These are strange times for Olympians.

An athlete can win medal after medal, but should they be caught on camera in a compromising or hilarious situation, the ensuing tonnage of Internet memes will overshadow those accolades. Want proof? I dare you to Google French pole vaulter or Turkish shooter .

I fear that American Olympic triathlete is headed for a similar fate. I’m here to beg you, people of the Internet, to not let it happen.

Over the weekend, Knibb, 26, dominated the T100 world championships triathlon in Dubai, winning the race by over two minutes. But during the run portion Knibb pooped in her racing suit. Hey, it’s triathlon—indigestion and the occasional mid-race crap are . Knibb had the presence of mind to share her predicament with the cameraman who was trailing her: she asked him to spare viewers the unflattering view from behind. “I just shit myself,” she said into the camera. “So can you not get my ass?” The cameraman complied.

Alas, this short video clip has entered the Internet’s . I first saw it on Instagram on Sunday night, and by Wednesday, stories about Knibb dotted the Internet. Even —the surest sign that a story has become part of the Internet’s lowbrow sludge.

I understand why: pants pooping is almost always a little funny, and doing so during a world-class sporting competition simply adds to the knee-slapping appeal. Plus, Knibb’s calm, matter-of-fact demeanor in the midst of a could-be crisis moment won hearts. She’s a little like that meme of the dog in the burning room claiming “,” if that dog were also masterfully managing its own PR in real-time.

But as we all know, viral memes have a way of distorting reality and overshadowing facts. And the truth about Taylor Knibb is that she’s probably the most impressive American endurance athlete of her generation. Period. And I will say this until I’m hoarse: Taylor Knibb is far too impressive of an athlete for a goofy meme to define her online reputation.

Knibb wins triathlons of varying distances, and in 2020 she won Olympic silver in Tokyo. Not to be outdone, in 2024 Knibb qualified for the American Olympic team in both triathlon and road cycling. To the unfamiliar, this may seem pretty ho-hum. Cycling is one of the three legs of triathlon, after all. Isn’t this just like Michael Phelps winning medals in breast stroke, backstroke, and butterfly?

Nope—it’s completely different. It’s more like if Phelps won in the 100-meter freestyle and then donned a sequined outfit and did the Olympic synchronized swimming competition and totally kicked ass at it. No American has competed in triathlon and cycling at the same Olympics ever before. It’s a big deal.ÌęIn fact, Knibb was the only American to compete in two different sports at the Paris Games. She also raced the Olympic team triathlon and helped Team USA earn a silver medal.

Within the small community of endurance sports superfanatics—yes, I am a card-carrying member—Knibb’s double-Olympic qualification was mind-blowing.

“Threading that needle of being world-class in triathlon and cycling at the same time is beyond difficult,” says longtime coach Neal Henderson, who trains elite-level cyclists and triathletes. “It’s hard to put into words just how impossible that is.”

Henderson told șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű that the training demands to be that good in two different sports are mind-boggling. Elite cyclists and triathletes both train anywhere from 25-28 hours a week. But cyclists dedicate all of that time toward the very specific physiological act of pedaling a bicycle. Triathletes, meanwhile, split those hours between swimming, biking, and running.

And anyone who’s ever done a triathlon knows that running and cycling are not exactly complementary exercises. I’m simplifying here, but pedaling a bicycle requires your leg muscles to generate high levels of power. That’s why top cyclists often have brawny quads, glutes, and hamstrings.

Running, meanwhile, damages big, brawny leg muscles, and saps those muscles of the power required to push the pedals of a bicycle. If you examine the world’s top distance runners—and triathletes—you will see lithe, spindly legs.

“The physiological demands of running has a negative effect on being able to maintain the muscle mass, strength, and power that make you a good cyclist,” Henderson said. “And in elite sports, you’re talking about razor-edge differences that come from putting huge demands on the body.”

Henderson, who operates the Colorado-based coaching company Apex Coaching, coached Knibb when she was an 18-year-old budding professional triathlete. She had graduated from Cornell as an Academic All American and a top-level cross-country runner, and she had her sights set on professional triathlon. Knibb was the rare teenaged athlete with world-class natural talent, monk-like dedication to training, and personal ambitions that were sky-high, Henderson said.

But even he had his doubts when Knibb told him that in 2024 she hoped to qualify for the Olympics in two different sports. Her travel schedule for triathlon left very little time to train specifically for cycling. And the handful of American women competing for a spot in Paris included talented athletes who have spent years focusing on the sport.

“It seemed unreasonable for Taylor to go to the Olympics in both,” Henderson said. “But if you place reasonable expectations on athletes with unreasonable ability, you’ll never know what they’re capable of.”

Knibb had earned a spot on the U.S. Olympic triathlon team in 2023, and in 2024 a rare opportunity opened for her to go in cycling. USA Cycling, the sport’s governing body, held a in the individual time trial on May 15. The race fell right in the middle of Knibb’s international competition schedule for triathlon, just a few days after a major race in Japan.

After finishing second at the Japanese triathlon, Knibb traveled to Charleston, West Virginia, for the road cycling race. She faced off against the country’s best professional cyclists in the 22-mile individual race. Among the competitors included former world champion Amber Neben, former U.S. road champion Lauren Stephens, and even Kristen Faulkner, who went on to win two cycling gold medals in Paris. Everyone wanted the victory, because a win meant an automatic spot on the U.S. Olympic cycling team.

Knibb smoked them all—she topped Faulkner by 11 seconds to grab the spot.

When I read the news, I just about fell out of my chair. When Henderson learned of Knibb’s victory, he smiled. He knew she was capable of it, after all.

So, if you must, have your little laugh at the video, then take a minute to get to know Knibb for who she really is: an exceptional athlete with huge ambitions, crazy strength, and yes, the ability to stay calm and collected, no matter the situation.

The post I Refuse to Allow Taylor Knibb to Become an Internet Meme appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Seven months after a partial knee replacement and five and a half years since , 40-year-old Lindsey Vonn will return to ski racing.

Recently, the ski legend’s has been filled with hints: reels of her training in New Zealand and Sölden, Austria, accompanied by captions like, “Loving the process, no matter where it leads,” and “I don’t know exactly what lies ahead, but I know I’m healthy, happy and grateful.”

On Thursday, November 14, Vonn posted, “Well, it’s off to Colorado
. I hope the @usskiteam uniform still fits
”

The Stifel U.S. Ski Team confirmed Thursday that Vonn will rejoin the team currently training at Copper Mountain, Colo.

“Getting back to skiing without pain has been an incredible journey,” Vonn said in the press release. “I am looking forward to being back with the Stifel U.S. Ski Team and to continue to share my knowledge of the sport with these incredible women.”

Before her family moved to Vail, Colo., Vonn grew up skiing at Buck Hill, Minn., to support her ski racing dreams. She made her World Cup debut at 16, eventually tallying 82 World Cup victories and three Olympic and eight World Championship medals. Despite competing with a torn LCL and meniscus in her left knee, she concluded her career with a downhill bronze at the 2019 FIS Alpine World Ski Championships in Are, Sweden. Her April knee replacement has allowed her to ski pain-free for the first time in years.

