Let’s face it— sports are hard in terms of physical and mental health. Exerting your body over-and-over again through training and competition; preparing for years just to have an opportunity to perform at one event; facing defeat; facing injury; facing expectations; facing regiments served at the expense of family and friends; facing doubt in your abilities; facing identity crises.

Most elite athletes bear the burden of this reality. Furthermore, many have to deal with it behind closed doors. It isn’t surprising, then, that peering past the lens of ‘glitz and glamor’ reveals biologic mechanisms dealing with stress and emotion.

The sport of alpine skiing was foundational for my childhood. Growing up in Utah, the Rocky Mountains catalyzed my ski racing identity and shaped me into the man I am today. During my time at Amendola, I’ve witnessed how a a healthy team culture creates a healthy organization; and it’s planted at a humanistic level.

Confidence in your own identity is your most authentic self, and the most successful. Similarly, a PR/Marketing company that is authentic in its ethos is going to engage in successful business practices. The exposure I’ve had with a company that holds these values true has paralleled aspects of my experience as a professional athlete. Specifically, the importance of team culture; and most poignantly, culture in an industry that can tangibly improve the lives of athletes struggling with mental illness.

Since retiring from ski racing following the 2020/21 season, I’ve had the opportunity to reflect on what this narrative has meant to me. In doing so, I wish to share my perspective on a subject that has only recently been absolved of its taboo undertone.

Mental illness plaguing sport isn’t a new phenomenon. Whether it’s been Naomi Osaka’s efforts in destigmatizing mental illness, or the vulnerability illustrated by Olympians in The Weight of Gold, society has begun to unpack the ways in which archetypes of hubris and machismo have negatively impacted the world of sports. Sure enough, studies show that athlete populations are saturated with mental illness, and they are inept at seeking support. 

For me, a silver lining from Covid-19 was being able to take a break from studying and competition at Dartmouth College to compete professionally in Europe. I was disillusioned by paying tuition for education via Zoom, so I took advantage of the opportunity to double-down on athletics once again.

Fast-forward to February 2021, and I’m in Bulgaria peering out of the start gate at my first FIS World Cup event. I was in the midst of the best athletic season of my career—witnessing the fruition of my hard work. Grit materialized into accomplishing a dream I had been working towards since I was a few years old. It’s a surreal feeling to experience something you’ve romanticized your whole life. Some things seemed better, some things seemed worse, and other things you couldn’t possibly imagine.

However, in this outpouring of love and recognition for what I’d done, one emotion stuck with me: pain. 

It baffled me how unperturbed I was in the wake of my athletic success. I wasn’t proud of myself; I was only disappointed that I didn’t do better. As the season came to an end, I returned to the U.S. feeling tired and confused. How could I make it to the World’s highest stage in ski racing, just to feel average? Unbeknownst to me at the time, the ‘best season of my life’ had turned out to be the mental health equivalent of the “straw that broke the camel’s back.”

As I put the pieces together, I realized how fractured I’d become. I thought of the countless times I’d looked in the mirror only to see a version of myself that I didn’t love; it was the body that I was told I was supposed to have in order to be successful at my sport, but it wasn’t a body that made me happy.

I recounted the years that my metric of self-worth was tied to how fast I had skied that day. I remembered working out twice, maybe three times a day, and still feeling as if it wasn’t enough. I pictured my coaches in the midst of my best results, reiterating for me to keep pushing, keep improving. I remembered toxic locker rooms, where if you didn’t epitomize masculinity, you were considered weird.

Regardless, it was in this darkness that I’d found commonality with other athletes who’d struggled with mental illness; I wasn’t alone. (You, reader, YOU are not alone). 

So here I am, retired from a sport that seemed to be my only life-source. In the midst of this “identity crisis,” I’ve been on a journey towards self-discovery. Albeit I did not wish to lament. I look back on ski racing with a heartfelt nostalgia; I have been fortunate enough to travel the world doing something I’ve loved, and I’m equally grateful for the triumphs, as well as the tribulations, that have contributed to my journey. As fractured as I was, it created the man I am today, and I’m proud of that person.

Fortunately, there are more avenues than ever for mental health outreach. De-stigmatization of mental illness in conjunction with other aspects of social progress paints a future of athletics in which it’s ok to be vulnerable, and it’s okay to not be okay. Within the scope of healthcare, mental health services have a high ceiling for innovation and growth. We’ve already seen a surge of digitalized mental health care/outreach in response to a pandemic-fueled mental health crisis.

The need for mental health solutions is only going to increase, because internal and external stressors are more prevalent now than ever before. Corporate environments that champion diversity, equity, and inclusion reap benefits through improving the lives of stakeholders. Toxic culture—whether it’s in sports, PR or other business—is antithetical to growth. Now more than ever, we are seeking help, and it’s only going to make the world a better place.