What gives me the willies most among the Olympic events has got to be the luge.  They fly down a sheet of ice approaching 90 mph on  a tiny sled, on their backs, reaching 5 g's of force.   And they do it over and over.   What is the skill, I wonder.

Apparently in part it is keeping your head up, and your gut down, so you can see.  Their neck muscles have to be strong and they train using weights on their head.  Steering seems to be with their legs.  I would just cross my fingers, close my eyes, and say a few Hail Mary's.

There are apparently training camps for the luge where youngsters as young as seven years old can learn the sport.  When I was seven I was happy resting on my bed reading Superman comics or taking our tobbogan on the snow at the Englewood Golf course.

The closest I have come to a luge ride - and it is not close at all -- is the alpine slide which you can ride in the summer on some ski mountains.  It is a plastic sled with a brake that you can control and the sled runs down a concrete slide.  They are often set up side by side so you can race someone.   Which I did years ago.  And as I turned around to see my son trailing behind me my weight shifted ever so slightly, but enough to make the slide fly out from under me and over the track as I hit the concrete and continued sliding down on my backside.  When I finally stopped and stood up my shirt and jeans were burned through and ripped and my skin bleeding.   I was an injured warrior.  

Flying 90 miles per hour on ice?  The skill is bravery.  Or insanity.  Either way, not for me.