“I’m excited about the future because I’m finally not in pain all the time,” Vonn said in September before being inducted into the Colorado Snowsports Hall of Fame. “I’ll probably need another partial on the other side or a full replacement, but it’s changed my life completely.”

Returning to ski racing means Vonn is going big. Whether she will qualify for the season’s first World Cup downhill on home turf in Beaver Creek, Colo., remains uncertain, but her U.S. teammates are eager for the possibility.

“Beaver Creek is going to be so exciting,” said Breezy Johnson at Copper Mountain. “If a certain blond comes back, I just hope she puts up some Ws.”

Former teammates and new U.S. skiers alike expressed support. Retired star Julia Mancuso, who often shared the spotlight with Vonn, posted, “wow, you’re incredible,” in response to Vonn’s announcement. Bella Wright, a U.S. team member, added, “I never got the opportunity to be Lindsey’s teammate in the past, so the opportunity to ski alongside her is extremely exciting!”

Since retiring, Vonn has run empowerment camps for young girls through the Lindsey Vonn Foundation, carried the torch for the 2024 Paris Olympics, and launched an Athlete’s Family Initiative as part of the 2034 Salt Lake City Games bid. Red Bull also recently facilitated her dream of skiing the Streif in KitzbĂŒhel at night.

The ski world is thrilled at Vonn’s return. Milan Cortina 2026 responded to the announcement, hinting that she may compete again in the Olympics.

“Lindsey has made an indelible mark on alpine skiing,” said U.S. Ski & Snowboard President and CEO Sophie Goldschmidt. “Her dedication and passion for the sport are inspiring, and we’re excited to welcome her back on snow.”

The post Lindsey Vonn Returns to the U.S. Ski Team—And She’s Ready to Win appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

A few days after the 2024 Summer Olympics in Paris wrapped up, I went to a restaurant with my family and noticed bizarre behavior from some of the patrons. A few tables away, a guy was hopping alongside his table with his hands curled in front of him like bunny paws as the other members of his party cracked up. At another table, a woman passed her phone around to her friends to show them a video. “Oh my god, what is she doing?” I heard one of them say.

The next morning, I saw more weirdness at my local swimming pool: kids and adults bounced off of the diving board and did mid-air kangaroo poses and breakdancing leg-grabs before splashing into the water.

Yep, this was the height of , when the entire world seemed to be fixated on Australian Olympian , and her hilarious if cringe-worthy routine during Olympic breakdancing. Raygun’s marsupial-themed moves—yes, she called one of them the “Kangaroo hop”—earned zero points from the judges but became perhaps the singular moment of the entire Paris Games. If you spent any time on social media during the middle of August, you were probably inundated by a tidal wave of Raygun content: memes, spoofs, .

Dr Raygun is an Aussie legend.

We dance to our own beat.

And bring marsupial energy to every contest.

She’s a national treasure.

Give her an AO.

— Craig Foster (@Craig_Foster)

Even those who aren’t hyper-online were subject to it. British songstress to concertgoers. ran a segment about it. My 82-year-old Dad knew about Raygun and he’s never even been on Twitter.

These Raygun memes just keep going

— Dr. Scott Kelly (@drscottkelly)

And then, like all modern media sensations, Raygun was fed into the wood chipper that is the American culture war, and a predictable process played out. There was the backlash (!) and a backlash to the backlash (!). Within a few days, the Internet became choked with attacking kangaroos, Australia, breakdancing, eighties pop culture, and anything else remotely connected to Raygun’s wackadoo antics. Meanwhile Gunn, 36, who is a university professor in Sydney, went into Internet hiding. And after a few days, the whole world moved on.

Well, this week Gunn broke her silence.ÌęIn an exclusive interview with Australian TV show The Project, . Gunn also apologized to Aussie B-Boys and B-Girls for all the negative vibes her antics attracted. “It is really sad to hear those criticisms and I am very sorry for the backlash that the community has experienced, but I can’t control how people react,” she said.

As someone who has covered niche sports and Olympic competition for the better part of the last two decades, I have my own take on the Raygun ordeal: She shouldn’t apologize for anything. In fact, everyone involved in competitive breakdancing and the Olympic movement should thank Gunn. Her 60-second dance routine cut through the global news cycle and attracted millions of eyeballs. By my estimation, Gunn sparked more conversations about breakdancing than every eighties film combined.

Grabbing this much awareness during the Olympics is tougher than you might assume. When I was a reporter with The SportsBusiness Journal, I regularly spoke to officials who worked in niche Olympic sports. They viewed the Summer Games as the single golden opportunity to showcase their sport to the masses.

Every four years, these officials strategize how to market their respective sports to casual viewers. They debate which athlete, or event, or highlight, will resonate with the American public. They know that a seminal Olympic moment will have a trickle-down effect that can attract new fans and participants.

Niche sports and the athletes who participate in them face a huge challenge at the Olympics, which our contributor Aimee Berg recently chronicled. In the U.S., swimming, women’s gymnastics, basketball, and track-and-field, dominate Olympics TV coverage, and star athletes like LeBron James and Katie Ledecky grab most of the attention. The best a niche athlete can hope for is a gold-medal performance, which may or may not lead to a three-minute segment during that night’s primetime TV coverage on NBC.

Sometimes gold medals aren’t enough to make an athlete a star. Velodrome cyclist now has three gold medals, a silver, and a bronze. But Valente can walk through any shopping mall in America without being noticed.

Raygun, meanwhile, upended this pecking order, and accomplished what all of those sports marketers could never do. She elevated her sport—which was new to the Olympic program, no less—to the top of the media frenzy at the Paris Games. In restaurants across the world, millions mimicked her dance and showcased her clips. They debated her merits and argued about her routine.

And of those millions, a not insignificant portion watched clips of other breakdancers.ÌęMaybe they saw the of Canadian dancer Philip “Wizard” Kim, or watched in the women’s final round. Perhaps some of these viewers showed those clips to their kids, who watched wide-eyed and wondered if they, too, could someday spin around on the ground to hip-hop music. And maybe some of those kids begged their parents to sign them up for a breakdancing class at the local recreation center or dancing academy.

Yes, Raygun’s dance was undeniably goofy. But what she accomplished for her sport was nearly impossible, and something that future sports marketers will try, and fail, to replicate. She shouldn’t be sorry for that.

The post Raygun Got Us to Care About Breakdancing. She Shouldn’t be Sorry for That. appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

If fans were craving more heart-pounding tension after yesterday’s nail-biting , they got it this morning as the women’s of the Combined discipline funneled into the Lead climax. Slovenia’s Janja Garnbret was leading the field, but just barely
 some struggles from Garnbret on the last boulder (and, worrisomely, a potential finger injury) meant that other competitors were within striking distance on the scorecards. Team USA’s Brooke Raboutou, for example, was only trailing Garnbret by 0.4 points after the Boulder portion; the quartet of Australia’s Oceana Mackenzie, France’s Oriane Bertone, Great Britain’s Erin McNeice, and Austria’s Jessica Pilz were all hovering around 59 points apiece and still in the mix too. Such close scores set a story in motion for a that will be remembered and revered for years to come.

Here are the highlights.

