The skeleton is a sport that requires individual athletes to hurtle themselves down an ice track at speeds of up to 145 km/hr. It evolved from tobogganing in Switzerland and actually predates its sliding companions, the bobsleigh and luge. While skeleton sounds morbidly dangerous, the name of the sport has nothing to do with the risks involved. When a simple wooden sled evolved into a metal slab with long handles and a ribbed frame, proponents thought it looked like a skeleton, and the name stuck. Although the sport debuted at the Winter Olympics in 1928, it went on a long hiatus and only became a permanent fixture for both men and women at the 2002 Olympic Games in Salt Lake City.

Much like the modern luge, the first sliders went feet first, but faster times were recorded going headfirst. In a race against both the clock and competitors, milliseconds matter. Just ask Jon Montgomery, who took skeleton gold for Canada at the Whistler Olympics in 2010, celebrating with a well-deserved pitcher of beer. Today, he’s better known as the host of Amazing Race Canada. I asked him why anyone would sign up for the skeleton in the first place.

For safety reasons, the public skeleton only covers the lower two-fifths of the track. This is, after all, the fastest track in the world, one in which a Georgian luge competitor tragically lost his life at the 2010 Olympics. Public sliders won’t be reaching nearly the same speeds or g-force as professional athletes, and the track was modified after the accident. While other tracks around the world offer a public skeleton, sliding in Whistler comes with additional bragging rights.

“In the interest of athlete safety, the upper threshold of achievable speeds has been realized in the construction of the 2010 Olympic track in Whistler,” explains Montogomery. “The track is the fastest in the world and the fastest track that will ever be built. Win Canada!” 

Our group is instructed further on how to become “one with the sled,” advised to stay calm and breathe, and most importantly, to not let go of the sled in the unlikely event we fall off it. Launching from the tourist push-off start, all we have to do is navigate six wild turns, and by navigate, I mean hold tight and pray. We walk up to the launch, receive our race order, and listen to the announcements. Individual speeds and times will be clocked, and our descent will be over in less than 36 seconds. This is why everyone gets two runs: the first to get over the fear, the second to correct one’s form and make this an actual race. Nerves clanged with the yellow promotional Invictus cowbells fastened to the gates. My visored helmet did add an element of comfort, along with the reassurances of our friendly instructor, a retired Canadian Olympic bobsledder. The whole operation is as slickly run as the ice, with on-site medics on standby just in case something happens, the likes of which I don’t want to contemplate.