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My name is Scott Stewart. I no longer live in Mammoth, but it was a place I grew up and called home frequently.
My uncle, Robert Baillie, saw the biathlon competitions during the last Olympics and knew it was something he had to try.
Robert appeared to be in supreme health. He was definitely the adventurous type. From skiing to motocross, he certainly left nothing behind. Go big or go home, if you know what I mean.
He was also a loving family man, with a fantastic wife and two beautiful daughters. In addition, Robert has two other brothers and four sisters.
I could go on and on talking about him and great things he’s done, but I want to get to the point.
My uncle, after finishing the biathlon on the 23rd of March, was found face down lifeless in the snow.
His body stretched out in exhaustion never regained its strength. A fellow competitor, who I found out to be doctor, sensed something was wrong and immediately went to work on him.
Shortly after, he was life flighted to a hospital in Reno.
On March 24, between 9 a.m. and 12 p.m., I was told I had lost my uncle Robert.
I love him. I miss him. I hurt. I cry.
He died doing what he loved to do. Going big.
And doing so in one of the most beautiful places out there.
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