	(EDITOR'S NOTE: Due to technical difficulties, the
following column fails to mention Tonya Harding. We are working on
this and will correct it as soon as possible.)

	LILLEHAMMER, Norway -- I will admit that I was scared.
	My body was crammed uncomfortably inside the unforgiving,
spartan, cold-metal fuselage of a two-man Olympic bobsled. My
hands were clutching at two handles attached to ropes that were
supposed to steer this fiendish machine, which can reach speeds of
up to 90 mph as it hurtles down the bobsled-and-luge track, a
huge, menacing, surreal, snakelike sculpture of ice and concrete.
	"Scared" is not really the word for how I felt. I was
terrified. Only one thing kept me from losing control and
screaming hysterically and peeing in my thermal underwear, and
that was the knowledge that this particular bobsled was not,
technically, hurtling down the bobsled run. It was sitting
motionless on a level surface next to the bobsled-storage shed. So
I was unlikely to crash. But I still didn't like it.
	"Hey!" I said. "I'm stuck in here!"
	"It's not real comfortable," agreed Greg Sebald, helping
me climb out. Greg is the driver of this bobsled. He's a 30-year-
old patent attorney from Minneapolis, but he's representing Greece
in the Olympics. He can do this because (a) His mother is Greek,
so he has dual citizenship; and (b) "Minneapolis" is a Greek
name (it means, "City with a Greek name").
	Greg has been a bobsled driver for only two years. One day
he just decided to do it, so -- I am not making this up -- he
enrolled in bobsled-driving school, where he got a bobsled
license.
	(I don't know what happens if you go down the bobsled run
without a license. Perhaps you get pulled over by the Bobsled
Police.)
	Then he contacted the Greek Olympic Committee and arranged
to represent Greece, which is not a major world bobsled power.
Greg is driving a rental bobsled.
	"We had to give them a damage deposit," he told me.
	I asked him if he gets scared, going down the track.
"I'm scared every time," he said. "I'm especially
worried that, one of these days, I'm going to open my eyes."
	You have to admire this attitude. I think we should all
root for Greg, and, if we have invented anything, we should hire
him to obtain the patent for us, once the Olympics are over,
assuming he survives.
	Actually, I'm sure he'll do fine. The people I worry about
are the ones who compete in the luge event, which consists of
hurtling down the track at 80 miles per hour while lying backwards
on a "sled" that is about the size of a cafeteria tray.
	My guide to this event was Dmitry Feld, a stocky, bearded
man who is a coach and public-relations person for the U.S. luge
team. He started luging as a youth in the Soviet Union, coming to
the United States in 1978. He is an extremely outgoing person who
seems to be close personal friends with everybody in the world. It
takes him forever to walk anywhere because people are constantly
stopping him to shake his hand, hug him, etc. Reindeer come out of
the woods to lick him. If alien life forms ever land here, their
first words will be "Yo! Dmitry!"
	So anyway, during luge practice one day, Dmitry and I
stood at the bottom of the Olympic run while he explained the
sport to me.
	"You steer with leg and shoulder," he was saying. "You
try to be as aerodynamically as possible. Here he comes now.
Look."
	I turned toward the track and WHOOOOOOOSH this
thing went past, faster than you could say
"WHOOOOOOOSH," faster than you could see; all that registered
was a blue blur traveling at -- I am good at judging these things
-- the speed of light.
	"Lord," I said.
	"Yes," agreed Dmitry.
	I cannot adequately describe to you how scary the luge
event looks. Let me just say this: At the end of the run, there is
a long section that slants steeply uphill, so the sleds can slow
down. Try to imagine the fastest sled ride that you ever had. The
luge people go five times as fast as that UPHILL.
	I suggested to Dmitry that anybody who would do this had
to be a few utensils shy of a place setting. He shook his head.
	"We are not crazy people," he said. "We are just crazy
people who wants to win Olympic medal."
	Fair enough.

(C) 1994 THE MIAMI HERALD
DISTRIBUTED BY TRIBUNE MEDIA SERVICES, INC.