Chaehyun Seo Sets an Early High Point

Someone had to set the early standard on the lead route of black boomerangs, white hexagons, and blue half-sphere volumes, and South Korea’s Chaehyun Seo did so with aplomb. In fact, even before she set the high point, she confidently cut feet several times to cheers from the crowd. She eventually cruised onto the headwall and fell with a route score of 76.1 (out of 100); it would stand as the mark to beat on the wall for several subsequent competitors’ attempts.

The Combined Scores Come into Play

Great Britain’s Erin McNeice was not able to reach Seo’s robust high point—McNeice fell significantly lower on the wall while attempting a right-hand cross-move. But McNeice’s attempt, even if inferior to Seo’s, gave everyone a reality check, of sorts; it reminded us all of the unique scoring of the Combined event, since McNeice surged to first place on the scorecards when her 68.1 Lead mark was added to her Boulder points (59.5). It’s unlikely we will see this unique Boulder and Lead Combined format ever again, but McNeice’s performance throughout the finals was a perfect example of why it’s an exhilarating way to structure a competition.

The Crowd Provided a Big Home-Court Advantage

It’s worth acknowledging how much the crowd of 6,000 spectators added to the vibe, which was also evident in the men’s final yesterday. Take, for example, the way the crowd clapped rhythmically in support of Oceana Mackenzie, or the way they chanted in unison for Oriane Bertone—“Or-i-ane! Or-i-ane! Or-i-ane!” Sure, both Mackenzie and Bertone probably would have liked to crank a little higher on the lead route (each fell below the headwall), but a highlight for each of their performances was the vociferous support from the audience. It’s not something normally heard at World Cups—at least not to such a loud and unified degree—perhaps because the Olympic crowd was comprised of just as many “casual” climbing fans as hardcore fans. Whatever the reason and impetus for such enthusiastic crowd noise, it was really cool.

Japan’s Ai Mori Proved Her Lead-Climbing Prowess

It’s hard to pick a single highlight for Japan’s Ai Mori. At a pure entertainment level, she fell while launching for the top hold—the closest that any finalist would come to sending the route. But by the numbers, such a jaw-dropping performance (a) established a new high point on the route by a significant margin and (b) gave Mori the lead on the Combined scorecards. It’s probably best to package all of that together and say that Mori’s attempt on the lead route was one of the most memorable parts of the women’s final. And it’s worth noting that if Lead was it’s own medal event—which it may well be soon—she would have taken Gold.

The Final Showdown

One could make an argument that the last 20 minutes of the final—with the successive attempts of Brooke Raboutou, Jessica Pilz, and Janja Garnbret—were among the most thrilling and intense moments in the history of the sport. That’s not a statement that should be made lightly, but consider how everything transpired:

First, Brooke Raboutou took a commanding lead on the Combined scores, her attempt on the lead route only coming to an end when she tried to stabilize and match on a hold in order to clip on the headwall.

Second, Jessica Pilz, in electrifying comparison, was able to make that tricky clip on the headwall, but was not able to overtake Raboutou in the Combined’s arithmetic of points.

Finally, Janja Garnbret came out and climbed masterfully—her finger, perhaps tweaked, seemed fine, and her nerves, perhaps rattled by some bouldering woes, seemed as calm as ever. She did not quite send the route; she fell when her fingertips sloughed off the edge of a hold a few moves shy of the top. But her Combined score resulted in a gold medal—making Garnbret the sport’s first back-to-back Olympic gold medalist. Raboutou and Pilz earned silver and bronze, respectively.

It felt like a storybook ending after a long week of toil and drama, highs and lows, happiness and heartbreak for so many competitors. And for the three women atop the podium at the end, it was a surefire passage into comp climbing’s storied history.

Women’s Combined Boulder & Lead Sport Climbing final results

1. Janja Garnbret (SLO): 168.5 (Boulder: 84.4, Lead: 84.1)
2. Brooke Raboutou (USA) 156.0 (Boulder: 84.0, Lead 72.0)
3. Jessica Pilz (AUT) 147.4 (Boulder 59.3, Lead 88.1)
4. Ai Mori (JPN) 135.1 (Boulder 39.0, Lead 96.1)
5. Erin McNeice (GBR) 127.6 (Boulder 59.5, Lead 68.1)
6. Chaehyun Seo (KOR) 105.0 (Boulder 28.9, Lead 76.1)
7. Oceana Mackenzie (AUS) 104.8 (Boulder 59.7, Lead 45.1)
8. Oriane Bertone (FRA) 104.5 (Boulder 59.5, Lead 45.0)

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As a young girl, Marisa Howard dreamed about becoming an Olympian one day. But her focus was on another Olympic sport, gymnastics. She had no idea what the 3,000-meter steeplechase even was.

She also had no idea she’d be a mom when the dream actually came true.

Over the last two decades, Marisa, 31, has gone through numerous highs and lows, near-misses, injuries, a lack of sponsor support, and joyful life changes—most notably giving birth to son, Kai, in 2022. But the steeplechaser from Boise, Idaho, never let go of the dream. Relying on her faith, a strong family support system, and the frugal but full life she shares with her husband, Jeff, the dream came true on June 27 with a third-place finish in the steeplechase at the U.S. Olympic Trials in Eugene, Oregon.

After chipping away at her craft for three Olympic cycles,  Marisa ran the race of her life—finishing with a 15-second personal best of 9 minutes and 7.14 seconds—to earn a spot on Team USA.

Her dream of running for Team USA in the Olympics officially materialized on August 4 when she lined up to race in the prelims of the 3,000-meter steeplechase in Paris. She ran with the lead pack in her heat as long as she could, but with two laps to go she slid to seventh and finished in that position in 9:24.78, missing the chance to advance to the August 6 final by two places and about seven seconds.

“I think it just becomes a lot more real when you see people that have been kind of knocking on the door for years and finally break through. It’s like, ‘Wow, we’re human and we can do it.’ Dreams do come true,” Marisa said. “I was six or seven or eight years old when this Olympic dream was born, and I plan on competing until he’s that age, hopefully, to show him what it’s like to do hard things and chase your dreams. I think it’ll be cool in 10 years when I show Kai these videos and be able to tell him, “Look at what Mommy did when you were two.”

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In between making the team in late June and arriving in Paris in late July, Marisa’s life returned to normal—as if being a mom with a 2-year-old is ever normal, or at least consistent, on a day-to-day basis. That month included rough bouts of stomach flu for her and her son, the continued day-to-day management of Kai with Jeff, juggling workouts with childcare help from family and friends, reestablishing normal sleep patterns for everyone, and of course, finalizing travel plans to get the family to Paris.

It all came with a humbling reminder of the perspective that has been the bedrock of Marisa’s postpartum revival as an athlete.

“The day after I qualified, we were driving back home to Idaho and we were all tired. Kai was exhausted and screaming in the car, and I told my husband, ‘He doesn’t care that I’m an Olympian, he just wants food and sleep and, really, I’m just mom,’” she said. “It’s humbling—there’s nothing more humbling than taking care of your sick baby—and I think as a parent, we’re humbled every single day, and we come up short sometimes despite doing the best we can, but I’m thankful that there’s grace and forgiveness. I think it makes those high moments so much sweeter.”

