
Written by 2x Olympic skier, Kaylin Richardson
March 11, 2022
4 min read
Another four year cycle has come to a close.
I think that I can speak for many Olympians, former and current, and say that we tend to gauge our personal progression in “annual blocks of four.”
It has now been twelve years since my own Olympic journey came to a close, which is hard to believe.
In some ways, my time on the Alpine World Cup, donning spandex, and battling for tenths of a second seems like yesterday.
At other times, it seems like a lifetime ago.
The reality is somewhere in between.
What surprises me even more than the passing of time is the fact that my life has been just as exciting after my Olympic career. Maybe more so!
Once I officially jumped off my race boards, I landed “boots first” in the big mountains, ready to explore.
I always wanted to experience the mountains more organically, without a course dictating my path.
Big mountain skiing allowed me to express myself fully.
No time to beat.
No style to perfect.
Just the mountain and me.
It was more than the improvisation I had been looking for.
It made me feel more myself than ever before.
It is hard to imagine when you’re immersed in phases of change, but these phases are such priceless periods.
There is uncertainty, but there is also so much adventure.
Everything is new.
I remember venturing into the backcountry for the first time.
I had to borrow skins and a beacon, and I had no idea what a kick turn was.
I hobbled my way up the slope, relishing every second.
It was incredible.
I was instantly hooked.
The adrenaline I felt before kicking out of the start in a downhill on bulletproof ice is different from the focus I feel before dropping into a big backcountry line.
But that adrenaline and that focus are what helped me discover who I am.
The mountains are woven into the fabric of who I am at my core.
My first ski filming experience was as a last minute addition to a Warren Miller segment.
At the top of my first shot, I remember having to harness all the focus and skill I had gleaned as a racer, but with none of the negative pressure.
I vividly recall loving this challenge.
Every transition is an opportunity.
I delight in sharing this epiphany with athletes as they transition.
More than that, I love talking with athletes while they are still competing, to hear how they define their own journey.
I had the opportunity to chat with Canadian alpine racer, Erin Mielzynski, via zoom, before her fourth (!!) Olympic Games in Beijing.
I am almost seven years Erin's senior, so she and I didn’t race for many years together, but I remember being so impressed with her poise and focus from an early age. My admiration has only grown over the years as I have watched her progress into a force on the tech World Cup circuit, especially in slalom.
Erin and I talked for almost an hour, and could have talked for far longer.
Even though we don't know each other extremely well, we have substantial common ground.
The regimented life of a ski racer is always measured by hundredths of a second.
Pressure is not an anomaly, it is a way of life.
And the increased scrutiny that the Winter Games puts on athletes is hard to understand, unless you've been in those shoes.
I was fascinated to find that, for Erin, the desire for a medal has not changed, but her attitude has.
When she was young, her aim was simple: have fun, ski fast, and win races.
(And, to be clear, that’s as it should be when you’re starting out.)
The simplicity of youth is necessary.
The wisdom and perspective of age is powerful.
Erin still has her eye on the podium, but it’s accompanied by a deeper love and appreciation for the many nuances of sport—and perhaps for herself:
“What I would be most excited about is bringing more of who I am into the games… instead of just being a contender, being more secure of who I am as a person and showing that as an athlete.”
I could identify with this on a deep level.
It’s the sentiment that helped me recognize my need to explore the wild side of the mountains after the Vancouver Games in 2010.
She explained that her hope was that when she stands in the start gate that she will find joy and ski beautifully free. For herself.
As much as Erin is racing through gates, she is chasing a feeling:
“That feeling. When I come through the finish and know that was ME. I want to cross the finish line and think, that was Erin. You just saw Erin. Not a scared version of me. Not the version people expect to see. Me.”
THAT is what transition is all about.
Pursuing the ever-authentic YOU.
I find it on the rugged side of a mountain.
For now, Erin is finding it as she slices from red to blue gates.
Erin finished 16th in the slalom in Beijing this last round of the Winter Games. It was not the result she was hoping for, but when I watched her ski I saw a woman attacking the course, skiing aggressively—skiing beautifully.
I saw Erin.
And although I know she wanted more, that is a worthy victory.
Our lives tend to flow from one phase into another.
Maybe the transitions happen to fall neatly into four year blocks of intense training and competition… but more likely, they’re more fluid.
Wherever your path takes you, what I’ve learned, and what Erin reinforced, is that if you always endeavor to grow closer to your authentic self, that is progress worth pursuing.
Whatever Erin does following this ski season, whether she continues to pursue greatness in ski racing or she shifts her gaze to another arena, she will flourish because she is on the never-ending journey to figure out who she is.
We all are.
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