LaunchBreaker Skyler Espinoza’s Journey to Paris 2024
Hannah Chadwick & Skyler Espinoza are competing at the Paris 2024 Paralympics in tandem cycling. Photo credit: Joe Kusumoto/USOPC
Written by: Skyler Espinoza, August 2024
I didn't always know I wanted to be an athlete, but somehow I've always been one. When I was about 7 years old I strapped on my roller blades and skated all the way down the long, bumpy driveway to my house. About a half mile later, knees shaky from the broken concrete, I raised my hands up high: I could almost hear the roar of the crowd. I had become the world champion of roller blading.
Growing up in Maine, I wasn’t big into organized sports. But with an Olympic Gold medallist as an aunt, and an extended family full of athletes, sports were never far away. I ran, skied, played hockey, baseball and softball, and a lot of “try to catch this while I tackle you” with my three brothers. As a teenager, I did early morning yoga and ran marathons to let off steam, but I still hadn’t found my place in sport: whatever I tried on felt like a hand-me-down.
After high school I packed my parents’ car and drove with my anxious dad down to New York City, where I attended Barnard College. I was enthralled by the city and all things school, and my time felt too precious to waste on working out, much less sports. But parts of my personality were showing in class that needed an outlet. One professor told me, “Skyler. Learning a language is not a competition. You need to try something else. Let it out.”
I decided to walk on to the Columbia Women's Rowing Team, where, along with lots of growing pains and vomit, I found my place and, strangely, my peace. The fierce, competitive, angry and loud parts of my personality had room to run wild. I felt more comfortable in my skin and more powerful than I ever had. I felt like I could do anything. That feeling was what stuck me to sport, and the community of women’s sport in particular. I felt like, if women and girls could only harness the energy that sport provides, we wouldn’t have to worry any more about getting a call back. We wouldn’t be insecure, and we wouldn’t second guess our expertise. We wouldn’t let men talk over us and we wouldn’t be afraid to apply for jobs we aren’t qualified for. I wanted this feeling for all the women and girls, everywhere.
In order to truly be able to advocate for others, I felt like I had to take my own athletic journey to the highest level possible. At the time, that meant trying to row in the Olympics. Four years later my rowing career came to an end with a back surgery that left me searching for my sense of self. I was about to graduate with my masters degree from Stanford, and, in a lot of ways, that could have been the end. I’d given it a great shot, and now I could move on to “real life.”
So, in 2018, I decided to start training in earnest for the Olympics.
Paris was always the dream, and 6 years seemed like enough time to work myself off the walker I was using post-surgery, and on to an Olympic roster. I cannot emphasize enough how little I knew what I was doing. Partly because no one told me how insanely complicated and challenging this journey would be, I started a blog that talks about all sorts of issues that women in sports face, especially Olympic sports. My husband and I started a YouTube series that chronicles the journey we’ve been on together. All along the way, we’ve done our best to share our story with our community, and even those we haven’t met.
I started track cycling specific training in 2018, and started racing in the late summer of 2019. Over the next few years I spent months and months away from home, chasing the highest level of racing and training I could get my hands on. The biggest change from college athletics was that it was lonely. With college sports, and especially a sport like rowing, every practice doubles as hang out time with 20+ of your best friends. There is so little motivation required to show up, because you know all your teammates will be there. In the post college sports landscape, I had to balance training with work while trying to find affordable health care and creative solutions to fund race seasons. When I did carve time out to train, my training sessions were too specific to do with others: I’ve spent thousands (and thousands) of hours alone with my bike.
In 2022, I got my first calls from the Big Leagues. I attended two Team USA camps, and was worried sick that they thought my hand-me-down cycling kits didn’t make me look the part. There weren’t any promises made before or after these opportunities. Something a lot of the Olympians I’ve known in my life don’t understand is the stress of trying to make it, for like, a long time. It felt like I was knocking on the door of a real opportunity, but no one was cracking it open. And I was knocking hard.
In the beginning of 2023, I got a call from US Paracycling. Would I be interested in piloting a tandem for a visually impaired athlete? At the time, it felt like a huge decision. I would be stepping away from the USA Cycling door, and trying the window. Would the window get me to the Games? I had no idea. But I was curious enough to try. Guiding athletes had always been something I had always thought I’d do at some point, but not something I thought I’d ever get to do at the highest level of sport. I flew out to Colorado Springs to meet Hannah, and it felt like everything fell into place. I loved riding the tandem, and I loved the idea of being a part of a team again. More than anything? I wanted to race. I had been training so hard and long for an opportunity, and I wanted to throw down.
And we did. Hannah and I made our international debut at World Championships last year, and came out with a bronze medal. Last fall we became two-time Para PanAmerican Games champions. This spring we doubled down on a World Championships bronze, and then the waiting game began. After Worlds in March, we just had to train and hope that we’d done enough to earn a spot on the Games roster, which would be announced in July.
We did so much work as a pair to be at peace with whatever happened: we’ve been on a special journey together, regardless of the Games. I’ve learned so much about sport and myself from working with Hannah, and I know she would say the same. That being said, I couldn’t sleep in the week leading up to selection. When our names were called, it felt like the most surreal moment of my life. Working towards this dream has been nothing like I thought it would be: it’s been lonelier, more difficult, more magical, more complicated and more incredible than anything I could’ve imagined. My husband says he would do it all again, and I don’t know if I’m quite there yet, but I do know that I wouldn’t change a single thing.
