From Counted Out to Medal Contender

Save your tears, your condolences, because the tale of Kris Freeman is no sob story.

Six years ago, when the test came back positive for diabetes and the doctor said his days as a cross-country skier were over, Freeman refused to listen.

“I wasn’t going to hear that,” he says. “I actually went out and trained the afternoon I was diagnosed.”

The daily demands of his condition -- carefully planned meals and repeated blood tests, followed by insulin injections -- were dismissed as a mere inconvenience. In some ways, the disease might have turned Freeman into a better racer.

“He had to become extremely disciplined,” says Trond Nystad, the U.S. team coach. “He had to be very good about what he eats and living a very healthy lifestyle.”

Which might explain, at least partly, why the compact 25-year-old now ranks among the best American cross-country skiers ever and has a realistic shot at a medal in the 15-kilometer classical-style race at the 2006 Winter Olympics today.

“That’s all I’m trying to focus on,” he says. “I just want that medal so badly.”

Maybe this passion for cross-country skiing was inevitable for a boy growing up in New Hampshire, his parents heading out to the snow each winter weekend.

From an early age, Freeman showed strength and technique. He tells the story of winning a youth race, then having his father both praise the effort and ask, simply, “Why didn’t you win by more?” The comment -- this idea of always trying to improve -- stuck with him.

Victories continued through high school and at the University of Vermont, where Freeman was an All-American. In 2000, he became the first skier from the junior ranks to win a national championship since Bill Koch.

It was shortly thereafter, however, that he reported for a customary U.S. ski team exam and his blood test showed twice the normal level of glucose. That meant Type 1 diabetes.

“I was totally shocked,” Freeman says.

His life took a new direction, each day beginning with a blood-sugar test and an injection. The trick became finding a spot on his abdomen where repeated jabbing had yet to build thick scar tissue.

The process had to be repeated after breakfast and morning training. At lunch. After a second workout session. As many as 10 times a day.

“It would be distracting, if I wasn’t so used to it,” he says. “It’s really like brushing my teeth.”

The U.S. coaches learned about a medical condition they had never encountered in their sport. On race days, they carried insulin, sweets and special drinks for Freeman to gulp at feed stations along the course. As Nystad says, “It’s something we had to be aware of.”

But none of it hampered Freeman’s upward career path. In 2003, he won the 30K classical at the under-23 World Championships, then came right back to place an unexpected fourth in the 15K at the World Championships. There were subsequent national championships and top-10 finishes in World Cup races.

Those results have put him in the neighborhood of Koch, an icon of American cross-country skiing who still has the country’s only Olympic medal, a silver in 1976.

Teammates say they have been inspired by Freeman’s resolve.

“I can tell [the diabetes] takes a lot of his time,” says Wendy Wagner, a veteran on the women’s team. “But Kris takes care of himself. He’s so fast.”

Coaches have also watched him become a cool competitor, unfazed by big races.

“If you get too excited, your blood sugar rises,” Nystad says. “He has to make sure he keeps himself calm and that makes him good in high-pressure situations.”

Still, this tale comes with a reality check: Freeman might be physically stronger if not for the diabetes.

He certainly would not have to worry about things such as racing at altitude, which robs the body of oxygen and can affect insulin levels. Today’s course in Pragelato stands near the Olympic maximum of about 6,000 feet in elevation.

“Every little thing, I have to account for,” he says. “It’s always in the back of my mind.”

At the same time, he can look to U.S. swimmer Gary Hall Jr., a diabetic and five-time Olympic gold medalist. He can use the day-to-day matters of keeping his blood sugar steady to help him set a familiar routine at a competition far from home.

With a big race today, and more later in the Games, Freeman isn’t asking for anyone’s pity.

“I’m not going to let the disease stop me,” he says. “This is who I am.”