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Don’t Call it a Comeback

Marisa is part of a new wave of elite runners that aren’t putting their family plans on hold due to their career, and one of several moms who competed at the U.S. Olympic Trials. Stephanie Bruce raced the 10,000 meters just nine months postpartum after giving birth to her daughter, Sophia, in September 2023, while Kate Grace ran strong preliminary and semifinal 800-meter races to advance to the final of that event just 15 months after giving birth to son, River, in March 2023.

Elle St. Pierre gave birth to her son, Ivan, at about the same time, and returned to racing six months postpartum, finishing seventh in a speedy 4:24 at the Fifth Avenue Mile in New York City. That was just the beginning for St. Pierre, who broke the American indoor record in the mile (4:16.41) in January then won the gold medal in the 3,000 meters at the indoor world championships in Glasgow in March. At the Olympic Trials, Pierre won the 5,000 meters and placed third in the 1500, qualifying for Team USA in both events, even though she declined the Olympic entry for the 5,000.

After Howard gave birth to Kai in late May 2022, she began doing pelvic floor therapy along with general strength training and some easy jogging. By the time she started running in earnest that fall, she was surprised at how quickly her aerobic fitness came back to her.

“What’s really surprised me is that I’m able to run paces that I never hit before pregnancy with the same amount or less effort,” she says. “My aerobic engine has just gotten so strong. You do see women come back stronger, but it’s a wide range of how long it takes them to come back. ”

When she returned to the track, she was aiming for a top-three finish at the 2023 U.S. championships to qualify for the world championships in Budapest. She made it to the final and was in third place with two laps to go, but just didn’t have the closing speed. However, she did get the Olympic Trials standard by clocking a near-PR of 9:22.73, demonstrating she was just as fast as her pre-pregnancy self despite limited training and two years away from racing.

By late 2023 and early 2024, Pat McCurry, Marisa’s coach since college, was able to add more volume and intensity to her training, setting up what he thought would be her best season yet. And while Marisa admittedly didn’t race as well as hoped in her races before the Olympic Trials, McCurry knew she was capable of great things.

“She was on a different level once we got back to that base fitness post-pregnancy, and I think that’s what’s paid off in massive fitness dividends,” said McCurry, who has coached Marisa on Idaho Afoot training group since 2015. “The racing didn’t look amazing from the outside. The training was spectacular. We were doing things in training since January that we’ve never done before—just the level of intensity and volume we were sustaining was stellar.”

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Bootstrapping It

Marisa picked up running at Pasco High School in Washington, and carried on with the dream at Boise State University. There, she also met Jeff Howard, a Boise State runner who held the school record in the 10,000 meters. But more important than their common athletic passion, they shared the same Christian values that were the foundation of her life. They married in the summer of 2013 just after he graduated. He eventually took a job as a high school teacher at a nearby school, while she blossomed into a three-time NCAA Division I All-American for the Broncos, notching a runner-up finish at the 2014 NCAA championships and fourth-place finish the following year as a senior.

After she graduated, she picked up a small sponsorship deal with women’s apparel brand Oiselle and set her sights on the 2016 U.S. Olympic Trials . She got injured and missed the trials that year. But Howard and her husband bought a house in Boise and started their family life in earnest. That added stability, along with the guidance of McCurry, who she began working with in 2016, allowed her to dig deeper into training and continue to make progress in the steeplechase, lowering her personal best to 9:30.92 at a race in Lapinlahti, Finland.

The Oiselle sponsorship evaporated after about three years but that didn’t seem to matter. She and Jeff were living frugally and loving life, especially because, by then, most of their family had moved to Boise. Marisa had two aunts who had lived in the area before she went to college, and Jeff’s parents moved to town shortly after they were married. Marisa’s parents, and later her best friend, Marianne Green, also picked up their roots and relocated to town.

The ensuing years brought a variety of highs and lows—several near-miss fifth place finishes at U.S. championships, a silver medal at the 2019 Pan American Games, a few injuries that delayed her progress, a  breakthrough eight-second PR in the semifinals of the 2020 Olympic Trials, and, of course, welcoming Kai into the world in 2022.

What makes Marisa’s situation especially challenging is that she’s run competitively without a traditional sponsor since 2017, more or less collectively bootstrapping the dream on her husband’s high school teacher’s salary and working part-time as a schol nurse and as a coach. (She will officially join the Boise State staff as an assistant coach after the Olympics.) She often stays with friends when she travels to races and says she’s grateful to the meet directors who have flown her out to race, put her up in hotels, and also paid her to pace races.

She also earned USATF Foundation grants and in 2022 was the recipient of a $10,000 grant to offset child care expenses from a program sprinting legend Allyson Felix organized through Athleta’s Power of She Fund and the . Marisa competed at the 2024 Olympic Trials as part of the , which provides a small quarterly stipend, running apparel, and shoes to about 40 athletes in all disciplines of track and field.

“We’ve found ways to make it work. We drive used cars, and we refinanced in 2020, so thankfully our mortgage is very low,” she says. “So really a lot of my expenses are just shoes, a little bit of travel, coaching fees, gym fees, and things like that. But it does add up. But thankfully we live well within our means and are able to do it. As I’ve said before, the Lord always provides.”

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Getting It Done

But even with that support and her continued progress, Marisa entered the Olympic Trials as a dark horse contender to make Team USA. And that’s despite knowing that Emma Coburn and Courtney Frerichs, the top stars of the event for the past 10 years, were sidelined with injuries. She hadn’t run great in her races leading up to the trials, and her confidence was waning, McCurry says.

“I felt like not having a full contract [from a shoe sponsorship] had kind of eroded away at some of her confidence, and she was starting to have a little bit of imposter syndrome at races,” says McCurry. “We just had a really firm talk where I was like, damn it, you’re better than this,” he says. “Not we, not the training, you, Marissa Howard, are better than this.”

That pep talk was just what she needed. It helped remind Marisa about her bigger purpose, just as much as packing diapers, toys, and pajamas for Kai did before she and Jeff made the eight-hour drive to Eugene for the Olympic Trials.

In her semi-final heat at the trials on June 24, Marisa ran aggressively and finished second behind Gabbi Jennings in 9:26.38. After the race, she said she was looking forward to the final, but, for the moment, was most interested in making sure Kai got to bed on time.

Running with purpose and caring for her son emboldened her for the final, where she ran with conviction among the top five before moving into the lead briefly with a lap to go. In what was a thrilling final lap, Val Constien retook the lead and sprinted to victory down the homestretch in an Olympic Trials-record 9:03.22, followed by a surging Courtney Wayment (9:06.50) and a determined Marisa (9:07.14) as the top nine finishers all set new personal bests.

 

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“My husband and I talk about competitive greatness: You want to rise to the occasion when everyone else is at their best. So it’s like, gosh, I was able to do it! I think a lot of it for me has always been about having my priorities in place. I’m a Christian first, and then a wife, and then a mom, and then a runner. And I think if I keep those in that line, that’s where I see success,” Marisa says.

“I’ve sat next to gold medalists and other high-level athletes in chapels before U.S. championship races and they’ve told me, ‘I’ve won that gold medal and it doesn’t fill that void in my heart.’ And just knowing that a medal or success isn’t going to change you, ultimately, you have to be secure in who you are. So just remembering where my priorities lie helps to kind of keep me grounded.”

