"The most rewarding things you do in life are the ones that look like they cannot be done." - Arnold Palmer

Eddie Edwards was born with bad vision. Eyeglasses were unfortunately a necessity for everyday life. Growing up, contacts were not a plausible option for him while being raised off the meager wages of a plasterer in the 1980's.

He had become accustomed to choosing a more frugal style of frames to hold the thick corrective lenses that amplified his already large brown eyes. Eddie had a long history of reducing his eyewear to bits growing up and then as a member of the British ski team. He had quite an impressive collection of old broken frames kept in a tin biscuit box tucked under his bed back home in Cheltenham.

Once being seated in the exam chair by Dr. Rossi Gössner's receptionist, Eddie waited quietly in the dimly lit office. The bridge of his glasses suffered splitting damage from bracing the weight of his fall after tumbling then sliding face first down the slope. It was yet another failed attempt at landing the 40-meter jump.

His goggles had provided no protection whatsoever, and had taken a good beating also. Thank goodness he had been wise enough to strap on a helmet, otherwise a broken jaw could have been added to his ever growing grocery list of aches and pains.

Now a thin piece of silk tape (donated by the buxom female German first aid patrol medic on duty that morning) tenuously held the bridge of Eddie's glasses together.

An angry-looking abrasion had already started to bloom a dark bruise on his left cheek, and a small split on his bottom lip was starting to scab. He winced slightly while adjusting in the large chair. The fall had left his body damaged and his pride hurt, but nothing broken that couldn't be fixed.

After waiting a few minutes while listening to the raspy harmony of Kim Carnes singing "Bette Davis Eyes" crackling from the waiting room radio, there was a light tap on his exam room door.

Dr. Rossi Gössner entered the exam room after plucking Eddie's thin chart from the rack hanging outside the door. Her bright blue eyes were veiled by a large pair of reading glasses perched on the tip of her petite nose.

She scanned the statistics of his chart while absently greeting him in German, "Hallo, Herr Edwards-" she then paused while reading his chief complaint.

"Ski-jumping?" She murmured as her eyes left the paper, sizing him up and meeting his bioptic stare. Amused, she perked a brow.

"Skispringen, mein Herr?" She gave him a small smile while clicking the pen in her left hand, trying to draw his attention.

"Are you British?" Eddie surprisingly asked while flashing her an infectious smile.

Dr. Rossi nodded slowly while setting down his chart and walking over to the exam chair to face him.

"And you, Mr. Edwards-" she reached up and deftly removed his thick glasses and then handed him a diopter, "-are a ski-jumper with a severe case of longsightedness."

Dr. Rossi motioned for him to cover his left eye while dimming the lights in the room, "Cover your left eye, please. Let's see how bad you really are."

His face reddened as he wrenched at the blue colored knit cap resting in his lap with his other free hand.

"Now," she gestured to the large exam chart on the opposite wall facing Eddie, "could you read the top line for me, sir?"

Eddie blinked a few times, squinted, reluctantly covered his left eye, and then started to recite the letters, "E-F-P..."
He paused and looked to the attractive DO. She nodded urging him to continue, "T-O-Z..."