 Derek Parra photo by Bruce Gardner |
Small stature, big dreams. For speed skater Derek Parra, gold is the goal again, as he prepares for the 2006 Olympic games in Turin, Italy. But for this Olympic gold medallist, it seems Parra has always had to work a little harder to achieve his goals. And so, in a sport dominated by 6' 3" Dutch and Norwegian giants, he has risen to the top of the speed-skating world in spite of his 5' 4", 140-pound frame.
Raised by his father in a poor Hispanic neighborhood in San Bernardino, CA, Parra learned that hard work and determination could propel him even beyond the achievements he imagined. And it has.
Parra became the first Mexican American to compete—and medal—in the Olympics. He was selected to carry the World Trade Center flag into the opening ceremonies of the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City. He won a silver medal in the 5,000 meter. And he set a stunning world-record finish and took the gold in the 1,500 meter.
Now 35, Parra will make his final Olympic bid as perhaps the oldest US athlete on the team at the games in Turin. And again, he's battling adversity—not on the ice this time, but in his marriage. Working through the emotional challenges while training for his Olympic events, he struggles to maintain his mental edge. He has realized that he needs to reach deeper than ever into his drive to be the world's best skater while at the same time working to resolve private issues with his wife, Tiffany, in hopes of restoring a stable, fulfilling life for them and their four-year-old daughter, Mia Elizabeth.
The Journey Begins
Derek Parra grew up in San Bernardino, about an hour southeast of Los Angeles. He and his older brother, Gilbert Jr., were raised by their father, Gilbert Sr., a corrections worker, who remarried when Derek was 11. Derek's mother, Maria McCracken, lives in Arizona.
The Parra family, which later included two half-siblings, Eric and Marissa, lived modestly, and the Parra brothers grew accustomed to doing without. In fact, one could say that Derek Parra became a world-class speed skater because he was a thirsty teenager.
Early in their high school years, he and his brother took to roller skating at the Stardust Roller Rink. Dad gave Derek $4 to cover the $3.75 admission fee, leaving just 25 cents in pocket money for a three-hour skating session. But a regular part of the rink's nightly program were two-lap races, with a "Coke ticket" as the prize. Parra wanted free Cokes, so he skated for them. It wasn't long before he had a pocketful of Coke tickets—and the attention of the rink managers, George and Virginia Cottone. The Cottones also happened to coach the rink's speed skating team. Parra was on his way.
Perhaps because of his diminutive size, he was used to having to try harder to keep up, and so (whether he knew it or not) established a strong work ethic from the very beginning. And after practice, he often skated the six miles home, sometimes well after midnight, because he had no other transportation—but he wasn't going to give up skating. His coach mentored him and moved him along, introducing him to organized roller-skate racing and coaching him through the ranks.
Throughout high school Parra continued to develop as a promising young racer. One summer he scraped together enough money to attend a training camp at the US Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs. It was there that he met Virgil Dooley—the coach in the sport of roller skating. Dooley encouraged Parra to go back to San Bernardino and focus on school; then once he finished school, he could come and train with Dooley's team.
Inspired by this and by the atmosphere of the Olympic Training Center, Parra was fully committed: he knew he wanted to be a National Champion, perhaps even a World Champion. And so, true to form, he whipped through high school, finished early, packed up, and went to Dooley. In this, the first of many difficult "pack up and move" decisions to further his career as a skater, he left California at 17, arrived at the Tampa airport unexpected and unannounced, and immediately called Dooley: "I'm here and I'm ready."
Dooley quickly recognized Parra's unbending work ethic and began to groom him for national and international competition. Dooley then decided to head to Maryland to open a new rink. Again, Parra packed up and followed him, just as he later followed him Delaware, Wisconsin, and then back to Florida.
They settled in Delaware, and from 1990 to 1996 Parra developed into the most decorated skater in the history of roller skating. Numerous national and world championships followed—everything that could be won, he won. Including the heart of his future wife.
It was during that time that Parra met Tiffany Schwier at a skating event in Florida. Their first meeting occurred when she was just ten years old and an aspiring skater herself. It was at the Universal Entertainment & Skating Center on Goldenrod Road near Lake Underhill Road in Orlando, the rink that Tiffany's family owns. Years later, Parra took interest in her and their relationship began to develop—though mostly from afar. When Tiffany finished high school, she moved to Delaware to be near Parra as he trained.
Ice Dreams
Having won it all in roller skating, Parra began to dream of an Olympic medal, and waited as the sport's bigwigs repeatedly told him that inline skating would have its day at the Olympics. But that wasn't happening, and he wanted that medal. So at 26, he made the most difficult decision of his career: to retire from roller skating, and switch to ice skating. But that also meant financial hardship: As an inline champion, he was earning a comfortable $40,000 a year. As an ice skater, he would have to start at the bottom. He would again have to get used to doing without.
