid, New York.

He knows it’ll be “very difficult” to watch from afar. He’s felt “conflicted” ever since the crash. He knows emotions will clash inside of him, and surely, one of them will be sadness. Sadness that he’s there, not here. Sadness that it ended like this.

But he was relieved when Mazdzer qualified in singles. He’s invested in the success of DiGregorio and Hollander. He’ll cheer rabidly on Saturday and Sunday, and perhaps feel a small twinge of the adrenaline that racing stimulated, and when Mazdzer gets on the handles, and flings himself down the track here in Yanqing?

“I'll be proud of him,” Terdiman said.