A Love Letter to the Sport that Made Me Who I Am 

For the first time in my life, I draw a blank when simply asked, “What do you do in your free time?” I can no longer talk about the sport that shaped me into the person I am today. Skiing was never just a hobby or winter activity for me—it was the structure of my days, the reason my afternoons had purpose. It was on the slopes where I learned who I was, shaping my childhood and giving me lifelong friends.

Alpine ski racing is made up of four main events: slalom, giant slalom, super-G, and downhill. Slalom and GS are considered the technical, or “tech,” events, while super-G and downhill are known as the speed events. Younger athletes usually compete in slalom, GS, and super-G, and as they get older, they find their niche. I was always a tech skier, and slalom was my favorite. Even now, the sound of someone running a slalom course is one of my favorites—the quick snap of skis carving and gates hitting the snow. I loved how fast everything happened in slalom. Once I found a rhythm, it was reflexive; soaring down the slopes let my mind go free. Skiing made me feel like the clearest, most focused version of myself.

In high school, no matter how much I dedicated myself to my academics and extracurriculars, skiing was always at the front of my mind. I was always thinking about my next race, practice, or workout. 

I spent nearly every afternoon driving straight from school to the hill, clicking into my skis as the sun began to set. After practice, I stayed to help coach the U10 racers, then headed to the gym, chasing the strength I thought would make me faster the next day. Repeating this routine every weekday and finishing homework late at night built the discipline helped me get into Harvard. It is the same discipline that now helps me push through difficult classes and long nights of studying. Though I now run in my spare time, nothing will ever compare to the structure—and more importantly, the thrill—of racing.

In my senior year of high school, I got the chance to compete in NorAms, competing against athletes who are now skiing at the Olympics, like AJ Hurt. At the time, it felt surreal, but looking back, it feels like the perfect culmination of something that had defined me for so long. 

Skiing also took me across Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, New Hampshire, Vermont, Maine, New York, and into Canada—places I might never have seen otherwise. Growing up in rural Michigan, many of my classmates had never traveled far beyond the Midwest. Through ski racing, the country and world began to feel bigger and more within reach. I learned that if I worked hard enough and qualified for races, I could earn the chance to see new places, stand atop unfamiliar mountains, and race alongside my friends.

But skiing was about more than the places I went; it was about the people I met. I made my closest, dearest friends through the sport. Some of them have been in my life for as long as I can remember. There are pictures of us together at the ski hill when we were only six years old. My closest childhood friend lives in California now, almost 3,000 miles away, but no matter how long we go without seeing each other, we always pick up right where we left off. 

The older girls on my team and my coaches modeled what dedication and confidence looked like, on and off the mountain. One of my coaches had attended Dartmouth. Growing up in a small town, I rarely met anyone who had attended an Ivy League institution. Knowing that someone from my hometown had done it made that path feel not distant, but possible.

She is also part of the reason I now coach when I go home for Christmas break. I want the younger skiers on the team to see what the sport can give them—not just results or medals, but confidence, opportunities, and a sense that a bigger world awaits them if they are willing to work for it. Coaching has also made me reflect on everything skiing has given me and how much those years shaped me.

Skiing has a permanent place in my life, even in the small details—like my nickname, “Bird,” something my dad called me when I was little. When the head coach of my race team heard it, she picked it up. Soon, all my coaches were calling me Bird, and when I started coaching, kids would get my attention by yelling, “Coach Bird!” To this day, some have no idea what my real name is. 

I wrote my Common App essay about this nickname. It is part of who I am, tied to some of my favorite people and memories in the same way skiing represents something deeper: a constant in my life. Through moments when everything else felt uncertain, practice with my coaches and teammates was always there, teaching me how to keep showing up and putting in the work even when things are hard. Consistency turned into dedication over time, shaping how I approached life. I truly believe skiing helped me get to where I am—it pushed me to stay disciplined, aim high, and apply to scholarships and schools that once felt out of reach.

One of my favorite memories now lives on the lock screen of my computer: me skiing at Jackson Hole, Wyoming, on a powder day. I was there for a race, and a massive snowstorm prevented it from happening, meaning we had the whole day to explore the resort. Even though I got frostbite on my face, the day was otherwise practically perfect. 

Once the weekend concluded, my mom and I flew out of the Jackson Hole airport to Attitash in New Hampshire for another competition, while my dad drove separately to meet us there. That trip is just one example of the lengths my parents went to so I could keep competing, something I didn’t fully appreciate at the time.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to understand just how much they sacrificed. They traveled across the country with me, taking time off work and spending their money and energy to support my passion. Sometimes I feel guilty that I devoted so much to skiing only to stop competing in college, but then I remember how it played such a formative role in shaping me into who I am. 

When I graduated from high school, my ski team awarded me a scholarship that helped make college possible. I don’t race anymore, but I will never regret the time and effort I gave to the sport, for what it gifted me in return is worth much more than I could have ever lost.

I have had to learn new icebreakers. I can’t tell people that I spend all my spare time on snowy hills and mountains anymore, something that was at first painful to admit. However, if someone really knows me—if they know where I come from and what matters to me—then they know about skiing, too.

Olivia Lunseth ’28 (olivialunseth@college.harvard.edu) a.k.a. “Bird.”