On Sunday, my heart was heavy since 6am EST—and it still is.
On 2/8/2026 I set my alarm to wake up bright and early to watch Lindsey Vonn compete in the Olympics. Watching her crash was brutal. Not as a sports moment—but as a human one. One split second changed her life, and it touched me deeply. It brought tears to my eyes throughout the day as I reflected and searched for updates.
And maybe watching that crash brought sadness to you, too. It’s not easy for “strangers” or situations completely outside my control to impact me like this did.
And it made me realize how long her story has quietly been part of my own mental “inspiration library.”
The first time I noticed Lindsey Vonn, I thought: who is this woman?
The first time I was introduced to Lindsey in 2018 was through a client who shared a one-minute NBC Winter Olympics commercial about her career (I’m linking it below). I remember watching it and thinking: Who is this woman?
I started checking her out here and there over the years, learning pieces of her story, and my admiration grew fast.
Then about two years ago, I listened to her book, Rise: My Story… and I was completely consumed by it. I couldn’t put it down.
The book made me feel like I wasn’t just watching an athlete—I was seeing the inside of a mind that refuses to quit.
Why her book Rise pulled me in (and wouldn’t let go)
What I fell in love with wasn’t the skiing.
It was her as a person—and her thought process. The way she makes decisions for what she truly wants, and then lives with full ownership of those decisions.
Early on, I actually caught myself thinking, “Is she a Libra?” She is. Call it intuition or pattern recognition, but from the beginning I felt oddly close to how she processes the world.
No, not because I’m an Olympian (I’m not, and never will be), but because certain patterns felt familiar: the intensity, the clarity, the commitment, the way discipline can look “odd” to people who don’t live that way.
She’s extremely committed—and sometimes misunderstood because of it. That part hit home.
When your commitment is “abnormal” to others, you either spend time explaining yourself… or you accept that you’re a bit of a black sheep and you keep going anyway, because it’s what works.
I was also in awe of her parents—especially her dad. Not in a pushy, stage-parent way, but in a listen-to-the-dream and build-a-plan kind of way. The responsibility, discipline, and structure he helped create shaped who she became.
And it made me think about something bigger: how many kids never get that chance—not because they lack talent or desire, but because life, resources, time, or systems don’t create space for their dream to grow.
Another reason the book stayed with me: she didn’t pretend confidence just shows up. She built it from the inside. And every time someone questioned her, doubted her, or dismissed her, she didn’t collapse—she got sharper. She flourished under being questioned because she turned it into fuel.
That kind of confidence isn’t loud. It’s earned.
She also wasn’t afraid to share the mental and emotional challenges. She talked about needing support, needing growth, needing help—because high performance doesn’t mean “I’m fine.” It means “I’m willing to do what it takes.”
That honesty made her story even more powerful to me.
The part that made me angry: the “you’re too old” crowd
When she announced she was returning to competitive skiing last year, I felt genuine excitement and joy. I’ve been extremely positive and confident about her—not because I thought life would hand her a perfect ending, but because she never stopped believing in herself.
And I think so many women stop believing in themselves far too early.
We start negotiating with our dreams. We shrink them to fit a schedule, a fear, a story about age, or someone else’s expectations.
Lindsey didn’t do that.
And I want to say something that’s been sitting in my chest since her comeback was announced: the criticism she received—especially about her age—was painful to watch.
In the comment sections, people told her to “let it go,” to “step aside,” to stop taking up space. And what hit me hardest was seeing how much of that negativity came from everyday people who know almost nothing about the sacrifice, medical support, discipline, and courage it takes to even attempt what she attempted.
Some of it came from women—women tearing down another woman for daring to dream loudly. That was heartbreaking.
And then something else happened: once she started winning again, the tone shifted. Suddenly people were impressed. Suddenly people were cheering.
I’ll be honest—I found that hard to swallow.
It reminded me how quickly the world praises you after you prove yourself, but questions you when you’re still in the arena doing the hard part.
