Spark Notes

I’ve been thinking a lot about the passion tax: in my generation in the States, we have been encouraged to “love what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life.” The ultimate stamp of a successful career is when you’re able to make money off of your passion, and then give your whole life over to making money that passion. As my passion has become my career, my relationship to it has grown and changed in so many ways. It has felt claustrophobic and soaring, boring and exciting, itchy and calm. 

I felt really honored to chat with Austin Killips about some of these sticky feelings and topics. I’ve admired Austin from afar for years, and have been particularly in awe of how she’s navigated her life and identity as an athlete in the eye of a culture war hurricane. What follows are some musings from two like minded minds on sport and all the parts of it we hold close to our hearts and bodies. As always, I feel lucky to muse with such cool humans. 

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Austin originally fell in love with sport for the same reasons most of us did: for the community. She described growing up in and around skate parks, failing to land the same trick over and over. The skate park lifted her up when she fell, encouraging her to try again. And it celebrated her successes when she finally landed those tricks. There were moments in the spotlight but the spotlight felt shared, and never shone too hot or too bright. 

However, the higher up you go, the thinner the air, and fewer the crazies who want to breathe it. Elite level sport is not designed to be shared. It’s designed to be incredibly specific and individualized, and finding community within it becomes an intention rather than a given. The more specialized her training became, the more difficult it was to feel the easy embrace of camaraderie, and Austin says she now has to be incredibly selective about who she rides with and when. A hard ride for you isn’t a hard ride for your buddy, and you may have to dress warmer than you want because your friend isn’t great on the descents. Often it’s easier to just go it alone, and really nail the workout the way it’s written to be ridden. Elite athletics culture encourages this monastic approach, and Austin flourished as a starving monk/athlete/artist. She has always been on the lookout for solitary efforts and events that test her against herself, cultivating a higher threshold for discomfort and an exploration of the hazy edges of limits. 

But while the #monklife was rewarding in and of itself, Austin, like all of us in high level sport, had a goal: to race her bike at the highest level possible. She spoke about how she could have dimmed her light, kept a lower profile, and maybe things would have been different. But she felt like that would be cheating the thing she loved, and she respected it enough to want to give all of herself to it. 

Then Austin won the Tour of the Gila. 

Then the UCI decided she would never win it again. 

Overnight the rug had been pulled out from under her feet, but it was more than that. Austin had seen American riders win the Tour of the Gila and ride that high straight across the ocean: to the promised land of European racing and a pro contract. Winning that race, Austin had put her hands on the new ladder that would carry her up, out and beyond. She could feel all of the hard work, the loneliness and the sacrifices start to fade in the light of the reward. But as soon as she set her foot on the first rung, the whole ladder collapsed at her feet. The light she saw blinded her instead of guiding her.

I expected Austin to be bitter about what followed that win. She didn’t mince words. It sucked. How could it not? One day she was at the peak of her career, the next day she was out of work with no severance pay. She was out of options and being attacked for it. But she didn’t sound angry, wronged, or bitter. She had made the decision to live fully in her effort, and she knew that all athletes, to some extent, play on borrowed time. She didn’t allow what happened to determine her relationship to sport. She has moved on from that moment to chase new highs, and still rides in search of all consuming projects.

One of the silver linings Austin found in the rubble was time and space to think. She explained that while she was working so single-mindedly towards her goal, she didn’t have time to stop and think why. Why am I doing this? What is here that’s good for me? What is here that’s hurting me? 

First things first, Austin threw out the idea of having a healthy relationship with sport. She explained that while she’s young and able, she wants to give all of herself to her craft, and that, by definition, just isn’t healthy. We both agreed that society has normalized extreme and unhealthy athletic behaviors because they tend to make our bodies smaller. Lots of people I know assume that by being an athlete I lead an extremely “healthy” life. But there have been plenty of times where I eat until I vomit, don’t eat enough, can’t sleep, sleep too much, and generally latch onto addictive and harmful habits in pursuit of a little more speed.  

So maybe if we just call it by its name it will be better? High level sport isn’t healthy by definition, and that’s not the point anyway. The point is to go a little crazy. Sport in its purest form toes the line between euphoria and pain: sometimes even between success and death. That, as Austin said and now I too will be saying, “is an out of pocket way to live.” Oftentimes mental health support focuses on how to get us up and running in time for race day. We wondered if there shouldn’t be more inquiries into the pathology of elite athletes: who did this to you? Why are you here? What are you running from or towards?

For now, Austin is in love with the madness. She is actively creating community wherever she travels, and is setting some new goals that will test her against herself. As we were winding down our conversation, I asked Austin what she wishes more people asked her about. She didn’t hesitate: “Movies!” She loves movies and documentaries and stories about stories, and somehow it didn’t surprise me that this soft spoken yet fierce, crazy and thoughtful woman would love stories. She talked about her love for Robert Altman, and I feel like this quote hovered underneath the skin of our discussion: “Wisdom and love have nothing to do with one another. Wisdom is staying alive, survival. You’re wise if you don’t stick your finger in the light plug. Love – you’ll stick your finger in anything.” 

We perhaps know better than to give our hearts to something so fickle as sport: we could be wise. But we love it goddamnit, and that will keep us sticking our fingers in the light plug again and again…hoping for sparks.

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Written by Skyler Espinoza