In 1996, Parra made his way to Milwaukee, home of the US National Speed Skating Team and the site of the only covered long-track ice rink in the US. Within a few weeks of training, he captured two medals at the National Championship, and heads began to turn: he was invited to join the US National Team, and he began climbing his way up the ranks of US ice skaters. He put his training in the hands of the coaches, continued to make his way up the ice-skating ladder and ultimately, although barely, earned a spot on the 1998 US Olympic Team. He was on his way to Nagano to compete in his first Olympics.
What promised to be a lifetime highlight turned bittersweet in Japan. Due to a "clerical error" in the convoluted entry process, Parra learned that the number of competitors allowed to participate was limited—and he would not be one of them. It was a bitter disappointment.
He returned to the states, continued training, and he and Tiffany married on June 5, 1999, in Orlando. But as a married man, his concerns about finances grew, and for that reason he struggled with the commitment of four more years of Olympic training. Then he learned of Home Depot's Olympic Job Opportunities Program. This program, in conjunction with the US Olympic Committee, lets Olympic athletes work 20 hours and get paid for full-time work. The Home Depot program was precisely what the Parras needed. He entered the program and worked at Home Depot in Salt Lake City while in training. (And true to form, this hardworking skater was named Home Depot's Employee of the Month several times.) Tiffany, meanwhile, carried her share of the financial burden, at one point working three jobs and attending college.
His daily routine: a three-hour morning workout, the afternoon spent "running" up and down the aisles of Home Depot; then a two- to three-hour workout in the evening. This grueling schedule became his way of life for the next few years.
On to Salt Lake
Another move was in the offing, however: in 2000, the US Speed Skating Team opened a training facility in Salt Lake City and relocated the team there. Once again, the Parras were faced with another "pack up and move" decision.
As is the life of an Olympic contender, Parra was on the road—Europe, Asia and Canada—competing and training from October to March. And for most of those five months every year, Tiffany stayed behind, alone and far from her family in Orlando. When the team made the move to Salt Lake City, Derek and Tiffany made the difficult decision to take separate paths: Derek went with the team, Tiffany went to Florida to begin building the couple's future there.
During this difficult time, Parra grew frustrated with the ice training he was getting: he felt it wasn't bringing the most out of him. He turned to his old coach, Dooley, and decided to use what had worked for him before: he introduced some of his roller-skating training methods to the ice. Now at the core of his training were three-hour sessions three times a week, where he did a series of 32 jumping exercises off the ice with a 40-lb. weight vest on his back.
The effort paid off. Parra had become the dominant US skater, although still a bit under the radar on the world speed-skating scene. But not after February 2001. Exactly one year before the Olympics, he executed his international breakout performance at the World Championships in Salt Lake, capturing the silver medal in the 1,500 meters, making him "one to watch" for the upcoming Olympics.
Now more fired up than ever, and measuring the 2002 Olympics in "days to go" instead of "years to go," Parra could see light at the end of the tunnel. But Tiffany was now pregnant, and he began to question whether training and competing would be worth missing the many "firsts" that come with a first-baby experience. But Tiffany again encouraged him to go after his Olympic dream with everything he had. The baby was due around Christmas—the same time as the US Olympic Team Trials. He vowed he'd be there somehow for her birth.
But babies follow their own timetables, and theirs arrived early. Derek got the news at midnight, as he was filming a Home Depot commercial on the ice. Baby Mia was coming; it was time to come home. Hours later he was on a plane, and got there in time. The next day, he flew back to Salt Lake to compete in the trials, solidifying his place on the team, then headed straight home to join his wife and baby girl for their first family Christmas. Days later he was off to Europe for final pre-Olympics international competitions.
At the Olympics, Parra wasn't expected to be a factor in the 5,000-meter event. His best finish in this event was ninth, and even he was being optimistic when he hoped for a top-ten finish. But this day would be special. At the finish, the impossible was on the scoreboard: Derek Parra had broken the world record and was in the lead. By day's end he was bumped out of first place—but he was more than happy to win an unexpected silver.
And it made him an instant celebrity. Throughout the next week, as the 1,500-meter drew nearer, he juggled media commitments and the growing pressure of the upcoming event, pressure that only added to the excitement. On race day, and in typical Parra fashion, he waved to the crowd and pumped them into a frenzy seconds before going to the starting line. This was to be his day, and he was ready to face it head on.