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Leo Neugebauer had a grueling schedule at the Paris Olympic Games. As a decathlete, the German multisport athlete , who was a three-time NCAA champion for the University of Texas, competed in the 100-meter dash, long jump, shot put, high jump, 400 meters, 110-meter hurdles, discus throw, pole vault, javelin throw, and 1500 meters over the course of just two days.

But as a Nike athlete, Neugebauer also had a leg up on the competition.

Just a five-minute drive from Stade de France you’ll find the Nike Athlete House. Walk in, past two towering orange statues of Lebron James and Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce, and guests are instantly transported into a luxurious, two-floor oasis, complete with swoosh-laden rugs and plush furniture, bright lighting and calm tones reminiscent of your favorite spa, and everything an athlete could need to look and perform their best.

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At least that’s the goal, says Tanya Hvizdak, Vice President of Global Women’s Sports Marketing at Nike. Complete with everything from specialty stations for barber, nail, makeup, and tooth gem appointments, to physical therapy and recovery services, plus spaces to unwind with family, and even a nursery—the hospitality locale is on a whole new level from any other Olympic activation the brand has done before.

“What we provide has certainly evolved from this mode of sponsorship to partnership,” Hvizdak says, noting that some athletes stop by the house more than once a day. “We’re listening to the voice of the athlete around what their expectations are and what their needs are.”

“It’s kind of a sanctuary,” adds Tobie Hatfield, Senior Director of Athlete Innovation at Nike. “We want this to be the place where athletes come to get ready for their competition.”

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Just Doing It

Nike’s not the only brand to go to great lengths to make their athletes comfortable. Varying in size and offerings, other major players including Puma, Asics, On, New Balance, and Oakley have full-service locations dedicated to their athletes, plus their entourages. Where Nike comes out on top, though, is their proximity to the competition.

Set in the Parisian suburb of Saint-Denis, about a mile and a half north of city limits and five miles north of the Louvre, Stade de France sits quite a ways away from much of the Olympic action at the heart of the city. The Athlete Village is relatively close by, but still a 15- to 20-minute bus ride—assuming bus drivers don’t take any wrong turns, as athletes stand for up to an hour on cramped buses during the Games.

Relaxing pre-race and recovering immediately after are critical to success on the world stage, something Nike officials readily understand.

“The planning of this space began over three years ago when we were looking at the city, having an understanding of where things like the Athlete Village and track and field were going to be taking place,” says Hvizdak. “The number one priority for us was being in a location that was going to be in close proximity to the athletes.”

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The Royal Treatment

While I wasn’t able to time my trip to the house so that I could sit in the Nike x Hyperice boots and vests next to medalists like Jordan Chiles, Sha’Carri Richardson, or Fred Kerley—all whom shared their trips to the space on social media—it’s certainly getting a lot of foot traffic.

The space also offers catering for breakfast and lunch. With reports that the food and conditions in the Athlete Village leave something to be desired, Nike’s culinary staff took it upon themselves to ensure that they had the food game on lock, including tantalizing yet nutritious options like (on the day I visited) grilled salmon and pepper tartlets, vegetable pie, beef moelleux, and noodle salad.

“Something that was requested shortly after we opened was to-go boxes of food,” says Hvizdak, who adds that the meals are definitely a highlight for the folks who come through. “So, we’re now offering takeaway options. Plus, we even changed the hours to stay open later per the athletes’ request.”

And of course—in the true extravagant nature of the space, what’s a good time without a parting gift? Athletes have the option of shopping through the Jacquemus x Nike collection, other new offerings, and to design a hoodie using a new proprietary AI tool on digital tablets—set to potentially launch in-store at a later date.

Neugebauer walked into the Nike House before his competition just to sniff it out. But he was sold after snagging some of the recovery tools to use during his downtime before his daunting 10-event competition.

“I took the Hyperice boots to my hotel room and used them before, during, and after my decathlon,” he says. “The second time I went through the house, I got to do all the fun stuff like customize my own Nike hoodie, it was amazing. And when I heard they had a barber, I was like oh my god, I got a fresh cut., I looked good. I think that’s important. I looked good, and I did good.”

The royal treatment apparently paid off. On August 3, Neugebauer earned the silver medal.

 

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My main memory of the Olympic Sport Climbing event in is that it was (a) confusing, and (b) a shambling mess. I came away feeling that the organizers’ incomprehensible decision to jam two totally different sports together—speed climbing, with its emphasis on moving quickly up an easy route, and lead and bouldering, with their emphasis on —ended up creating an event that was unfair to just about every athlete participating in it.

Luckily, there are two major differences between the Olympic Sport Climbing event (singular) that debuted in Tokyo three years ago and the Sport Climbing events (plural) that we’re watching in Paris this week.

Speed Is Now Its Own Event

Paris 2024 has two Sport Climbing events, with speed athletes competing for one gold medal while Boulder & Lead athletes vie for another. Is this a big deal? Emphatically yes. In a 2021 article I wrote that to ask a speed athlete to compete in Boulder & Lead is less like asking a 100-meter runner to compete in the marathon than asking a short track speed skater to compete in figure skating—two radically different sports that happen to involve ice. I still believe that. And, as evidence, I point to the fact that no athlete in Paris is competing in both the Speed and the Boulder & Lead Combined events.

Someday, perhaps, the Olympics will emulate the IFSC World Championships and give Sport Climbing four medals (Speed, Boulder, Lead, and Boulder & Lead Combined). But for now, simply carving Speed off makes sense. Many athletes excel at both Boulder and Lead. Janja Garnbret, Adam Ondra, Jakob Schubert, Colin Duffy, Toby Roberts, and Anraku Sorato have all won World Cups in both events—and a majority of the climbers in the Olympics have podiumed in both at the World Cup level.

The Combined Format Has a New Scoring Structure

Because Speed is no longer part of the Combined event, the Combined event’s scoring in Paris relies—intuitively—on athletes accumulating points based upon how far they climb up the boulders and lead walls.

In Tokyo, where Speed was included, this cumulative scoring structure couldn’t work, since nearly everyone gets to the top of the speed wall. Instead, Olympic organizers devised a ridiculously confusing system in which, at the end of each discipline, climbers were given points correlating to their finishing rank. The combined score was then reached by multiplying the results from each of the disciplines—with the lowest three scores earning medals. (For example, Adam Ondra placed fourth in Speed, sixth in Boulder, and second in Lead in the Tokyo Olympic final, so his combined score was 48 (4 x 6 x 2). Alberto GinĂ©s LĂłpez won gold with a score of 28, having placed first in Speed, seventh in Boulder, and fourth in Lead.) The frustrating—but also sort of fascinating—thing about the multiplication structure was that scores changed drastically with slight variations in finishing order. Whenever a climber passed another climber’s high point on the lead wall, for instance, everyone else’s scores changed too, which made following the event intensely anxiety provoking. Reporting on it for Climbing, I watched with a notepad and a calculator at hand, always half convinced that I’d made an error and was entirely misunderstanding the state of the competition.

