I woke up to a flood of notifications this morning. Lindsey Vonn had a serious crash during her Olympic downhill race and had to be airlifted. My college friends, all from different athletic backgrounds, filled our group chat with screenshots of heroic EMTs and the shocking moment of her fall. Just nine days earlier, she had torn her ACL in Austria and still chose to race down that hill at 80 miles an hour. Many questioned her decision to compete at 41 without a major ligament in her knee.
The big question that hung in our conversation was whether it’s better for athletes to listen to their bodies and respect their limits, rather than push through pain. Most of us agreed, “Yes!”
Vonn has a long list of injuries: broken legs, torn ligaments, and more. While she has fame and wealth, many athletes endure far more suffering without reward. It’s tough to understand why some athletes keep pushing through pain.
As I read the messages, I lay on a heating pad. I know pain well. During my soccer career, I made decisions that led to a back injury, and now, my pregnancy has flared it up again. Doctor visits in Seattle, Melbourne, and Seoul all had one key question for me: “Do you want to pick up your grandchildren?” I always answered without thinking, “No.”
Still in bed, I decided to watch the video of Vonn’s crash, despite my nerves. What was I hoping to find?
There’s something almost spiritual about sports. The intense devotion fans show, or the incredible skills athletes display—it’s captivating. I cranked up the volume and replayed the moment of her fall. You can clearly hear her cry, “Oh my God.”
Sports have a way of blurring boundaries. There’s a historical echo here; saints offered their suffering for a higher purpose. St. Teresa of Avila, known for her visions, described severe pain leading her to a profound spiritual experience—pain that felt transformative and meaningful.
After her crash, Vonn shared on Instagram, “While yesterday did not end the way I had hoped, I have no regrets.” It’s fascinating how such incidents can bring about discussions on suffering, sacrifice, and devotion.
As I watched more Olympic events, the violent nature of some sports became clear. Athletes fall, get hurt, and sometimes even need to be airlifted. Journalist Sam Anderson described it well—moments of injury remind us that athletes, despite their superhero-like abilities, are indeed human. Yet, when I watched Vonn, I saw something different. Their injuries might show they’re closer to transcending ordinary experiences, expressing something deeper.
St. Teresa had a scar from a mythical wound, a mark that spoke of her unique experiences. Similarly, athletes train hard, often ignoring risks to achieve greatness. Their pain becomes part of their story, yet society often trivializes these sacrifices, expecting inspiration from them.
Women athletes face even more pressure. They must continually prove their worth, battling stereotypes about strength and resilience. Many are told they can’t compete, and the stakes are high.
As a coach, I’d never urge my players to ignore injuries. Athletic devotion should not come at the cost of long-term health. Vonn’s social media posts often include inspiring quotes, but they can feel empty compared to the real struggles athletes face.
Instead of looking for lessons from their sacrifices, perhaps we should appreciate their journeys—a blend of awe and respect. I can’t fathom the speed and skill of elite athletes, nor the thrill of competition. But they reach for something most of us can’t grasp—something awe-inspiring and transcendent.
So, let them pursue their passions, and let’s respect their journey, without demanding explanations for their experiences.
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