There is no try

For me, when it comes to sports, there is no try. The inclination to try ended one cold day in 1982 on the bunny slope of a Connecticut ski resort.

I have never been particularly good at physical pursuits. I can ride a bike, but not fast. I played tennis in high school gym, but had little eye-hand coordination. I suppose I could run, but not gracefully, and not up to running club standards. I might – just for fun – bowl, or skate, or play frisbee. But real sports, no. I had always thought it was lack of interest, lack of trying that kept me off the fields of sport. But I eventually learned the painful truth that sport is not in my body’s vocabulary.

When I was in graduate school, a group of friends decided to take a weekend trip to hit the slopes. Many of them grew up in New England, so skiing was no big deal. I went along to go along… but seriously, how hard could it be to swish down an easy run? I imagined being rewarded with shared laughter in front of a fire after a long day. So the morning after we arrived, I bundled up and trekked over to the beginners’ lessons.

The first thing they teach you is how to stop, because you shouldn’t go up the mountain if you can’t stop forward motion when you need to. That requires some weird contortion of your legs to point the tips of your skis at one another, forming a V. Try as I would, I could not get my body or my skis to move that way. I listened carefully and attempted to imitate the instructor’s movements. And still I fell, and fell again. I watched a parade of little kids graduate to the slopes while I was still trudging up and falling down on the bunny slope until time ran out on the lesson.

I can be gracious about it now, but then I was completely humiliated, so unbelievably embarrassed, I didn’t want to face my friends. One of the most athletic of my companions kindly offered to tutor me the next day, but I was sure that would be another disaster I didn’t need this guy to witness. Bad enough he knew – they all knew – what a dork I was, how upset I was by the whole debacle.

And in my heart, I know it was that bunny slope that crushed my willingness to attempt anything athletic ever again.

I am reminded of that this week as I hear about the determination and grit of Olympic downhill skier Lindsey Vonn. Injured beyond ability to compete in 2019, she had knee replacement surgery in 2024 and was able to return to the sport she loved. In the 2025-26 World Cup season, she has taken the podium seven times and was ranked number one in the downhill standings.

However, in a race nine days before the Olympics, she tore her ACL. Even so, she took stock of her body and her mental state and chose to compete in the Games. You’ve heard about what happened: Vonn unluckily hooked her arm on a gate and wound up crashing down the slope, resulting in a triple compound fracture of her leg.

We don’t know if Lindsey Vonn can compete again, but from her hospital room, she is posting positive messages, “The ride was worth the fall. When I close my eyes at night I don’t have regrets and the love I have for skiing remains. I am still looking forward to the moment when I can stand on the top of the mountain once more. And I will.”

Consider what it takes to even be in that Olympic starting gate and stare down a mountain. You have to really want it. Competing at that level requires commitment to a rigorous training schedule and consistent practice. Bolstering you further is what psychologists call self-efficacy – a deep belief that you can do what you set out to do, that it’s within your grasp. You’ll find these qualities in all world-class athletes, certainly, but also in the ordinary people who dedicate time on nights and weekends to a sport they love.

By comparison, on that bunny hill over 40 years ago, I had only a half-hearted desire to ski, no preparatory strength training, and a rapidly diminishing belief that I could do it if I just tried.

Yoda, the wise Jeddi master, said, “Do or do not; there is no try.” Lindsey Vonn – and countless other athletes, whether Olympic-level or amateurs – choose to do. Me… I will never know the joy of sport. I have chosen to “do not,” indeed, to not even try.

But we all have our own mountains to stare down: activities we love, skills we thrive in developing, pursuits we pursue even through hardships. For me, that is the art of writing. In that arena, I find my desire to stick to it, dedication to taking classes and seeking coaching, and belief that I can get better. I’ll choose to do that till the end of my days.

This post is dedicated to all Olympians in the 2026 Games… who inspire us to continue despite the falls, again and again and again.