20 Years Ago Ski Racing Broke my Heart…and my Thoughts on Lindsey Vonn
As Olympian Lindsey Vonn embarks on her comeback, one I am following closely and have admittedly questioned, I see with fresh eyes her desire for another chance. She and I are the same age, born in 1984, and we raced against each other at times. She had dreams, just the same as I did.
The other night Tom and I were watching the Aaron Rodgers docuseries about his move to play football for the New York Jets. Aaron had just torn his Achilles tendon and was feeling really, really down about it.
He said “I know people always say ‘things happen for a reason,’ but I’m really struggling to see the reason behind this injury. This is probably the hardest thing I have ever dealt with, this disappointment I feel right now.”
Isn’t that always the truth in the moment? We can’t see why things happen- how they could lead us to something we never would have done, or what that experience might do to strengthen our character- until years or even decades later. The problem with that sentiment- it happened for a reason- is that it often diminishes the feelings I am having of disappointment, sadness, anger, or hurt about whatever happened, because there is some bigger meaning I am supposed to be grateful for. For him, it was ending his season, possibly his career, with an injury, just as he was embarking on a journey with a new team that he was excited about. No matter how much success he may have experienced in the past, he was probably fearing this was the way it was all going to end. Isn't that the truth though? Everyone wants to go out with a bang, finish off feeling great, not leaving anything left undone.
I know that feeling well, having sustained two season-ending knee injuries while racing for Middlebury College- the second one having happened just one week before Kelly was paralyzed in her ski racing accident. These injuries were especially devastating because of how much I loved racing in college, how fulfilling I found it, and how much I wanted to become an All-American. I had given up on my dream to be an Olympian like my Mom, and never really wanted to race for the US Ski Team. But NCAA All-American, that I wanted!
My freshmen year I came in 12th, missing All-American by two places (you needed to place in the top-ten at NCAA Championships). My sophomore year, I blew my ACL in the final race of the season, two weeks before NCAAs. Less than a year later, while racing mid-way through my junior season, I blew out the newly repaired ACL again. A week later, I would be rehabbing my freshly injured knee, prepping for surgery, when I would get the call from my sister’s boyfriend (now brother-in-law) telling me that Kelly had been badly injured and was heading to the hospital. Suddenly my devastating, season-ending knee injury felt pretty insignificant.
Three years gone by in a blink, no All-American status.
After each injury, I was determined to come back, to bring my dream of becoming an NCAA All-American to reality. This dream, unlike some, was well-within my reach. I had won races, placed in the top five or ten countless times. I not only wanted the honor of All-American, I believed I deserved it. But taking myself out of the running two years in a row had left only my senior year, one race. My sister was learning to ski in a mono-ski. I was recovering from two knee surgeries. And yet, I was determined to make it happen.
I recently wrote a letter to my dad about the day of my final race at the NCAA Championships. A few years ago, I started writing letters to both my parents, in place of a Christmas gift. I got them each a binder and labeled it the “Book of Stories” and every year my sister and I write up a memory about them. The gift is admittedly selfish because my hope is that by the time they die, we will have this big book of stories for all of us to enjoy, especially my kids. And in the meantime, they get to enjoy reading the stories of our fond memories of them, since they are past the point of needing any material gifts.
As I wrote the letter about that day at Attitash, the tears started to fall. I never did become an All-American. I came up just short, just a few places out of the top ten.
Writing the letter to my dad opened up an old wound, one I didn’t know still existed; one I thought I had long ago come to terms with. I wasn’t expecting it, but I could not stop crying thinking back to that day- the nerves, the intensity, the disappointment, the sadness. Both my parents had been there and fully understood my desire to fulfill my dream and were equally as invested in my success. They were feeling every emotion right there with me. It was a day we all remember well.
At the time, I felt the exact same as Aaron Rodgers- really, really sad and disappointed in myself for not being able to perform at that last race. But over time, as often happens, I have come to see the ‘reason’ or at least ‘the good’ in my unfulfilled dream. I would tell Aaron that he will likely have to wait many, many years to understand the positive impacts of this experience on his life. Because the hurt and disappointment lived on with me for quite some time after I left college.
But with time and perspective, I have been able me to see my career as much bigger than one missed top-ten. The friends, the places I got to go, the ups and downs, learning how to truly work for something.
It’s easier now to give myself the proper credit for how much strength and courage it took for me to come back as strong as I did. After all the turmoil I had been through, I can actually say I am proud of what I was able to do, despite how the last race turned out.
