Reviews | Our culture of winning at all costs is shattered. It almost broke me.

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“Little girl, slow down!” a frightened member of the ski patrol yelled at me as I sped past him and walked down the hill.

“But it feels good !” I yelled at him over my shoulder as I held on to my class, according to my parents, who recall the incident.

I was 5. Ever since my dad first put on my little ski boots when I was only 18 months old, skiing was my refuge. Throughout my childhood, it was the thing I really excelled at and could do effortlessly. It was like I told the ski patrol that day – it felt good.

And I was fast. When I was 14, I was part of the United States Telemark Ski Association development team and then joined the World Cup team. When I was 16, on my native mountain, Steamboat Springs, Colorado, in front of my family and friends, I won a World Cup race.

Then I quit.

Skiing almost broke me. And I’m far from the only athlete with a story like this. Elite competitors past and present are start talking on a reality that some coaches, doctors and sports associations have ignored or even intentionally covered up: world-class competitive sports can push children and young adults to breaking point and sometimes beyond. It’s not just a few bad apples; it is a culture singularly focused on winning at all costs, a culture that sometimes neglects the mental and physical health of athletes.

Gymnast Simone Biles reignited that conversation at the Tokyo Olympics by showing the strength and grace of knowing when to step back and not compete. In doing so, she has also shown us a path to healthier sports. Now we – athletes, viewers, sports teams and associations – must do our part to end the shame and better protect the safety, health and future of young athletes.

I wish someone had the guts to do what Biles did when I was still competing, because I sure didn’t. Skiing made me special. “You are Zoë, the skier,” people said. So when the thoughts of quitting the sport arose, I pushed them away. Ski to take away, and pouf – it goes special. I would just be Zoe. And who was Zoë without skiing? A goofy, mean girl who was too nerdy to be cool, not considered smart enough to be a nerd, and too weird for everything else. So I skied.

Some days ski racing brought me so much joy, but some days it caused more pain and danger to my young body and mind than I could handle.

I didn’t feel like I had a choice. I was bound by a sport that was part of my identity, by the expectations of my hometown and by contracts that required me to participate in specific races. I felt there was no room for me to have a bad day, even when skiing on a bad day could mean – and for me meant – landing on my head after a jump, almost breaking your spine. spinal cord and have chronic back pain for the rest of your life. I started to resent the sport that had once been my escape route.

I competed on rest days and competed on dangerous days. Sport started to hurt me, both physically and mentally. I struggled with a concussion, with a back injury and with maintaining my grades.

Then, in 2014, during my first year of college, came the last straw. I learned that the dates for the nationals were for a school week and would require me to skip classes. I contacted the leaders of the US Telemark Ski Association and appealed to them. I told them I couldn’t miss school anymore. The association’s board of directors unanimously refused to grant me an exemption.

Here’s how I heard the board’s response: Either you care about the sport or you don’t. It felt like a choice between giving up my life and my health to ski or quit smoking. So I made the choice: I was out. I chose to violate my contract. I chose to give up my place in the team. But really, I chose myself. I chose my future and my well-being.

And every day I’m glad I did, even if it meant letting go of what I thought made me special. I ended up working hard at the undergraduate level, regaining my health, and entering one of the best medical schools in the country. I am studying now to spend the rest of my life helping others get healthy.

I will be eternally grateful that I was able to represent my country on the world stage and win a World Cup race for the United States. But what if there had been a Simone Biles a decade earlier? What if I had felt able to make the choices I needed to make to be healthy earlier? I could have kept my love for competition. I could have kept running.

Simone Biles is leading a necessary cultural shift towards the recognition that mental health is physical health. We now need to broaden our definition of sports medicine to include mental health. Everyone involved in a young athlete’s career – from coaches to spectators, teams and organizations – must recognize that mental health must be offered along with rehabilitation and therapy as any other injury.

Now is the time to take Biles’ example and start a conversation about the changing structures, demands and expectations that put young, high performance athletes at risk of their physical and mental health to represent their country.

Zoë Ruhl is a women’s health advocate and third-year medical student at the Perelman School of Medicine at the University of Pennsylvania. She competed for the US Telemark Ski Team from 2009 to 2014.

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