Medal or not, I always want to race fast in Calgary. Contrary to Lake Placid, Calgary is one of the least technically demanding tracks on the circuit. It's a fast track where, although basic sliding principles are required, it is the meticulous details that crown a winner.

It's a race where making it down the track isn't the challenge – it's who makes it down the fastest. And in Calgary, that is extremely difficult to do. A small driving error, sloppily pointed toes, a hundredth too slow at the start, or a centimetre-long scratch on your steels will, without a doubt, cost you the race.

Training felt good, but it usually does in Calgary. The weather was a tad cold the first day (-18 C) but warmed up in time for the race.

After coming home from my silver-medal performance, I couldn't help but have heightened expectations at my home track and I'm pretty sure the rest of the team and coaches felt the same way.

One question I was repeatedly asked in the slew of media interviews upon arriving home was if gold was now the goal. Of course I would be racing to win, but I knew that Calgary would prove to be one of the toughest races in terms of sliding, pressure, and focus.

More than twenty of my family members from as far as Saskatoon, as well as countless ex-lugers, friends and supporters, came out to watch us, the Canadians, take the ice at home. Keeping your eyes on the prize when you know there is a big, bright spotlight shining on you, is extremely difficult. And this year it was even harder.

I was initially convinced that my performance in Lake Placid would build momentum for Calgary. I figured that a medal would automatically translate into increased confidence which would subsequently mean increased level of performance. But strangely, the second I suited up to train in Calgary, I felt something I have never felt before. I felt the need to prove myself...my medal.

To defend the fact that I won silver…that I almost ended the German streak.

Like a child who doesn't want to go to bed, I didn't want to lose. A small taste of the podium and I was addicted. I mean, I'm not delusional. I didn't honestly believe that one good race on one of thirteen luge tracks in the world would land me a gold medal every race from then on in, but all of a sudden, anything below fifth place, was unacceptable.

For the first time this season and in my entire career, I struggled with truly not knowing what was reasonable in terms of expectations. Was the fact that I wanted more a sign of growth and maturity as an athlete or did I need to slow down and take each race in stride?

The coach of our team during the 2002 Olympic Games, told me something more than five years ago that I only fully understand now. She said, "the hard part isn't climbing the ladder to the top. Its staying there, at the top...that is the true test."

The night before the race, as I got ready to prep my sled I noticed a rather serious infliction on my steels. Without getting too technical, the part of the steel I ride on and the part of the steel that attaches to my sled had come apart. When a steel is diagnosed as 'delaminated', it has a 50/50 chance of survival. I knew there would be damage, I just prayed it would be minimal.

My first run in the race was solid – one of my best ever in Calgary. I sat in seventh.

I was extremely frustrated, bordering on angry, when I remembered how classy I thought it was watching athletes who kept their composure under less than ideal circumstances. So I smiled and waved to the camera and crowd, concealing every ounce of accumulating animosity that I felt.

I knew that my equipment problems the night before would have had an impact on the race. I also knew there was nothing I could do about it except slide. For the second run, I risked it all, in my mind, finishing seventh was no great feat. I finished 8th at the end of the day.

If it weren't for the outstretched arms of family and friends, I would have spent the evening moping in a pool of self pity. They remind me that, at the end of the day, luge is a sport and that winning isn't a requirement for happiness. They ground me when I'm floating in the clouds and pick me up after falling flat on my face.

After re-adjusting my race approach and taking a few deep breaths, I now feel like I have had enough time to absorb the last two weeks and the emotional rollercoaster that I had unknowingly hopped on.

We are currently in Salt Lake City training for the World Championships to be held here at the end of February.

By now, everyone is tired and ready to go home for a break. And even though we only get six days (including travel) at Christmas before boarding a plane on Boxing Day to head back overseas, we are grateful that we get to go home period and understand the temporary sacrifice that is needed to compete as world class athletes.