Special Olympians compete in winter games at Sugarloaf

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CARRABASSETT VALLEY – After a parka-clad pit crew strapped snowshoes to his feet, Terry Keller took a moment on Monday to reacquaint those feet with the tools of his Special Olympics trade.

Keller hopped up from the bench like an eager boxer ready to rumble, pumped his feet up and down several times, and nodded.

He was ready, he thought. But he wasn’t quite sure.

“I’ve just got to remember how to run in these things,” the 20-year-old Bangor man said.

“Without these I could probably do that whole distance very fast,” he said, pointing down the 100-meter snowshoe track. “With them, I’m in for a challenge.”

Keller, competing for the OHI team, was among approximately 500 athletes who arrived at Sugarloaf/USA on Sunday night for the 37th annual Special Olympics Maine winter games.

Special Olympics is a year-round athletic training and competition program for people of all ages with intellectual disabilities.

Maine has long been at the forefront of Special Olympics events and is credited with staging the first winter games in the world in 1970.

While skiing and skating events were held concurrently Monday morning, Keller and his OHI teammates headed to the snowshoe venue at Carrabassett Valley Academy to strut their stuff.

On a chilly 15-degree day, with a slight breeze, Keller was ready for whatever he would face.

In addition to the standard parka and snow pants uniform found at the winter games, Keller had put on a mask and goggles to protect his face from the elements.

“I like being prepared,” he said.

There’s no doubt about that. From head to toe, Keller was very, very prepared.

“I’m very glad my mother suggested survival boots,” he said, tapping a snowshoe against the snow. “I owe her one for that.”

But when it came to running his race, Keller had nobody to help him. No mother. No pit crew. It was just him against five other athletes.

And he wasn’t sure he would remember how to get those shoes up to full speed.

He did just fine, distancing himself from the field with a rapid-fire gait that chewed up the course.

“I guessed,” he said, explaining his success. “I just thought if I hopped and ran, it would work.”

It did.

Elsewhere at Sugarloaf/USA, speed skaters turned laps at the Outdoor Center, competing in 100-, 300- and 800-meter races.

After one of the opening 100-meter heats, Hampden Academy teammates Cailynn Goss and Robin Stone sped past the finish line, began to coast, and found their brakes didn’t work as well as they’d hoped. Each was smiling, however – even after bookend crashes into the hockey rink’s end boards.

“We always do that,” the 18-year-old Goss said.

“I know how to stop, but I just couldn’t do it,” her 20-year-old teammate said. “I can’t stop without running into the wall unless I’ve got more room.”

The day provided a whirlwind of activity for Goss and Stone as each raced three times during the morning, then were scheduled to return during afternoon sessions for the medal rounds.

“I’ll sleep like a little baby after this,” Stone said. “But who wouldn’t?”

No sleep was in the offing for Goss, however. She had other plans.

“I’ve got to come back and cheer for our friends,” she said.

Nearby, athletes displayed their Special Olympics sprit in a variety of ways. Some hugged. Some clapped. Others cheered. Still others felt the pain of their fellow competitors. Or so they said.

“My legs are shaking,” Stone told the crowd of waiting skaters after completing the eight-lap 800-meter race.

“I know,” agreed 17-year-old Jessica Mackinnon of Raymond, who had yet to skate a race. “My legs are going to fall off.”

During the summer months, Mackinnon is an accomplished equestrienne. During the winter, she skates.

And someday: “I want to be a movie star when I grow up,” she confided.

At the Special Olympics, anything is possible. Every athlete is a winner. Every competitor can be your friend.

Almost everybody seemed eager to make a fashion statement of some kind or another.

Take Jason Joseph, for instance. Joseph, a 21-year-old OHI athlete from Bangor, arrived at the speed-skating oval with the helmet of the day.

Some opted for cycling or skiing headgear.

Not Joseph. At the speeds he would be traveling, those options simply wouldn’t do.

Instead, he wore an electric blue snowmobile helmet, which not only looked great; it also served another purpose.

“It makes me aerodynamic,” Joseph said, holding up his helmet and running a hand through his equally colorful hairdo.

“It’s purplish-brown,” he said, pointing to his fading dye job, then to the headgear of a nearby OHI fan. “Kind of like her hat.”

Joseph, like many others, enjoys many different parts of the Special Olympics experience. His favorite, however, is clear.

“The gold,” he said, referring to the bounty of medals he expected to take home at the games’ conclusion.

In some years, the lure of waiting hot chocolate is the magic fuel that motivates speedy Special Olympians.

On Monday, the weather was brisk, but not frigid. The sun shone brightly. And on golden days like this, it was only natural that some started thinking about possible awards.

“Do we get any ribbons today, or are we just practicing?” asked 17-year-old Ashley Marquis of West Bowdoin as she queued up for the start of her first snowshoe race.

When told the races were just heats, that medals would be awarded the next day, her eagerness waned – briefly.

“I don’t know if I can do this thing,” she said, craning her neck and looking at the distant timers she would have to run to.

“All the way over there? Oh, no,” she said.

It was all an act.

When her time to run arrived, Marquis won both of her heats, edging fellow competitors in the 50- and 100-meter races.

Then it was time to rest, kick back for a bit and plan her next activity.

The Special Olympics are full of activities, you see. Those who don’t have anything to do just aren’t looking very hard.

“Probably back to the condo. I have to look at the schedule,” she said, explaining the rest of her day.

As it turned out, a schedule wasn’t necessary.

Marquis had everything committed to memory after all.

“Lunch. Then the parade. Probably a snowmobile ride. Fireworks. Dance.”

Ah. The dance.

For many of the assembled athletes, choosing a favorite between the medals and the dance would be a tough choice indeed.

Luckily, they don’t have to.

“I had fun last year [at the dance],” Marquis said, a tired grin on her face. “I had a blast last year.”