NEW YORK — Was it crazy? Was it dangerous? Was it even possible?
For nine days last winter, whether Lindsey Vonn should race in the Winter Olympics on a freshly torn ACL dominated sports talk, social media and real-life debates. In the end — the painful end — Vonn says it was “all of the above.”
A few months earlier, America’s most famous downhill skier was amid a remarkable comeback. At 41, Vonn had returned to the World Cup leaderboard after years of retirement and a partial knee replacement, silencing doubters with two World Cup wins and several podiums. Her goal had been to finish on top at the Olympic downhill in Cortina d’Ampezzo, the slope where she collected a dozen World Cup victories during her storied career.
That, of course, wasn’t what happened. Millions watched as her arm clipped a gate just 13 seconds into the race, sending her airborne and tumbling. Her cries of pain were audible on broadcasts as medics tended her and a helicopter airlifted her away.
It was the worst crash of her career. Vonn spent days in an Italian hospital bed, then weeks in a wheelchair. Even now she uses crutches; doctors say full recovery will take at least a year. In an interview with NPR, she acknowledged she wished some things had gone differently but said she has no regrets. “My crashes, my obstacles, everything that I face in my life has always made me a better person,” she said. “This is where I am. I’m lucky. I’m happy. And I’m always going to do the best I can no matter what.”
Reflecting on her journey back to the Olympics
Vonn’s condition at present sharply contrasts with the form she showed months earlier. Having retired in 2019, her 2025 resurgence made her comeback all the more impressive: she was the first American to win Olympic downhill gold, once the winningest skier in history, and she had returned to top-level results after five years away. She led the downhill standings entering the Games.
Then, days before the Olympics, she crashed in Switzerland and learned at the hospital she had torn her ACL. “I was shocked. But also, like, I didn’t miss a beat,” she said. “I was not sad. I wasn’t angry. I was just like, okay, this is what we have.”
Over the next nine days she trained and prepared. Her leg felt stable enough, and she decided to race despite outside criticism that it was dangerous or irresponsible. Some accused her of seeking publicity or taking another athlete’s spot; under Olympic rules she had earned her place and no one else would have been eligible to replace her.
The morning of the Olympic downhill was bright and crowded. Vonn remembered feeling thankful and emotional to be back at the start. Thirteen seconds later came the nightmare. Lying on the snow in terrible pain, she knew her leg was broken. The question was how severe.
The most extreme injury of her career
Downhill skiing at the elite level carries high injury risk; Vonn had a long injury history, including a 2018 crash that damaged a ligament and a meniscus and contributed to her first retirement. This accident, she said, was worse.
She suffered a complex tibial fracture with cracks in the fibular head and tibial plateau, and also broke her right ankle. A dangerous complication — compartment syndrome — required an emergency fasciotomy, in which surgeons cut open the leg to relieve pressure from internal bleeding. Vonn believes the procedure likely prevented an amputation. The pain was “unbearable,” she told NPR.
After multiple emergency surgeries in Italy, she was medically evacuated to the U.S. and underwent a six-hour operation in Colorado before returning home to Utah. Early on she posted on Instagram that her torn ACL “had nothing to do with my crash whatsoever.” Speaking later, she acknowledged the ACL did affect her race strategy: the knee’s instability forced adjustments and led her to ski more aggressively in certain sections to compensate. “Because of my ACL, I couldn’t rely on certain aspects of my skiing that I normally would,” she said. “I was trying to make a calculated plan on where I could make up time.”
Sharing her recovery with the world
Recovery’s early stages were harder than she expected. “The amount of time in a wheelchair and just being unable to do really anything without someone taking care of me — I’m a very independent person, and I don’t want to burden anybody. And I felt like I was a constant burden,” she said.
Many people, including elite athletes, retreat into privacy after major injuries. Vonn did the opposite. “I’ve always been a really open person. I’m not someone that hides who I am. Like, this is me with makeup, without makeup, healthy, not healthy — whatever it is, this is me,” she said.
From Italy onward she used social media to document hospital stays, surgeries and long physical-therapy sessions. “It was tough because I was isolated. Social media was the only way for me to communicate with the outside world in a lot of ways,” she said. The sharing became therapeutic: the solitude allowed introspection and writing she called some of the most thoughtful she’d done.
Now she’s re-emerging into public life. A Vanity Fair photo shoot made her feel more like herself after weeks in sweatpants and without makeup: “It was the first time I felt more [like] me,” she said. She also traveled to New York for an educational campaign called Antibodies for Any Body for Invivyd, a deal she signed before her injuries and one she didn’t seriously consider canceling.
Her recovery remains long: countless rehab hours, another surgery in the fall to remove metal from her left leg, and a later operation to address the torn ACL. She hasn’t ruled out getting back on skis someday — if only for closure. She never even had a chance to say goodbye to teammates after the crash: “I saw my teammates in the start, and then I was whisked away in a chopper, and I never saw anyone again,” she said. “Not even for racing, but just as a human being to say, ‘This was fun. I love you guys.'”
That may take a while. “But since I’m not one to hide my story, I’m sure I’ll tell you on Instagram,” she said with a smile.