JUMP START
FLYING ACE JAMES LAMBERT HAS LOFTY AMBITIONS – TO TAKE BRITISH SKI JUMPING TO DIZZYING NEW HEIGHTS
TEXT NEIL SQUIRES
To most British sports fans Eddie The Eagle Edwards is ski jumping in this country – hapless, hysterical and best viewed through steamed-up, bottle-bottom glasses. To James Lambert, however, the plasterer from Cheltenham who pioneered ski dropping at the 1988 Winter Olympics is the man who cost him his dream.
So disastrous was Edwards’ performance in Calgary – from the moment his luggage tipped over on arrival, spewing out his underwear, to the two feeble jumps that guaranteed him last place on both the 70m and 90m hills – the authorities felt compelled to act. In future, minimum performance criteria would have to be reached in order to compete at the Winter Olympics, they demanded. Post-Edwards only one British ski jumper has managed to do so – Glynn Pedersen at Salt Lake City in 1992, and he was really a Canadian.
The quality threshold imposed to prevent any repetitions of the Edwards fiasco stopped Lambert from competing in Albertville in 1994 despite the Lancastrian setting a British record that year which would endure for a decade. It hit him hard. “When the goalposts were moved, I was distraught,” he admits. “My life fell apart.”
The fact that The Eagle remains the only British ski jumper known outside his own family – he is the subject of an upcoming film starring Steve Coogan – only serves to fan the flames of recrimination.
“As soon as you talk to anyone British about ski jumping they mention Eddie,” says Lambert. “Twenty years on we are still going on about him. He’s made a mockery of the sport. Other British jumpers don’t want to be associated with him. I know Eddie and I’ve jumped against him and beaten him, yet he tells people he is Britain’s only ski jumper. There’s not a lot of love lost.”
Disillusioned after his Olympic heartache, Lambert gave up the sport in 1998 when he moved to California. This story – and that of British ski jumping - might well have ended there in bitterness. Except that it didn’t. It took a remarkable and uplifting twist.
Two years ago, as a divorced fortysomething, Lambert moved back to Europe and resettled in Norway. Talked into heading down the ramp again by his friends, Lambert found he could still jump. He went to the 2009 International Masters in Switzerland and won a bronze.
Reinvigorated, he hooked up last year with Norwegian coach Kenneth Braathen, and suddenly he was f lying like never before. In September he jumped 93m on the 117m hill at Einsiedeln in Switzerland – not just a record for the wrinklies but the furthest any Briton had ever jumped.
Since then, an ambition Lambert thought had died has been rekindled. “My intention is to compete at the Vancouver Games in February,” he says. “I’d given up on the Olympics after 1994 when I got slapped in the face, but now I’m back performing better than ever. I will jump 100m, it’s just a question of when.
“I’m 44 but I’ve never accepted getting old. I still feel young and fit – I can outsprint most 20 year olds. I think of my age as an advantage because I have a more mature mind and all that experience. As long as I look after my body I will get results.
“There are hurdles in the way – the British Ski Federation doesn’t do anything to help ski jumpers – but if I don’t make it, I’ll just go ski flying instead and set a British record that will never be broken.”
Ski flying is ski jumping’s even scarier big brother, carried out from a handful of 185m hills dotted around Europe. Protected only by a helmet, goggles and skis, the elite can launch themselves more than 230m into the wide blue yonder. Clearly only a certain type of person has a predilection for this sort of thing. People who talk to post boxes, generally.
“Ski jumpers have to be daredevils to be good, and world-class ski jumpers have to be a bit flipped, but a normal person with a bit of bravery inside them can jump 80m,” insists Lambert. “Fear can immobilise you if you let it but ski jumping is scientific. It works. If you are in the right position you will fly through the air and land safely. I’ve had quite a few crashes but I know the reasons why so I’m able to go back up there and make sure it doesn’t happen again.
“I had a spectacular crash on the World Cup 90m hill in Oberstdorf when I sat too far forward and did a somersault off the end of the jump. I remember seeing it behind me as I fell through the air. I landed on my head and broke my collar bone.
“Two years later I had another big one after my German trainer strapped my knees together on the jump. It was a training aid – your knees should be the same width apart as your shoulders – but I was thinking so much about the belt that I forgot to strap my skis on and they came off on the way down. I went 50 or 60m without them. I was literally running through the air. I really wrecked myself on landing – my helmet cracked, my suit was ripped and I hurt my back. That one beat me up mentally and it held me back for a while afterwards.”