In Paris, the scoring is far less convoluted—but it’s still got complexity. The TLDR version is that scoring is based on how far you get up each of the four boulders and the lead route in each round. How logical! But in reality it’s not quite so simple, so if you’re not familiar with that yet, read our article

All this is very cool (and good for the sport) for three reasons:

Speed Climbers Don’t Get Shafted

Before 2016, when Sport Climbing’s inclusion in the Olympics was first announced, Speed walls were quite rare in commercial climbing gyms in the United States—and speed climbing was generally considered some weird aberration popular only in Iran and Indonesia and various post-Soviet nations. As a result, U.S. viewers tended to interpret Speed’s inclusion in the Tokyo Combined event based on how it might pollute the results generated by the Boulder and Lead events that we actually cared about. We tended to forget, in other words, that for the speed specialists and their fans, Tokyo was a total disaster. Since their discipline did not prepare them to do well in Lead or Boulder, the math was against them, which meant that only three speed climbers made the finals—two by winning semis outright, the third (France’s Anouck Jaubert) by also topping two boulders in the bouldering round. In finals, Aleksandra MirosƂaw easily won Speed, but—as she and everyone else understood would happen—was trounced in the other two rounds and therefore, despite setting a new world record, did not medal.

This year, that’s not the case. Aleksandra MirosƂaw is back, and she’s still the best speed climber in the world, and if she performs in quarter finals and finals like she did in Monday’s semis (where she broke her own world record twice and is pushing the time down toward the 6 second mark), she’ll certainly have a medal to hang on her wall.

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The Combined Event Gains Credibility

In Tokyo, only one male speed specialist, France’s Bassa Mawem, qualified for finals—but after winning the early Speed rounds and ensuring his final slot, he ruptured his bicep on the semifinal lead route. As a result, Mawem wasn’t able to take place in finals, which basically meant that the remaining seven men, all of whom were specialized boulderers and/or lead climbers, suddenly found that their speed skills actually mattered, which threw a ton of randomness into the event. Ultimately, it was by winning Speed that Alberto Gines Lopez—who finished fourth in Lead and seventh in Boulder—took Olympic gold, and it was by doing surprisingly well in Speed (he placed fourth) that Adam Ondra was, , in gold medal contention.

Because of the important role that Speed ended up playing in the men’s field, viewers were left feeling like there was a real disconnect between the event’s ostensible purpose (identifying the best climber on that particular day) and the tests to which climbers were submitted. If you’d subtracted the Speed event, for instance, you’d have gotten very different results, and would have needed a different way of identifying victors. (Nathaniel Coleman won Boulder and came in fifth in Lead; Jakob Schubert came in fifth in Boulder and won Lead; Colin Duffy came in fourth and third respectively; who would have won?)

Retroactively removing Speed from the competition isn’t particularly fair, of course, since Speed was part of the competition whether people like me like it or not, and since randomness (sometimes in the form of injury) is actually one of the more interesting elements of competitions. Without it we’d get bored. But the event’s structure did lead a lot of people to essentially dismiss the results as the fluke byproduct of an Olympic bureaucracy that categorically misunderstood what climbing was about and therefore structured a competition such that it was impossible for the results to actually reflect who the best climber was. “Cool,” they thought. “Now let’s go back to valuing World Cups.”

Such critics should note, however, that, in the Olympic bureaucracy’s defense, things went far better in the women’s field, where two speed specialists—Aleksandra MirosƂaw and Anouck Jaubert—managed to qualify for finals and then took first and second place in Speed. This, as organizers no doubt intended, left the Bouldering and Lead rounds to operate more or less as their own competition. We turned a blind eye while the speed climbers pretended to try on boulders and routes far harder than they’ll ever climb, and then we watched Janja Garnbret crush absolutely everything as expected.

The Competition Is Easier to Watch—and Understand

One of the great problems with Tokyo, as noted above, was that it was incredibly hard to understand the state of the overall competition while watching it—which was annoying for climbers like me, but potentially off-putting to non-climbers, who had to endure watching a strange (to them) sport described via a and scored via an incomprehensible (to everyone) scoring system. Now, thanks to the new scoring format, it’s pretty easy to follow the state of the competition. Sure, if you’re an English major like me, you may still want to keep your calculator handy—but for the rest of you, it’s just addition. How hard can it get?

Note: If you’re interested in an in-depth analysis of why the Tokyo Olympics kinda sucked in a fascinating way, check out my 2021 story,   It describes how Adam Ondra went from probably winning gold to taking sixth  place when, thanks to some brilliant climbing by Jakob Schubert, he came in second rather than first in Lead. It also, as the title suggests, demonstrates how the speed specialists were even more disadvantaged by the combined structure than the lead climbers.

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No one expected breakdancing—the street dancing style that incorporates head spins and freeze moves—to ever become an Olympic sport. Even members of the World DanceSport Federation, the governing body of competitive dancing, were surprised to learn in 2020 that “breaking,” as it is called, had been added to the lineup for the 2024 Games in Paris.

“It was a shock to everybody,” says Martin Gilian, a member of the World DanceSport Federation, and one of nine judges who will score the Olympic breaking competition on August 9 and 10. “We had no idea how we got into the Youth Olympics in 2018 and suddenly we were finding out we’d be in Paris.”

The truth is that breaking has resonated with younger audiences since it was born on the streets of New York City’s South Bronx more than 50 years ago. In fact, as an original element of hip-hop—alongside deejaying, emceeing, and graffiti—breaking has never stopped pushing boundaries. Is it an art form or a sport? Debate it all you want, but to me, it’s clear that breaking is both.

Breaking’s inclusion in the 2024 Summer Games is nod to the graffiti we see in Europe’s first collection of modern and contemporary art at Centre Pompidou in Paris; and to the rap of this year’s Olympic hype men Snoop Dogg and MC Solaar of France. I’m pretty much obsessed with breaking’s Olympic debut. Drawn to its combination of history, physical strength, and creative expression, I’ll be in the stands at the Paris Olympics on August 9, cheering on the athletes, which fans call “B-Girls” and “B-Boys.” On La Concorde in the heart of Paris, next to BMX freestyle, skateboarding, and 3X3 basketball, in one big “hip hop celebration” breaking will take place outdoors in an urban park. Here’s what to know about the newest Olympic event:

How the Competition Works

Breaking’s top athletes draw from thousands of tricks, and they improvise signature moves never performed by anyone in competition until the Olympics. Athletes will be judged on their technique, dance vocabulary, execution, musicality, and originality, with each category counting for 20 percent of overall score.

On August 9, 17 B-Girls will face off in one-on-one 60-second dance battles. Among them will be 35-year-old American Grace Sun “Sunny” Choi, who graduated from the University of Pennsylvania’s business school. Also in the lineup is 21-year-old Manizha “Jawad” Talash, a refugee and Afghanistan’s first female breaker who fled the Taliban, as well as Italian Antilai Sandrini, who goes by the name “B-Girl Anti,” and is an artistic gymnast and cheerleader-turned breaker who is also a competitive Kung Fu athlete.

Then, on August 10, 16 B-Boys will follow the same format, laying down flips and flares. According to Gilian, the event borrows some DNA from martial arts and gymnastics. “Breakers are always trying to evolve and make their own signature moves,” he says. In this evolving and improvisational sport, breakers introduce personalized moves from the main elements of standing moves, called “top rock,” floor moves, called “down rock,” and freeze, which is holding a pose in an unusual position.

