Phil Chew, 2010. PHOTO: TODD LAWSON
Mountain Lifer
Through The Looking Glass – Phil Chew And The Paralympic Story
By Michel Beaudry
“These guys and gals are athletes. Real athletes. In fact, it could be argued that the Paralympians you’ll see competing at Whistler next March personify the true spirit of Olympism.”
– Phil Chew
He’s done it all. For over 25 years, Whistlerite Phil Chew has been on the leading edge of disabled sports. In fact, in the late Eighties and early Nineties, the affable skier with one leg was the man to beat. He earned multiple podium finishes at World Championship events, competed in demonstration races at the Sarajevo and Calgary Games, and carried the flag for Canada at the Winter Paralympic Games in 1992 in Albertville, France. “That was huge for me,” says the 56-year-old father of two. “Walking into the stadium carrying the Maple Leaf and listening to the roar of the crowd … I still get goose-bumps just thinking about it.”
But his racing took him a lot further than that. Like many disabled athletes, getting involved in high-level sports was a way for Chew to get his life back on track. “As a disabled person, once you make a national team and start travelling to different countries and going from race-to-race, that’s really something. You’re not thinking: ‘Gee, I’m a disabled racer ….’ You’re thinking ‘Yeah! I’m an athlete. I wanna win some races here.’”
Though today we take the Paralympics a little bit for granted, Chew reminds me just how recent a phenomenon they are – and how fierce the battle was to get those Games established in the minds of spectators and sponsors. He says the scheduling of the Paralympics at the same venues just two weeks after the Olympic Games was a huge step in the acceptance of disabled sports worldwide. “Albertville in ’92 was the first time that happened for us,” he says.
As it turned out, the Albertville event would be Chew’s final kick at the competitive can. “My wife was pregnant with our oldest boy,” he explains. “And I had to find a way to make this racing thing pay off. At that point I’d been on the national team for 10 years. And I wasn’t getting any younger…or richer, for that matter. Faced with a growing family, it just didn’t make any sense to keep racing anymore.”
But Chew was far from finished. Unlike many athletes who retire and move on to other things, Phil chose to remain with the sport. “As an athlete I saw what we needed to do to get better. And I was really inspired by the coaches who worked with me, people like Rossland’s Butch Butry. He was a man of few words, you know, but he certainly knew his stuff.” A long pause. “That’s why I wanted to coach. You see, I got a lot of help along the way. You know, guys like Dave Murray and Descente’s Guy Christie were always there for me. I wanted to see if I could make a difference, too.”
And he has. As head coach of the BC Disabled Ski Team since 1993, Chew has mentored some of the best young disabled athletes in the country. “In the beginning, it was only a part-time job,” he admits, “but I’ve been a full-time coach since 2004 – that’s when things really started going off.”
As usual though, there were some serious obstacles to overcome before he was ‘allowed’ to become a full-time coach. “We knew we were getting the Olympics,” recounts Chew, “so we said to ourselves: ‘Let’s beef up the program.’” But there was a problem. “The only way I could make this into a full-time job was by getting a Level III able-bodied ski coaching certificate.” He laughs long and loud. “I have to admit it came as a bit of a shock. Hell, I’d already turned 50 by then. I really didn’t know if I could do it.”
But Phil is nothing if not persistent. After all, this is a man who managed to become a very successful commercial fisherman by ignoring his disability and just getting on with the job. Still, earning this particular certification was no walk in the park – even for top-ranked able-bodied coaches. ”I couldn’t believe all the hoops I had to jump through,” Chew tells me with yet another chuckle. “But I finally passed.” And his pride in his accomplishment is palpable. “As far as I know, I’m the only disabled skier in this country to have ever earned a Level III coach’s certification,” he says. “And I’m very happy with that.”
His charges are happy too. A no-nonsense trainer who really knows how to get the best out of his athletes, Chew appreciates how much the situation has changed in the disabled sports world since he was a racer. “The best in the country are now professional athletes,” he explains. “They get paid to ski. They have sponsors. They have the same carding program as able-bodied racers. It’s no longer a ‘waste’ of time for them. And thank goodness for that. Now our athletes are getting legitimately prepared to compete against the best in the world.” He pauses, and sighs. “It’s a dramatically different environment than the one in which I competed, I can tell you.”
He cites the example of local Paralympic star Matt Hallet. “I remember him as a nine-year-old, living at my house,” he says. “I could tell he was really keen to race. So I went to see his parents and I told them: ‘One day there’s going to be carding and funding and real professional development in this sport.’ And they looked at me like I was crazy.” A smile plays on the edges of his features. “But it’s all happened just like I said it would. And at 24, Matt has been one of the beneficiaries of all this new professionalism.”
Of course, there’s a lot more to disabled sports than just being a world-class competitor. “It’s all about convincing yourself to reach a little higher,” says Chew. “To push a little bit harder. I mean, think about it. You break your back. You’re in a wheel chair and somebody suggests you join my team and try sit-skiing.” He pauses. “Well, for one thing, mastering the sit-ski is hugely difficult. It takes a lot of skill and a lot of hours of practice to make the thing work. So that means you get a huge sense of accomplishment at the end of the day. But the other thing is the feeling of freedom you get from mastering this new piece of equipment. Suddenly you’re not this wheelchair-bound kid anymore. You’re free to fly down the mountain at whatever speed you want.”
Chew says that’s what ski racing did it for him. “I always knew I was at a disadvantage when I was on my crutches,” he explains. “But the moment I jumped on my skis – that was the equalizer. I could go as fast or as hard as anybody out there.” He smiles happily, “As soon as you have that in your brain, you can do just about anything!”
Chew cites another success story. “I run these development camps around the province called Building Our Best in conjunction with the BC Disabled Skiing Association. Well, at the very first of those camps at Silver Star, I worked with a former freestyle skiing coach who’d just broken his back and was trying a sit-ski for the first time. I could tell this kid was into it. So I spent a little extra time with him.” The sit-skier’s name was Josh Dueck.
Flash forward five years to the 2009 World Cup finals held at Whistler last spring. The winner of the downhill was the same Josh Dueck who had worked his way up from neophyte sit-skier to member of the BC Team to current star of the Canadian team. “But that wasn’t the only thing that made me proud at Whistler last year,” adds Chew. “Another BC team alumnus, Sam Daniels, finished fourth in that same race. And it was his first World Cup downhill ever. I was stoked.”
But it’s not an easy job to nurture new talent. “In disabled skiing, it’s not like there are 300 six-year-olds taking up the sport who might later like to try ski racing. People come into it at all sorts of ages. And many of them are still struggling to get adjusted to their disabilities.” He sighs. “I still remember how I felt at my first events. It was weird, you know. There were so many different disabilities that I felt like I was attending a freak show. And I was totally turned off.” Another booming laugh erupts from deep within him. “Now I realize I’m part of that show. And I’m totally okay with it.”
In the end, says the ski veteran, racing is all about getting in the right frame of mind. “If you’re putting out 100 percent effort with what you’ve got, that’s all any athlete can do. If you’re comfortable with that, that’s when you make the adjustment. That’s when you become truly successful.”
And Phil should know. After all, this is a man who walks his talk, in all things.
