Mikaela Shiffrin: My Best Moments with My Dad

For as long as I can remember, my father has been at the center of my journey—not only as an athlete but also as a person. When people look at my skiing career, they often see the medals, the World Cup wins, the Olympic golds, and the numbers that tell a story of success. But behind every race I’ve skied and every step I’ve taken toward the finish line, there has been my dad, Jeff, steady and supportive, shaping me in ways words can never fully capture. Some of my most precious memories in life are with him, and though he’s no longer physically here, those moments remain etched in my heart like deep tracks in the snow.

Early Lessons on the Slopes

One of my earliest memories with Dad is from when I was just a little girl learning to ski in Colorado. He never pushed me to be the fastest or the best right away. Instead, he taught me how to enjoy the snow, to feel the freedom of the mountains, and to respect nature. He believed skiing wasn’t just about winning races but about connecting with something bigger than yourself. I remember his calm voice as he reminded me to breathe and focus on the joy of the moment. Those lessons never left me. They became the foundation for everything that followed.

Car Rides and Ski Talks

Some of the best times with Dad weren’t even on the slopes—they were in the car on the way to training or races. Those car rides became our private classroom. He would ask me what I learned, what I could improve, or how I was feeling about life in general. Dad had this rare ability to listen without judgment. He didn’t just care about my skiing technique; he cared about how I was growing as a human being. Those conversations helped me learn to process both victories and disappointments with perspective. They were moments of bonding that shaped my mindset and gave me resilience.

The Quiet Supporter

At races, Dad wasn’t the loud parent cheering or shouting from the sidelines. He was quiet, observant, and steady. He never made skiing about himself. Instead, he focused on being there for me in whatever way I needed. Sometimes that meant adjusting my skis, other times offering a hug, and often just giving me a nod that said, You’ve got this. That subtle support made me feel grounded. He taught me that true strength often comes from quiet confidence, not from making noise.

A Love for More than Skiing

Another side of my dad that shaped me was his love for music and photography. At home, he would pick up his guitar or play the piano, filling the house with melodies that made everything feel lighter. He showed me that life is not only about discipline and hard work but also about creativity and joy. His passion for photography meant he was always capturing moments—sometimes big events, other times just the simple beauty of a day at home. Those photos are now some of my greatest treasures, pieces of him frozen in time.

Life Lessons Beyond Sport

One of the best gifts Dad gave me was perspective. He reminded me often that skiing, while important, is not everything. He encouraged me to treat people with kindness, to stay humble no matter the outcome, and to never let success change who I was at the core. Whenever I got too caught up in results or pressure, he’d bring me back to what mattered: being a good person first. His words echo in my mind whenever I feel overwhelmed, reminding me that gold medals tarnish eventually, but character lasts forever.

Celebrating Wins Together

Of course, some of my best memories with Dad came in the moments of triumph. I’ll never forget crossing the finish line at my first big World Cup win and seeing his smile. He wasn’t the type to jump up and down, but I could feel his pride in his eyes. He always told me to race for myself, not for anyone else, and so when I won, it wasn’t just about the victory—it was about the journey we shared to get there. Every milestone I reached felt like ours, not just mine.

Comfort in Times of Defeat

What stands out even more are the times I didn’t win. After tough races, Dad had a way of making me see the bigger picture. He never made me feel like failure defined me. Instead, he would remind me that setbacks are part of growth. One particular race where I didn’t finish still comes to mind—not because of the disappointment, but because of the way Dad sat with me afterward, patiently, without needing to say much. His presence was enough to remind me that I was never alone, no matter the outcome.

The Everyday Moments

Beyond skiing and sports, the everyday moments with Dad mean the most. Cooking dinner together, laughing over silly jokes, playing cards, or simply watching the sunset. He valued family time, and those simple acts are where his love shone the brightest. It wasn’t always about being productive or training harder. Sometimes, it was about slowing down and being present. That balance helped me become not just a better athlete but a better person.

Carrying His Legacy Forward

Losing Dad was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced. The pain of his absence is something words can’t fully describe. But I also carry his spirit with me every day. On the mountain, I hear his voice in my head reminding me to breathe, to trust myself, and to remember why I started skiing in the first place. Off the mountain, I strive to live with the kindness, humility, and quiet strength that defined him. Every time I win a race now, I know he is with me, even if I can’t see him in the crowd.

A Bond That Lasts Forever

When I look back, it’s not the trophies or medals that stand out the most—it’s the time I shared with Dad. The car rides, the laughter, the music, the encouragement, and the countless little moments that made me feel loved and understood. My best moments with him weren’t about extraordinary events, but about the ordinary days we turned into something special. That bond is something I carry in my heart forever, and it continues to guide me in everything I do.

In the end, my story isn’t just about skiing. It’s about family, love, and the lessons that stay with you long after the snow melts. My dad gave me more than I could ever repay, and every time I step onto the slopes, I carry him with me. The medals are wonderful, but the real prize has always been the moments I got to share with him.