The 2026 Winter Olympics are going on as we speak, and as a result, I get asked to provide media commentary in response to some mental aspect of the competition.
This week? The radio interview was all about Lindsey Vonn, the US downhill skier, who came into these Games after a 6-year break (yes, you read that right – 6 years!) from the sport due to injuries and was nursing a very recent anterior-cruciate ligament tear in her left knee. Knees, as you might imagine, are pretty critical for downhill skiing…so most of us were amazed that she was still standing, much less competing in her fifth Olympic Games.
But she came to race anyway. And, because this is sport and not Hollywood, there was no fairytale ending to this story. Vonn’s race ended in agony after just 13 seconds on the course at Cortina d’Ampezzo, when her arm was caught inside a gate, sending her crashing to the ground and breaking her leg.
The radio interviewer asked me if, in hindsight, I agreed with the critics who said that Lindsey Vonn was just selfish for competing when she knew she wasn’t at her best. And that had she just [done the right thing/been a good girl/didn’t think so much of herself – okay, those are my words] stepped aside and let someone else have her place, wouldn’t that have been a better outcome?
How dare she?
Never mind that she won her Olympic team spot fair and square. While we are heaping on the blame, shouldn’t we reserve some for USA Skiing for making that call?
Thinking about it, there’s a real “through line” here. And this is the real point.
Lindsey Vonn’s “fall from grace is only the most recent example of a high-profile female athlete copping shit from the rest of us. For daring.
There’s Rachael Gunn, aka Raygun, Australia’s entry into the 2024 Olympic breakdancing event. Despite making the Olympic team on her own merits (never mind the gaslighting from critics who suggested that her selection was an “inside job”) and choosing to be more interpretive rather than athletic in her choice of routine, Gunn was excoriated. Vilified. Critics were not satisfied with savaging her Olympic routine, but then trashed her reputation as an academic.
How dare she?
Then there’s Simone Biles, gymnastics’ GOAT (that’s “Greatest of All Time”). Biles was raked over the coals for deciding to withdraw from the 2021 Olympics gymnastics team event due to a case of “the twisties,” where she lost the ability to perceive her position while up in the air. Never mind that, despite the cutesy term, twisties, not having that kinesthetic awareness in the air during a gymnastics routine could kill you. Biles was called selfish (see a theme here?), soft, and even a traitor to her country for not just getting on with her winning ways.
How dare she?
Then there’s tennis player Naomi Osaka who attempted to opt out of a post-match media appearance during the 2021 French Open, citing mental health reasons. She was fined $15,000 for the omission and eventually withdrew from the tournament. This despite tournament rules that allowed players to miss media appearances for physical ailments. Adding insult to injury were calls from many fellow elite tennis players questioning Osaka’s character and belittling her lack of mental toughness.
How dare she?
And in the spirit of full disclosure (and maybe this is why I am so fired up about this), I have my own small “how dare you” story.
When I was 14, I was a softball pitcher — and I loved it. Before softball, there were no non-school sports for girls in my hometown. My father literally helped bring a league to town so we could play. Around that time, two close friends sat me down for what we’d now call an intervention. Their message? That if I kept being a “jock,” they couldn’t be friends with me. They had boyfriends. I didn’t. I didn’t fit the mould.
You can guess which choice I made.
How dare I?
Here’s the thing about daring: it rarely looks clean or noble in real time. It looks inconvenient. Uncomfortable. Disruptive. Sometimes even selfish (which, btw, I don’t see as a sin).
But daring is also where progress lives.
It’s where athletes reclaim agency over their bodies.
Where leaders challenge broken norms.
Where young girls decide they don’t need permission to take up space.
Dare.
Please dare.
Whatever you do — don’t stop.
So tell me:
What are you daring to do?
