The lightest of breezes whispered over my face. The fall air had a chill to it, so I was in jeans and a henley—nothing too dramatic though; Queenstown was warm compared to some of the places the world championship tour had taken me to over the past few months. I sighed, disappointment in myself coursing through my veins. Clenching my hands into fists, I tried to distract my wayward thoughts. It didn’t help to think about my final season as a pro snowboarder. In one fell swoop, I’d managed to ruin my reputation, shame myself and my family, and end my career—"drug cheat” was now regularly thrown around with my name. I wasn’t quite as infamous as Lance Armstrong or Ben Johnston, thank God, but yeah… my number one claim to fame wasn’t for being the five-time world champ anymore. Nope, it was my spectacular fall from grace that’d made headlines of late. 

I didn’t think it’d turn out this way: my life story in a nutshell. Hell, it could be the title of my autobiography. In two years I’d gone from riding the high of success to being a washed-up, banned pro athlete. My sponsors, agent, and coach had all shunned me to save their own careers. It was fair enough, but being on the receiving end of it stung.

Instead of dwelling on the past, I had to focus on the here and now, the future I could build for myself. So I shuffled forward, closer to the edge of the bridge, the yawning chasm before me. The rushing water of the Kawarau River was far below, the wooded cliffs towering high above the bridge I was standing on. The padding was strapped tight around my ankles, connected to the bridge with a long bungee cable, but it was still surreal. Looking down to the shallow river gave me the same butterflies that taking a jump on a mountain did. My heart thudded hard in my chest as a buzz sounded in my ears. Adrenaline pumped through my veins in anticipation of throwing myself off a perfectly good bridge. It was the shit I lived for. 

I couldn’t do it on a mountain yet—New Zealand’s ski season was still a few weeks away from starting, and I was heading home in the morning so I’d miss it anyway. I’d also been having a pity party for one. Moping about, I’d been reluctant to try anything that would give me a rush. I think I was punishing myself, but ultimately the why didn’t really matter. 

I’d had these grand plans of finishing out the season on a high. When I’d put feelers out, I’d had offers from a popular YouTube channel to host their snowboarding chat and highlights show within a day, and I was going to invest my sponsorship payments to give me a bit of a nest egg. But when I tested positive for a banned substance and was suspended, the offer was withdrawn. I’d felt too guilty to keep the sponsorship money I’d earned over the final year of competing, so I’d handed it back. 

The future I thought I was supposed to have disappeared in a puff of smoke. Weed smoke, to be precise. It was a mistake I regretted every day since, but in that moment I just needed to relax. To sleep. I couldn’t function anymore. Overwhelmed with the steaming pile of dog shit that my life had become, I’d tried everything to get a grip. Nothing had worked, so I justified to myself that smoking a joint would be okay. What a damn idiot. If I could go back in time, I’d bitch slap myself.