And, I have space from the heartbreak. Time heals all wounds, right? It still stings when touched in just the right way, but I also have a bigger part of me that thinks it’s ok. It’s ok that I didn’t come out on top, because the majority of the world does not come out on top, especially in ski racing where there is only ever one winner, aka the most brutal sport there ever was. And that failure, if you can even call it that (I still qualified for the NCAAs, which is a feat in itself), allows me to have compassion for those that don’t always win, that don’t get everything they want, that try really, really, REALLY hard for something, and still don’t get it. Because I’ve been there too. I know what it feels like to do everything you can, to believe you deserve something, and still not cut the mustard. Up until the Grammy’s a few days ago, I think Beyonce would relate 😊
Maybe that’s the problem with the theory of ‘things happen for a reason’- it’s impossible to relate to it because it might take 20 years to see the ‘reason.’ And maybe, that heartbreak will never fully go away, so time is your only possible hope of truly healing it.
The interesting thing is that winning, the opposite of failure, doesn’t bring the same intensity of emotion. Winning is just another notch on the belt of achievements. Sometimes the wins are even forgotten. When I was talking to my Dad about my letter, he appropriately reminded me that I had placed 3rd in the Middlebury Carnival just the week before the NCAA Championships- an incredible result at my home mountain, with hundreds of Middlebury students and fans cheering loudly on the sidelines- a dream come true to a senior ending her career! But it does not feel like that 3rd place carries the equivalent amount of joy and pride, as the failed NCAA top ten carries the sadness, disappointment, and failure. Somehow one does not cancel out or even equalize the other.
When I began writing this post, I was thinking only of my own heartbreak, the one I thought was long dormant. But I think so many of us have moments from our past, especially in sports, where we still feel disappointment. I bet those memories are so immediate, so right there, they come back in an instant. It’s not a very interesting writing topic to tell the story of how you failed to finish top ten or make the team or got hurt playing your sport. Would I even consider processing this heartbreak with a therapist? Not before today. It’s just a game, right? And yet, after writing that letter to my Dad, and witnessing my own overflow of emotion, maybe we need to give these disappointments, these unfulfilled dreams, a bigger space in our heart. They are as big as any other challenging moment in life. They shape us, they change us, they gnaw at us, and they need to be seen.
I would even venture to speculate that maybe, I could have raced with more freedom, fully present in my body, had I taken the time to process my own devastation over my previous knee injuries, my sister’s accident, and my intense desire to make it all worth it by becoming an All-American. Surely something good coming out of all that destruction would make everyone happy again, right?
As Olympian Lindsey Vonn embarks on her comeback, one I am following closely and have admittedly questioned, I see with fresh eyes her desire for another chance. She and I are the same age, born in 1984, and we raced against each other at times. She had dreams, just the same as I did. Maybe her comeback is driven by an insatiable need for adrenaline or she has a record she thinks she deserves or she believes she should have another Olympic medal (I’m guessing it’s this one, but that’s total speculation), or she simply wants to erase the disappointment and sadness she undoubtedly felt (still feels?) after having to end her career before she was ready. I didn’t have an opportunity to try again for NCAA All-American, not that I would have taken it. Instead, I graduated college with a degree and moved to Jackson Hole to be a ski bum. But she does have that chance, and I am sure she has worked damn hard for it too. I can only hope for her that the weight of her unfulfilled dreams does not prove to be too big a burden to bear. Whether she goes out with a bang, or in a crushing heartbreak, I have no doubt she will someday look back with perspective and appreciate the full scope of everything she was able to do in her racing career.
Lately, as I witness my own children set off on their sporting lives, I have been contemplating the role sports have played in my life. Why was I bestowed the gift of such athletic talent- thanks Mom and Dad and Grumps! But, what truly is the purpose of such a talent? “These things don’t just happen, you know,” a quote from one of my favorite childhood movies “Angels in the Outfield.” 😊
Watching my kids journey through the throws of their sports certainly sheds some light on it all. The thrill, the heartbreak, the excitement, the courage. I’ve always known that a lot of life’s lessons can be found in the pursuit of sports greatness. But this feels like another layer, a more personal one, another clue into who I am, maybe even a ‘reason’ worth noting for my NCAA unfulfilled dream. I haven’t figured it all out yet, but what I do know now, is that these memories, these disappointments, they live on inside of us, as part of us, and they matter.
With love, Lindsay