A split second… and everything changes
Yesterday, I couldn’t stop thinking about the moment she knew she was going down—the split second where her arm caught the gate and her body followed.
Beyond the pain and health concerns, there has to be a flood of thoughts: everything you’ve trained for, everything you’ve pushed through, everyone watching, the possibility that this is the ending.
I can’t imagine what was going through her mind in that instant.
Weeks of incredible momentum… and then this.
It felt tragic. And it felt deeply saddening.
And still… it doesn’t erase what she proved.
What people are forgetting today is what she did before that split second: she returned and racked up seven World Cup podiums, including two wins. That doesn’t disappear because of one crash.
Downhill skiing is dangerous—full stop
I also think it’s worth saying out loud: downhill skiing is truly dangerous.
These athletes are flying down an icy mountain at highway speeds—often 75–95 mph depending on the course.
That’s why the strength required is insane: legs, hips, glutes, and core working overtime to absorb impact, stay stable, and hold a razor-thin line at speed.
It’s not just athleticism—it’s controlled power under extreme risk.
The message I can’t unsee: age isn’t the limit—health is the enabler
At 41, Lindsey Vonn qualified again for the Olympics. That alone matters.
For women 35+, 40+, and beyond—especially those who’ve been told (directly or subtly) that their “prime” is behind them—she became proof that it can be done.
Which brings me to what this changed for me:
Age isn’t the limit. Health is the enabler.
Her comeback wasn’t powered by youth. It was powered by preparation, resilience, recovery, strength, and the kind of mental capacity that’s built over decades.
A body that could support a big dream.
You don’t have to be an Olympian to live with that level of intention.
But you do need health—real, supportive, sustainable health—to pursue what matters to you. To keep showing up. To recover faster from setbacks. To get up again when life knocks you down.
Because it’s not the fall that defines us.
It’s how we get up—and how fast we get back to ourselves.
What This Made Me Think About Coaching, Support, and the Body Behind the Dream
Watching Lindsey’s journey—especially her return—also reminded me of something we don’t talk about enough: no one operates at that level alone.
Elite athletes don’t just train harder. They surround themselves with coaches, medical teams, recovery specialists, mindset coaches, and performance experts. Not because they’re broken—but because they’re committed to operating at a higher level.
And while most of us aren’t training for the Olympics, many of us are training for something meaningful:
- A demanding career
- Leadership responsibilities
- Creative work or entrepreneurship
- A season of reinvention
- Or simply the desire to feel strong, clear-headed, and capable again
What I see again and again in the people I work with is this quiet knowing:
“I know there’s more in me—but my body isn’t fully supporting it.”
Maybe you’re doing “all the right things,” but your energy doesn’t match your ambition.
Maybe stress feels like it’s running the show.
Maybe hormones, blood sugar swings, poor recovery, or stubborn weight are slowing you down.
Maybe you’re not sick—but you’re not thriving either.
That gap matters.
Because just like Lindsey’s comeback wasn’t powered by age—but by preparation, recovery, resilience, and support—your next level isn’t about pushing harder. It’s about making sure your body can actually sustain what you want to build.
That’s where functional, personalized coaching comes in.
Not to “fix” you.
But to help your body support your goals instead of fighting them.
Think of it as building the internal foundation that allows you to keep showing up, recovering faster, and moving forward—without burning out or settling.
What I hope for her—and what I hope for you
Right now, I truly wish Lindsey a healthy and speedy recovery. It’s possible that competitive skiing is behind her. And if it is, that chapter closes with immense courage.
I have no doubt she’ll continue to inspire young girls—and women of all ages—for years to come.
Some chapters end. The impact doesn’t.
And if you’re reading this thinking about your own future—your energy, your health, your strength, your next chapter—please hear me:
You don’t have to give up on your goals because of a birthday.
But you do need a body (and a plan) that supports the life you want.