Emily Articulated: Athletics

By Emily Erickson
Reader Staff

I spent the weekend bundled against lake-effect winds, shouting “Nice work!” at masses of people on skinny skis gliding over the rolling hills and frozen lakes of northern Wisconsin. It was the American Birkebeiner cross-country ski race, an event that draws more than 12,000 racers of all ages and abilities and nearly 30,000 spectators each year. New to Nordic skiing and not yet confident enough to traverse 50K, I was on the sidelines — my nephew on my hip, enthusiastically clanging a Birkie-branded cowbell in my ear — as we cheered my sister to her third annual finish.

The days before and after the race were spent at the family cabin on the bank of Lake Nebagamon (a detail important only because of how wonderfully Wisconsin-sounding it is). The cabin is a place that smells like pine needles and lasagna, where snowboots lay in piles by the door, where kids are draped on couches — bowls of cut grapes never out of reach — and where the Winter Olympics are definitely on TV. 

As the broadcast toggled between halfpipe freestyle skiing and speed skating, ski mountaineering, ski jumping and luge, it became clear that there are few limits humans won’t test in their attempt to transcend bodily speed and gravitational constraints — especially if it involves strapping something to their feet.

I love watching it all; the competition, of course, but mostly the ingenuity. The Olympics are a showcase for skills first developed out of necessity for travel or hunting (Nordic skiing, biathlon), then refined for joy (alpine skiing, luging) and finally honed to exquisite precision for the world stage, where meaning is attached to movements so subtle only the most devoted can detect them.

“Notice the extended Indy grab on that double cork 1080,” or, “Oof, they hit the Kreisel a little hot; I hope they recover G-force before the labyrinth.” To many (ahem, me), these are just sounds strung together. To others, they carry consequence, spelling the difference between podium finishes and the no-man’s land of non-medalists.

The country for which winter sports seem to hold particular meaning, which found itself atop the podium more than any other, was Norway. With 41 medals (18 gold), they outpaced the United States’ 33 (12 gold). Norway, with a population of 5.5 million, is roughly one-sixtieth the size of the U.S., so being beaten by them is a bit like being beaten by Minnesota (the winningest state for Winter Olympic medals, with 13).

Some of Norway’s dominance can be attributed to Nordic skier Johannes Klæbo, who claimed six gold medals himself, winning the track equivalent of everything from the 400-meter dash to the marathon against specialists in each event. But as the most decorated nation in Winter Olympic history, Norway’s success is rooted less in singular stars and more in an ethos — one that might not be what you’d expect (unless, like me, you too have been churned up and spit out by hyper-competitive athletic programs).

Norway’s approach to sport is not built on early dominance or isolating elites and grooming them into champions. Instead, it emphasizes long-term development, inclusion and enjoyment over early specialization and relentless competition. (As a Millennial, often caricatured as the “participation ribbon generation,” this is particularly satisfying.)

For Norwegian children, formal scorekeeping, rankings and championships don’t begin until around age 12. The aim is to reduce pressure and burnout during the formative years, keeping kids engaged in sport for life. The guiding philosophy, often summarized as “Joy of Sport for All,” prioritizes participation and well-being — a strategy that paradoxically yields higher and more sustainable elite performance later on.

Kids are encouraged to try multiple sports, building diverse skill sets, rather than narrowing too early. Coaches and clubs are tasked with developing everyone, not just the precocious few, recognizing that late bloomers can still become world-class athletes.

The investment is community-wide, with a strong emphasis on accessibility. Oslo alone boasts more than 2,600 kilometers (about 1,600 miles) of public trails — many well-lit, beautifully groomed and reachable by public transportation. When you build infrastructure that makes recreation easy and affordable, and when outdoor movement is woven into the culture itself, you increase the odds that excellence will rise organically from joy.

And when elite athletes do emerge, their training still emphasizes collaboration and balance, supported by specialized, highly trained coaches. A few become decorated Olympians (more than from any other country). Most simply carry forward a lifelong love of movement, a healthy relationship to competition and a commitment to fostering the same joy in the next generation.

Taking this ethos as inspiration, I hope to reframe athletics, not as a proving ground for self-worth, but instead, as a shared ritual and practice in showing up. Next year, perhaps I’ll do as the Norwegians would and finally sign up for the Birkebeiner, officially rejecting the notion that being good at something matters more than trying or enjoying it.

I’ll join the generations committed to participating in something fun and hard and communal. Who knows, maybe I’ll even finish and earn that participation medal after all.

Emily Erickson is a writer and business owner with an affinity for black coffee and playing in the mountains. Connect with her online at www.bigbluehat.studio.