“It’s about improvisational storytelling, following a concept throughout the entire round. For example, a dancer could hold his chin the entire round, even while going down on the floor in a power move (a twist and spin)” says Gilian. “Or he might hear the sound of a bird that inspires him to express the sound throughout the dance. It’s as creative as possible.”

In a round robin, the top two from each of the four men’s and women’s groups will advance to the quarterfinals, then semis, and a best-of-three final for the medals, putting on a show for the Olympic audience while they can. Sadly, breaking is expected to be left off the 2028 Los Angeles Olympic Games.

Getting fired up is necessary at this new Olympic sport that relies more on audience participation than other Olympic events.“One of the most important things to the sport is creating an atmosphere so the dancers can interact with the audience,” says Gilian “We don’t want you to just come and watch. You really need to be involved if you’re there and make some noise because the better the atmosphere, the better the performance.”

Breaking is also the only Olympic event where the judges get to perform. “We’re paying a tribute to hip-hop culture, so at the end we’ll dance to a live rapper, while the DJ spins the music,” says Gilian, who goes by the breaking name B-Boy MG—all the judges double as breakers and Gilian, who used to compete, is also a rapper.

The Hip-Hop History

Gilian first witnessed breaking in 2004 in a Run DMC MTV music video as a student at Florida International University (Florida, a breaking hub, is also home of Olympic medal hopeful B-Boy “Victor” Montalvo). But of course breaking dates back to the 1969 gang activity in the South Bronx, when instead of taking a swing at each other, each side would pretend to fight in a dance battle.

As the story goes, on August 11, 1973, a Jamaican immigrant who went by DJ Kool Herc—the godfather of hip hop culture—was performing at an apartment and invited party goers to dance during percussive “breaks’ in his music. From the Black and Latino neighborhood street culture in New York City in the 1980s, the term “breaking” evolved in the media into “breakdancing” after the popular Rock Steady B-Boys and the B-Girls rose up in pop culture while touring the world stage. And as breaking faded from urban America in the 1990s, it was picking up in its first organized competitive world circuit heavily centered around Europe—with the first major global “Battle of the Year” in Germany in 1990, followed by the first Red Bull breaking competition in 2001.

An Olympic Underdog

In 2016, the World DanceSport Federation proposed several competitive dancing styles to organizers of the 2018 Summer Youth Olympics in Buenos Aires, Argentina. The federation hoped that one would be chosen, and Gilian and others believed that Latin dancing might be singled out. When the International Olympics Committee, which oversaw the event, chose breaking “it came as a surprise, but was extremely popular for some reason,” Gilian remembers.

In 2020, when breaking was officially added to the 2024 Paris Games, the decision drew some pushback. Critics argued that dancing wasn’t a sport. It wasn’t the first time the Olympics had to consider art as competition. Between 1912 and 1948, the Olympics included competitive events in the artistic categories of architecture, literature, music, painting, and sculpture.

Officials with the IOC and World DanceSport Federation faced plenty of hurdles to get breaking ready for the Olympics: standardizing rules and judging while maintaining the sport’s artistic side. Rules require DJs to pick the same song at random for both dancers. The hosts, who narrate the competition on the mic, maintain a central role as physically close to the breakers on the dance floor as possible.

“We made sure that the audience could get as close as possible, so they could feed off the energy of the crowd and maintain the true essence of breaking. The IOC really came through and we’ve accomplished that,” says Gilian. He says that breaking has experienced a resurgence in popularity since it was announced as an Olympic sport.

“We’re seeing all around the world that parents are more motivated to get their kids into the breaking—and nine and 10 year olds are learning basic moves in as little as two days that took me 10 or 11 months to master,” says Gilian. “There’s been a huge growth in the last few years all around the world, especially in Asia, Europe, and Latin America.”

Breakers to Watch in Paris

The B-Girls

B-Girl Sunny: Grace Sunny Choi is a former gymnast who picked up breaking as a student at the prestigious University of Pennsylvania Wharton School. After graduating, she began battling in world-wide competitions, going on to win silver at the 2022 World Games.

B-Girl Ayumi: With a recent win at the Olympic Qualifier in Shanghai, 2021 world champion Fukushima Ayumi of Japan is one to watch out for. At age 41, this veteran has the dynamics (transitions between down and up rock) and the experience to go far.

B-Girl Ami: Ami Yuasa, of Japan, was introduced to hip-hop at age six. Today, the 25 year old is known for her footwork and flow (the art of combining moves in a creative and rhythmic way), after taking world championship titles in 2019 and 2022 and making the Red Bull BBC One World Final in 2023.

B-Girl India: India Sardjoe, of the Netherlands, has been breaking since age 7—while also playing football as the only girl on an all-boys’ team. Today, she’s fearlessly competing at age 16 as one of the youngest Olympic Athletes, after winning gold in the 2023 European Games.

B-Girl Nicka: This Lithuanian breakdancer is only 17 years old yet she’s the current world champion. Dominika Banevic has it all–vocabulary, dynamics, flavor, and form and could take the win.

The B-Boys

B-Boy Victor: Victor Montalvo, 30, is living the dream of his father Victor Bermudez and his uncle Hector Bermudez—twin-brother breaking pioneers who helped popularize the sport in Mexico in the 1980s. After growing up in Florida, he’s the current world champion. Expect traditional style with loads of signature moves.

B-Boy Hong 10: Born and raised in Seoul, South Korea, Kim Hong-Yul, 40, is a three-time Red Bull BC One champion with experience on his side. Loaded with an arsenal of innovative moves—arguably the most original in the game—he’s one to watch.

B-Boy Shigekix: This Olympic flag carrier from Japan is a Red Bull BC One All Star and the 2020 Red Bull BC One champion. Shigeyuki Nakarai is a former freestyle dancer known for his control and fast power moves (using the whole body in a rotational move while balancing on the hands, elbows, head, or shoulders).

B-Boy Phil Wizard: Canada’s Philip Kim was once a kid watching breaking in the street shows of downtown Vancouver. He took up the sport and went on to win gold at the 2022 World Championships and the 2023 Pan American Breaking Championships, also taking silver in the 2023 World Championships.

B-Boy Lithe-ing: China’s Qi Xiangyu, 19, is the new kid on the block coming up quickly after becoming runner up at the Olympic Qualifier Series in Shanghai and taking fourth at the 2023 World Championships.

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Even before Tuesday’s speed climbing seeding heats at the Paris Olympics, the sport regularly produced jaw-dropping video clips.

Two climbers stand at the base of a 49-foot wall and then rocket upward like Spider Man on a sugar high. The TV camera is stationed behind the climbers, so they look as though they are galloping on all fours across flat ground. But oh no, they’re ascending a sheer man-made rock wall, and boy do they make it look easy.

The latest speed climbing video clip is even more eye-popping than the rest. During the preliminary rounds, American wunderkind Sam Watson broke the world record in the event, reaching the top in 4.75 seconds. The time was 0.04 seconds faster than the previous world record, set by Watson himself back in April. The 18-year-old looks destined to battle for a medal when speed climbing holds its finals in Paris on Thursday, August 8.

SAM WATSON IS DIFFERENT

He broke HIS OWN WORLD RECORD to advance to the quarterfinals of men’s speed climbing!

: &

— Team USA (@TeamUSA)

Watson’s time boggles the mind: 4.75 seconds is a tiny duration of time for any physical task, let alone ascending a 50-foot wall.