An adrenaline junkie who also skydives and takes part in extreme rock climbing, Lambert started ski jumping as a 22 year old. He had moved to the German Alps after finishing school in search of adventure and trained himself to be a ski instructor while holding down jobs cleaning and waiting. But having grown weary with boring old skiing, he experienced his eureka moment watching the Four Hills competition in Garmisch on New Year’s Day 1987.
“I went with a friend and it just bit me,” he says. “I thought, ‘I have to have a go at this.’”
“After starting on a little 15m hill, we went to the 45m hill in Garmisch. We were daring each other to go first. I climbed straight up to the top, sat there for a couple of seconds, took a deep breath and pushed myself off. My legs turned to rubber and I nearly passed out. I kept saying to myself, ‘Just make it to the end.’ I did, and I must have jumped all of ten metres!
“After I landed safely I was just dancing around with the elation of having overcome the fear and completed that first jump.”
The thrill of launching off the end of a ramp at 60 miles per hour is one that Lambert would love other Britons to share. And not just in the mountains. He has a vision of ski jumps dotted all around our green and pleasant land.
“I’d like to see kids ski jumping instead of playing on their PCs. You don’t need snow. In summer we train on runs with porcelain tracks,” he says. “Once this hits England it will be massive. The Brits will love it – they are crackers after all.”
It is not as far-fetched as it sounds. Huge crowds turned out in the 1930s to see ski-jumping exhibitions on temporary scaffolds erected by the Norwegians in London and Manchester. There was even a commercial ski jump in Scarborough in the 1960s.
As Edwards has proved, anyone can try it, but to be good at it you need a slight frame. Great names such as Jens Weissf log, Matti Nykänen and Gregor Schlierenzauer are all small men; The Eagle was 20 pounds heavier than anyone else in Calgary.
“Heavy people have a hard time getting into a good position,” says Lambert, who weighs 11 stone. His physical training involves regular cycling and daily exercises to improve his balance and flexibility. He also uses mental rehearsal techniques to prepare himself to jump. He is able to practise for real on a 35m hill in
Gothenburg, where he works at the city’s university as a genetic engineer, but once a week he embarks on an eight-hour round trip to Oslo to work with his trainer on the big hills.
“When you stand at the top of Holmenkollen you can see right across Oslo and the fjords. It is an incredible sight,” he says. “But usually when I am up there I am so focused on my jump I don’t notice my surroundings. I’m there to jump over 90m.”
His next competitive chance to do so is the World Winter Masters Games held from 25-31 January in Bled, Slovenia, an event billed as the Winter Olympics for seniors. Will he make it to the real thing? If he did, it might not be as funny as Edwards in Calgary, but it would still be quite a story.
SKIING TO SUNBATHING
If you’re heading to a ski resort out of season, there’s still plenty to do in these destinations after the snow has melted
GENEVA
Get stuck into Geneva’s laid-back summer vibe with some alfresco festival action. The Geneva Festival in July brings a mixture of reggae, soul, classical and world tunes to its leafy city spaces, while the 44th Montreux Jazz festival in August is a great excuse to head round the lake to a spot which has played host to stars including Prince and Grace Jones. www.fetesdegeneve.ch www.montreuxjazz.com
MERIBEL
This year’s third Altitude festival hits the swanky slopes of Meribel and promises to be bigger, better and more hilarious than ever. As Europe’s only official bilingual comedy festival, this six-day entertainment extravaganza kicks off on 20 March and sees the likes of Newton Faulkner and the Cuban Brothers join top comedy acts such as Phil Jupitus. www.altitudefestival.com
VERBIER
Forget skiing in Verbier come spring. Instead, embrace the thrilling delights of canyoning or hydrospeed, a motorised boogie board that’s like rafting. For something more serene, horse riding, mountain biking or a scenic paraglide over the Valley De Bagnes will help you forget about the white stuff. www.verbinet.com
CHAMONIX
Get your dancing shoes on for Chamonix’s hottest summer event – the Fête de la Musique. Taking place annually on 21 June, the festival sees revellers spill into the streets for a giant party with live bands and DJs performing in the town’s open-air squares, terraces and alleyways. Even the French authorities embrace it – well, they waive the licensing laws anyway. www.chamonix.net
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