As the gun went off, Parra exploded through the first 300-meter split in a fastest-ever time of 23.5 seconds. He was on world record pace; but there was still a long way to go. At the 700-meter split he was destroying the world record—and the world knew it was witnessing something special. He blew past the rest of the field to finish at an inconceivable 1:43.95 for a new world record, and Olympic gold.
 Derek Parra photo by Bruce Gardner |
Ticket to Turin
Parra had to face the difficult decision to go for the '06 Olympics. Competing in the Olympics isn't a commitment one makes half-heartedly—it takes all of one's energy and much of one's time, often at a deep personal price. Parra made the decision, but his greatest challenge this time isn't his training or his speed, but his focus.
After the 2002 Olympics, he returned home in triumph with gold and silver medals. He made the most of his Olympic celebrity and began to build a solid future for his family. He was happy.
Now three years later, things are very different. He has a hard time keeping his mind on skating. He can't sleep; has trouble eating. Parra was depressed and his performance terribly erratic—at times he'd skate faster than he had at the Olympics, at other times he couldn't get through a few laps without being exhausted. And there was a very good chance he might not qualify for the '06 Olympic team: he had failed to qualify at the European trials.
Parra found himself back in Utah at the 2006 US Long Track Championships, still trying to focus enough on his skating to score a spot on the team. Since there none were available on the 5,000-meter team, it seemed as if he had just gone through the motions. But he didn't come close in the 500 or 1,000, either. Now he was down to his last best chance, the 1,500-meter, the same Olympic event he won four years ago. He should have aced it but instead lost his balance and touched his hand on the ice rounding a curve after the first lap. ""I slid a little bit on the turn," he told the international news agency AFP. "I just told myself, ‘Don't panic.' I was lucky I had time to recover." It wasn't until his final attempt in the next-to-last pairing that he finally punched his ticket for Turin. Gliding across the line with a time of 1:45:25, he knew it was good enough to get him on the squad.
What had happened to the man who less than four years earlier had set a world record? Was it his age? An injury? Did he lose his drive? He wasn't saying, referring only to "personal problems" that were undoing his chance to make the team. It wasn't until December 28th, two days before he clinched his spot, that Parra shared his anguish with the world. In a scene of extraordinary catharsis—at the arena where Parra won two Olympic medals in 2002—he perched not on the winner's podium but on a trash can, fought back tears, and spilled the details of his turmoil.
"I'm getting a divorce. That has been the problem," he told AFP (turkishpress.com). "I've skated with my heart and for my family for so many years, and now that it's gone, it has been really hard." Adding to the heartbreak is that he hadn't seen his daughter since October. "Over the last couple days it's been hard with Christmas and everything. Some days I'm OK. Some days I'm not. I'm only human. I had a wife and a family and a house and a home, and now it has all changed."
"It was all a plan I trusted, but somewhere along the line [Tiffany] changed her mind and didn't tell me about it. That's the hard part. I was out here sacrificing for nothing."
If he doubted himself as an athlete during this turmoil, Parra's Olympic teammates didn't. Before he qualified and as the pressure mounted, world-record holder Chad Hedrick said, "Don't count Derek out. He's a fighter. He's one of the leaders of this team."
Parra lost weight and was treated for depression, telling long-time coach Bart Schouten he was living his worst nightmare after a seventh-place finish in an earlier 1,000-meter race. According to a story in the LA Times, Schouten was brought to tears watching Parra make the team. "He has been hopeless and helpless," Schouten said. "It was just so hard to see as a coach." As he crossed the finish line, Parra gave a half-hearted fist pump, holding his emotions back until he hugged Schouten, Hedrick and assistant coach Scott Koons. "We all cried," Hedrick said. "This is just a huge relief, a big burden off his shoulders," said Schouten.
Parra goes to Turin as the defending gold medalist in the 1,500. He set the world record four years ago, but he has work to do to catch Hedrick, who has been skating at world-record paces himself.
Counting Down the Days
On December 30th, after placing third in the 1,500 and securing his spot on the US team, Parra said he and his wife are going forward with the divorce, but it hasn't been easy. "It's not just a roadblock, it's a completely different road," he says.
If he medals at all in Turin, he could be away for another six months or longer. If he doesn't, he may be back sooner but isn't sure where he'll live. Since news of the divorce broke, Parra received 30-40 e-mails a day from people—some are friends, some are people he met only briefly or took a photo with, and some he never met at all—sharing their divorce stories and sending words of encouragement.
It doesn't solve everything for this embattled star athlete, but it helps. "It was touching to me. I was surprised and touched," he says. And maybe his somewhat lightened heart will make it easier for him to skate to gold in Turin.
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Bill Ernst is the publisher of Seminole magazine.
DINING