To add context to Watson’s feat, we at șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű grabbed our stopwatches and set out to determine which banal everyday tasks take longer to complete than this amazing ascent.

1. Texting “What u feel like 4 dinner” to your spouse
2. Putting on a climbing harness
3. Tying both sneakers one sneaker
4. Logging into Peacock
5. Watching an Olympic kayaker paddle around an upstream gate
6. Washing one dirty dinner plate by hand
7. Scraping enough snow off your boot to click into your bindings after a hot chocolate break
8. Lubing your bike chain
9. Chalking up before a climb
10. Downloading the latest Chrome update
11. Explaining the saga of and his unfortunate flop to your bewildered parent
12. Setting up a permanent “Do Not Disturb” status for your work Slack
13. Rocking out to the opening guitar riff of Live Wire by Mötley CrĂŒe
14. Scanning a sweet potato in the self-checkout aisle at Whole Foods
15. Shotgunning a Coors Light La Croix
16. Getting on a chairlift
17. Getting off a chairlift
18. Googling “Simone Biles cute kid video”
19. Uploading the video of your own basic and unimpressive rock climb to Instagram

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In its 2021 Olympic debut in Japan, surfing took place at a nice little beach break, and it made for a fun watch. 2024 has been an entirely different animal. Held at Tahiti’s infamous Teahupoʻo, a storm brought thick, house-sized barrels detonating onto razor-sharp coral reef while the world’s best surfers deliberately put themselves in harm’s way in the quest for gold. But medals weren’t the only hardware on display.

If you’ve been watching the competition, this is likely the first time you’ve seen surfers wearing helmets. Even if you spend a lot of time at the beach, you’ve probably never seen them on surfers before. In round one of the Olympic surf competition, a whopping 17 out of 24 female surfers wore a helmet, and five of the men did, too.

We didn’t have to wait long to see why helmets were so popular. Early in the contest, France’s started without a helmet, then wiped out on her first wave and went headfirst into the reef, splitting her forehead open. She immediately requested a helmet, which staff delivered to her via jet ski and put onto her still-bleeding head. She would later require four stitches, but she was extremely lucky that the impact wasn’t worse. Not everybody has been so fortunate recently.

Check out our coverage of the winning mountain bikes and the at the 2024 Paris Olympics.

A Brief Helmet History

I reached out to team (Lenny is arguably the best big wave surfer in the world), who has some experience with this subject. Earlier this year Lenny went down on a seemingly innocuous wave at Oahu’s famous Pipeline. It was one of the first times he wore a helmet surfing, but something that morning told him it was a good idea.Ìę He ended up driven into the reef with so much force that the impact split his helmet in half. Lenny was somehow able to get himself to shore, but he was badly concussed, and has virtually no memory of the incident. He spent months recovering and dealing with all of the nightmarish brain-injury symptoms you hear about from NFL players. It’s almost certain that and the debate about wearing a surf helmet has picked up since then.

That said, surf helmets aren’t actually all that new. Surfers have been wearing them at hard-bottom breaks since at least the early ‘90s. Australia’s Tom Carroll famously wore a helmet during his dominant performance at the 1991 Pipeline Masters contest. Takayuki Wakita, Naohisa Ogawa, and Atsushi Imamura were a trio of legendary Japanese chargers who all donned helmets. Even more recently, France’s Jeremey Flores and Australia’s Owen Wright each won first place while wearing helmets in the Tahiti Pro (also held at Teahupoʻo) in 2015 and 2019, respectively. So, surf helmet use is by no means unprecedented, but it’s never been common, which is why seeing nearly half of the surfers at the Olympics feels like something of a sea change moment.

The Gath Eva Hat helmet ($169) (Photo: Courtesy Gath)

Anatomy of a Surf Helmet

Broadly speaking, there are two types of surf helmets: Soft and hard-shell. As the name suggests, hard helmets have a plastic shell on the outside with a layer (or multiple layers) of foam underneath. These are more akin to bike helmets and ski/snowboard helmets. Most are uniform round shells for less drag in the water, with significant ports around the ears to prevent water from accumulating there. The soft helmets look a bit more like something you’d see in a martial arts competition. While they’re lighter and more comfortable, they also don’t offer quite as much protection. As far as I could tell, everybody in the Olympics contest was wearing variations of the hard-shell design.

The three biggest players in the surf helmet game are and hard shells, and . Gath helmets look not-unlike bowling balls, with bits of ventilation here and there, and they typically go for $170-$190, depending on the model. They offer solid protection for the top, back, and sides of your head. Simba helmets go a bit further, with helmets that stretch downward from the sides to cover more of the sensitive jawline, which gives them more of an intense gladiator look. They go for about $200. ($79) offers the least protection, but it’s made with a soft, non-absorbent foam to keep it from getting waterlogged. It’s also the lightest and one of the cheapest options.

There are other brands that make surf helmets as well, and it’s not unusual to see kayak-helmets used for surf. Kai Lenny is now developing his own surf helmet, which will have carbon fiber. Like bike helmets, plastic surf helmets are actually designed to break on impact to help diffuse the energy of the blow. Carbon fiber breaks, too, but as it does it distributes the force more evenly around the entire shell, theoretically decreasing the energy transferred to your skull and brain. There’s no word yet on the timing of its release or how much it will cost.

Some Olympians, like Defay, were wearing what appeared to be bike helmets in the lineup, with cutouts all over them for ventilation and drainage. They had some ear coverage, too, so I don’t believe they were literally bike helmets, but the point is any protection may be better than nothing if you’re heading into some heavy water.

To Wear or Not to Wear?

There are a few reasons helmets aren’t ubiquitous at the beach, though. While it’s universal that it’s preferable to have a helmet on if you’re going to hit a hard object such as a reef, a rock, a surfboard, or even a hard-packed sand bottom, those are still thankfully rare occasions. What you are almost guaranteed to encounter in every surf session, however, is turbulence when duck-diving or tumbling in the whitewater, and that’s where surf helmets may actually be a disadvantage. Because they increase the relative mass of your head, that means more torque on your neck when it’s being pushed around underwater, which could potentially increase your chances of getting neck-strain or whiplash. That’s one of the reasons you want to make sure you absolutely nail the sizing, and wear it as tightly yet comfortably as you can. The helmet can act like a sea-parachute and pull your neck back if too much water gets inside.

The other reason is the cool factor, or lack thereof. A lot of surfers are afraid that wearing a helmet will make them look like a kook. It’s worth noting, though, that helmets were practically non-existent at ski resorts through the 1990s, yet now they’re everywhere, regularly worn by pros, and nobody thinks twice when they see them. There were so many notable surf-related brain injuries this year that I think we’ll see more influential pro surfers get on board. Jamie O’Brien, Koa Smith, and Kai Lenny are all notable proponents, and as demand grows, the helmets will continue to evolve and improve.

Personally, I’m going to pick one up myself. I probably won’t wear it on smaller days, or at my local beach break, but the next time I paddle out when it’s big and heavy, and there are lots of rocks around, it will give me peace of mind to have my noggin protected. I actually started snowboarding better once I wore a helmet regularly, so who knows—maybe that will happen in the waves, too.

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