Konigssee, Germany – 2005. Entering into a new year inevitably means making new resolutions. Mine was: don’t finish 16th...ever again.

As a sufferer of compulsive logorrhea, it's ironic that I find myself struggling with what to say. Maybe that's not completely true. I actually do have a lot to say...I just don't have a reasonable explanation, a believable excuse, to explain what exactly happened in Oberhof on January 2nd – World Cup #5.

Oberhof and I go way back. Like a first boyfriend, Oberhof was my first European track and since that initial encounter in January,1997, we have experienced our good times and bad. It’s a track that, excuse the cliché, you love to hate. It reeks of the arrogance of a Grade 9 basketball team captain. It has an almost flirtatious way of taunting athletes as if to say, "So you think you're good, huh?"

Sliding there feels like a boxing match. After losing the round you retreat to your corner, spit out the blood, drink some water and get a good-luck slap from your coach before returning to the middle of the ring to subject yourself to another round of potential jabs and uppercuts. It truly resembles masochistic behavior – a self-indulgent need to return to your opponent, hungrier than ever for revenge.

I engaged in a face-off against the shining beast as I lowered myself into the start handles like a bronco rider before the gate opens. Eyes locked, heart pounding, all 66 kilos of me bound tightly in millimeter-thick spandex was tempting to battle it out with 14 20-foot curves of the slickest ice. I had my work cut out for me and I knew it.

Approximately three seconds after I started, I began to have problems, problems that seemed to compound in occurrence and severity with each passing metre. I felt imprisoned in an inescapable gauntlet of torturous bullies, pushing and shoving me. At curve 7, I was annoyed; by curve 11, I was angry, and as I entered the final curve I was merely stunned. It shocked me that I could slide that bad. Shocked me that I was still on my sled and not my face. I realized that my sled had taken me for a ride – a major insult and amateurish mistake in our quirky sport.

Typically a bad run is followed by cursing or some personalized hissy fit. In my case, with nothing to swear at and nobody to blame but myself, the only thing I felt was embarrassment. I slunk shamefully into to seat of the truck.

As I sat in 21st position after the first run, the only thing I wanted was for the race to be over. After hearing the announcer spew out that fact that I had earlier won a medal, and that I was ranked fifth in the world, I wanted to disappear. I had cowardly surrendered. On that day, the track won. I finished 16th.

Oddly enough, no matter how necessary I thought it was to remain disgruntled for a least a couple of hours, I simply refused to walk around with a frown. How selfish it would be to mope around because I had a bad day. I had witnessed some of my teammates and friends – yes, also my competition – have great races and achieve personal bests. I mean, Jeff finished 13th and Meaghan had the third-fastest start time! I had a personal and professional obligation to be happy for them and extend my sincere congratulations. Instead, I sought solace in the fact that my misfortune on that day happened to be their luck. I mean, everyone has to take their digs, right?

Have you ever tried to squeeze a bar of soap? It becomes almost impossible to hold onto and the harder you squeeze the more slippery it becomes. That's how I felt with my performance: the harder I tried, the further away from my goals I ended up. In my trusty little go-to guide Mind Gym, author Gary Mack suggests: "Give yourself permission to win, but then let go of the idea of winning and focus on execution and process."

So that's what I did three days later as we raced the next world cup in Konigsee. I finished 9th – a personal-best result on that track. A more notable success, though, is the fact that I improved my start time by .05 seconds – my goal that race.

Right now, we are in Igls, Austria (pronounced 'eagles'), obviously preparing for World Cup #7. Honestly, I'm not even thinking about the race right now. I found myself just staring out the window at the spectacular Austrian Alps like an aspiring Buddhist Monk. It's the first time since we left home on Boxing Day that I don't feel … anxious.

Our five-day stint at home for the holidays seems like an eternity ago. I was elated to see my family at Christmas, regardless of the fact that every single one of us caught the flu. And even with me turning 25 this year, Santa happened to still find me and give me something that makes me feel like a child – a remote control motorcycle. Probably to replace the real motorcycle that I had stolen from me this summer! I was only disappointed I couldn’t bring it with me!

Oh yeah...the other day at the track, Walter told me that some young Austrian luge girls were asking if 'Regan Lauscher' was here sliding! I felt proud. Then I thought, 'I wonder if they watched the race from Oberhof on TV?!'