You gotta know when to walk away and know when to run.

Some song lyrics are so catchy that they have become a ubiquitous part of our vocabularies, crucial to expressing sentiments in a way that combines metaphor and a silly quip. Kenny Rodgers crooned out my inspiration here in a song that I don’t feel any strong feelings about but yet this particular line has been running through my head for weeks. Something about the concept of “you gotta know” resonates with me. It’s equal parts an annoying way of non-answering a big and important question and an accurate way to capture the way our brains make big decisions. Right up there with “it just feels right” and “I followed my heart”. Alas. Buckle up for some over-analysis of cheesy pop-country metaphor, folks. 

Every time I talk through my decision-making process to move on from professional skiing with someone, I employ at least one of those tropes at some point during a meandering, long-winded explanation. I talk about the trials and tribulations of being a “bubble athlete”, always needing to fight for my right to be racing on the world cup. I innumerate the difficulties of homesickness and anxiety while traveling. I bring up the deep-seeded feelings of inadequacy that arise from being surrounded by and compared to type-a superhumans on a daily basis. But the conversation always turns back around to “I just know this is the right decision”. 

The truth is, none of those reasons really captures the way I feel about my ski career or it’s imminent end. I love the fight and I thrive on competition, even when it doesn’t go my way (like the ol’ 2022 Winter Olympics). The challenge of learning to manage anxiety and live with homesickness on the road has been one of the hardest and most rewarding self-discovery initiatives of my 24 years. As for those superhumans? Well, they are also some of my best friends and I wouldn’t trade knowing and loving them for the world. 

So, this brings us back around to Kenny. You gotta know when to walk away and know when to run. I’m walking away because I never want to feel like I have to run. The cross-country ski community is too important to me. Five years ago, I came close to quitting skiing. I was miserable, claustrophobic, and scared. That winter I knew when to run and when the time came, I sprinted like a spooked cat away from the ski world. There were plenty of diverse life factors contributing to that feeling, but one was the way that I had painted myself into a corner in my ski career. I focused all of my energy on ski racing and training, leaving myself no other outlets for self-determining challenge. Then, I went to Dartmouth and walked back to ski racing, simultaneously throwing myself in while making sure to meticulously pave multiple paths back out. In college, I learned that I have value as much more than a skier and I learned to prioritize other attributes of myself and to pursue other challenges. I learned how to be a complete human and there is simply no going back from that. Before college, I didn’t have the choice to walk, I could only run or stay put. 

Now, I can confidently say that I am excited and motivated to pursue a new challenge. This fall I will start full time school, working towards a Master’s of Social Work degree. I have been taking classes towards this degree part time for the past year and have felt increasingly excited to begin the hands-on learning portion of the degree. I think that for me, the difference between knowing when to walk away and knowing when to run is the difference between a destination and an abyss. Five years ago, when I ran away, I had no destination, no concrete challenging goal (other than learning how to quilt which I have to say was actually extremely therapeutic), it was an abyss. Now, I am more confident, less scared, and mentally healthier. I have given myself the gift of the flexibility to choose when I want to calmly walk towards a new and equally challenging and motivating goal. 

Walking away from full time ski racing is gut wrenching and simultaneously freeing. Devoting myself to social work school is overwhelming and thrilling. When you’re walking instead of running the decisions aren’t as cut and dried. Running is choosing flight out of two options: fight or flight. Walking means evaluating where you are and where you want to go at every new sign post, each time weighing pros and cons and making sure that the path reflects your current goals and desires. At every intersection what you know changes, sometimes a little and sometimes a lot. Right now, at my current crossroads, I know that it is time to walk away and I am proud to say that I am not running this time. 

I can’t wait to continue to be a part of the magical cross-country ski community in the U.S. in new and different ways. I never got ranked high enough on the World Cup to get my name on my athlete bib but you’d better believe next winter when you see me out on the trails, I’ll be proudly wearing a bright red coaching bib that says OGDEN on the back. 

So, without further adieu, a huge and heartfelt thank you goes out to everyone who has supported me over the years and made this sport the absolute best. Thank you to my dad for teaching me how to ski and how to love to ski. Thank you to West River Skiing for creating an environment that made cross country skiing the cool thing to do in elementary school and middle school. Thank you to Stratton Mountain School and SMS T2 for teaching me how to compete with confidence and love the process. Thank you to Dartmouth Skiing for opening my eyes to the world and making ski racing even more special to me. Thank you to Fischer and Swix for making me feel special by providing me with top of the line gear. Thank you to all of my teammates for suffering with me, laughing with me and crying with me. The ski community in the United States is incredibly special, and I am honored to be a part of it.