My love story with skiing

By Julia Kern

Dear readers,

My name is Julia Kern, and I love being outside, exploring, moving, and connecting with people along the way. Many know me as an Olympian, a U.S. Ski Team cross-country skier, and a two-time World Championship medalist. This is my 11th year on the team. I’ve raced all over the world, traveling the World Cup circuit for over eight years and competing internationally for more than fourteen.

But those titles aren’t who I am, and they’re not how I define myself. They’re simply a reflection of who I am at my core and the lifestyle I love.

I ski race because I love being outside. I love exploring the world through movement, meeting people across cultures, and pushing myself to grow. And I love racing, not just for the effort, but for the game within it.

My love story began with nature, movement, and family. As soon as I could walk, I was shuffling around on skis with my family in Germany during Christmas. My grandma would lure me forward with promises of gummy bears waiting at the next intersection, singing songs to teach me the rhythm of skiing. I wasn’t just learning how to ski; I was learning joy through movement in nature.

At the same time, I was trying every sport imaginable, usually chasing after my older sister Nadja. With a five-year age gap, keeping up was never easy, but I always aspired to do so. I’m incredibly grateful to my family for exposing me to so many sports at a young age. Our family outings were always active—hiking, rock climbing, beach volleyball, biking, swimming, soccer, running, skiing. You name it. I needed an outlet for all that competitive energy.

As a kid, I absolutely loved basketball. My mom played for the German national team, my sister played in college, and I followed their path. I was also really bad at losing. Sports gave me a safe place to learn how to lose, to learn that disappointment passes, that effort still matters, and that the world keeps turning.

Everything shifted my freshman year of high school, when I found myself falling even deeper in love with cross-country skiing. The beauty of love is that you can love more than one thing, but sometimes one love begins to shape you differently. What changed for me was the community.

Instead of running sprints as punishment, I found coaches, teammates, and friends who wanted to run in the mountains for fun. People cheered for one another in races. Parents waxed skis, stocked snack tables, and created a space where everyone belonged. It was competitive, yes, but it was also fun, supportive, and deeply human.

That fall, I injured my shoulder. My basketball coach left me on the sidelines, while my new ski coach challenged me to ski without poles. I loved practice, not just because I loved sport, but because I loved doing it with people. Motivated by that sense of connection, I skied hard without poles all fall so I could keep up with my friends. That was my first real lesson in resilience: finding a way forward despite the obstacles.

That no-pole skiing must have worked, because that winter, at just 14 years old, I made my first U18 international ski trip without even knowing such a trip existed or what it meant.

Off I went to Estonia, with no training plan and no idea what kind of journey I was beginning. I was so nervous at the races, but my eyes were opened to a world of possibility. The following year, I returned to the same trip and built bonds with teammates that will last a lifetime. We learned how to suffer together, how to dream together, how to laugh when things got hard. I didn’t know it then, but they are the ones who made ski racing meaningful and fun.

And somewhere along the way, I fell in love with racing itself.

Ski racing isn’t just about fitness. It’s about tactics, timing, and intuition. It’s about reading the course, the conditions, and the people around you. It’s about choosing when to push and when to wait, when to take risks and when to stay patient. I love the feeling of playing the game, making the right move at the right moment, out-gliding a competitor, winning a battle that isn’t always visible on paper. There is something deeply satisfying about racing smart.

Ultimately, results are not why I love skiing, and they are not the moments I remember most years later. I love skiing for the journey. For the connections I’ve made, the places and cultures I’ve experienced through movement, the opportunity to become a little better than yesterday, and the challenge of overcoming obstacles.

Standing on the podium has never been about the number next to my name. It has mattered because of the people I shared it with and the setbacks, injuries, and heartbreak it took to get there.

My story is about community, connection, resilience, perseverance, and time spent outdoors.

No love story is all sunshine and rainbows; there has been plenty of heartbreak, tears, and physical pain from injuries and disappointments along the way. I’ve been riddled with injuries along my journey, and as hard as those battles have been, it’s the reason I keep coming back, knowing I have more to give, more to grow, and more to enjoy. 

The beauty of cross-country skiing is that this love story doesn’t have an ending. It’s a lifelong sport—my grandma, who taught me to ski, still skis to this day. The connections and bonds I’ve built through skiing are ingrained in me forever.