When JC Schoonmaker talks about his earliest memories of ski racing, he doesn’t begin with speed or snow conditions, or the particular magic of gliding across winter trails. He starts, instead, with raffles. “I just remember as a kid, there’d be raffles after every race that I would be so stoked for,” he says. “Trying to get a prize, like a new pair of gloves or a hat.” It is an unexpectedly tender snapshot of a skier now known for his explosive starts and the sharp, angular drama of World Cup sprint heats. But it is also revealing. Long before Schoonmaker was on national team radars, long before he was analyzing sprint tactics or refining breathwork, he was simply a boy who loved showing up at races, surrounded by friends, snow, and the possibility of leaving with a hat.
Schoonmaker grew up in Tahoe, a place where winter sport is woven into the fabric of childhood. Yet unlike many of the region’s rising athletes, he was not funneled into Alpine skiing or a single disciplinary track. Instead, he moved constantly—and in every direction. “Both my parents were super athletic, into sports,” he says. “So from a really early age, I was just doing tons of different stuff: soccer, downhill skiing, and Nordic skiing. I played lacrosse. A little bit of baseball.” The variety shaped him in ways he didn’t appreciate at the time: balance from soccer, strength from downhill, elasticity from lacrosse, and a developing sense of rhythm from all of it.
Meanwhile, the Nordic community in Tahoe was small enough to feel intimate yet substantial enough to provide him with peers, mentors, and a place to grow without suffocation. “Joining a Nordic team for me was super fun because I got to go out and ski with friends,” he says. “It was kind of my first experience racing.”
Early Validation in Soldier Hollow and Truckee
It wasn’t until he traveled outside his region that Schoonmaker realized how he measured up. On a Far West trip to Soldier Hollow—his first time racing beyond his local bubble—he surprised himself. “I think I got third in the first race… then I won the second one,” he recalls. “I didn’t even really know it was a big deal, but all the older kids on the trip were… really excited for me.” Their reaction revealed something he hadn’t yet recognized: that his potential extended well beyond his local podiums.
A similar revelation arrived at Junior Nationals in Truckee, where home snow became a proving ground. He had hoped to earn All-American status, although the early races had gone poorly. “All the first races didn’t really go super well,” he says. “I had high expectations.” Yet in the final individual race before the relay, he stepped onto the podium. “Somehow onto the podium and got third,” he says. “That gave me a bunch of confidence… really helped me.” It was not just affirmation but a directional sign. Skiing was becoming more than an activity. It was becoming a path.
Choosing Anchorage and the Power of the Right Environment
Despite his junior successes, Schoonmaker’s college recruiting process was sobering. His age cohort was stacked—Gus Schumacher, Luke Jager, Canyon Tobin—and their achievements overshadowed many strong skiers. “My top choice was UVM, and I just didn’t get a spot there,” he says. “I didn’t have a ton of options.” But an unexpected opportunity appeared when a Tahoe friend encouraged him to consider the University of Alaska Anchorage. He visited, and something clicked. “I’d say that’s the best decision I ever made,” he says. “I ended up coming to an excellent team… It’s an awesome place for skiing.”
Anchorage wasn’t glamorous, but it was grounding: clear air, big terrain, and a training culture built on consistency rather than spectacle. Under coach Trond Flagstad, Schoonmaker’s skiing matured—his engine, his technique, and his confidence—all while laying the foundation for a collaborative coaching story that would shape his rise.
A Uniquely Collaborative Coaching Path
Schoonmaker’s development is defined by the unusually harmonious network of coaches who supported him. In Tahoe, he trained with Will Sweetser, whose workout creativity brought nuance to his summer training. At UAA, Flagstad built his fall rhythm with threshold work and bounding. In the winter, U.S. Ski Team coaches—Matt Whitcomb, Kristen Bourne, and Chris Grover—stepped in with race-day craft and a national pipeline. And now, in Anchorage, he works with Eric Flora at APU, whose daily presence has brought structure and clarity.
“I feel like I didn’t even really have to do much in the way of balancing that,” he says. “Trond, Will, and Matt… kind of just took that on themselves.”
That kind of multi-coach collaboration is rare. Instead of conflicting philosophies, Schoonmaker received overlapping layers of expertise, each building on the others. He remembers one of Sweetser’s signature interval sets with particular fondness: “Twenty seconds L5… forty seconds rest… forty seconds L5… then six minutes of threshold. A cool blend… essential for getting you ready for doing sprints on the World Cup.” Flagstad brought heavy doses of fall bounding at L4. Whitcomb and Bourne added race sharpness. Flora, finally, aligned everything. “Having him at World Championships last year made it feel like just a practice in Anchorage,” Schoonmaker says.
The Unexpected World Cup Start That Changed Everything
The first moment when Schoonmaker truly understood the trajectory he was on came suddenly. At U.S. Nationals in Houghton, Michigan, in 2020, he won the sprint qualifier. It was exciting, but he didn’t assume it meant anything beyond that day’s result. Then his assistant coach, Marine Dusser Bjornsen, approached him with unexpected news. “She was like, ‘Oh yeah, you’re gonna get World Cup starts from that,’” he recalls. “And I was like, ‘What? No way.’” His passport was expiring, his bags were unprepared, and within days, he was on a plane to Dresden.
Stepping into the World Cup for the first time felt surreal. “I wasn’t even really worried about those being my first World Cups,” he says. “I was mostly just hoping to get to go over there.” The qualifiers felt manageable; the heats were startling. “Racing against those dudes in the heats… was just a whole other level. A different beast.” Still, he never felt crushed by the moment. “We were just having fun,” he says. “It wasn’t crazy high expectations.” That experience didn’t instantly transform him, but it recalibrated his sense of where he belonged.
APU: A Training Collective That Became Home
When Schoonmaker finished college and committed to training full-time in Anchorage, it wasn’t only because of Flora’s coaching. It was because the environment felt like home. “Luke coming back… Gus joining… Zan and Michael… it was such a good team,” he says. “A lot played into it… but mostly that stuff.” APU is one of the few places in the country where the majority of the national team trains together throughout the year, creating a rare sense of continuity on the World Cup.
Yet even in a group that suits him so well, Schoonmaker knows he needs occasional solitude to stay balanced. “I definitely find times during the summer where I’m pretty excited to do an interval session by myself,” he says. “I grew up training alone in Tahoe.” Winter, of course, is different. “You’re living with this group of people for the entire winter,” he says. “Sometimes it is hard to find time to yourself.” But the team understands him. “Everyone knows whatever’s best for you is what’s best for the team.”
A New Kind of Training: Mindfulness and Sprint Awareness
This year, Schoonmaker added something he had never practiced formally: daily mindfulness training. “Some breath holds… super simple, just five minutes of mindfulness,” he says. “Focusing on my breath, trying not to let my thoughts wander.” The shift wasn’t driven by physical shortcomings, but by an honest assessment of where he needed to grow tactically. “In sprint heats… I’ve tended to have my head down, thinking about my technique… rather than, ‘I need to get this position around this corner.’”
Mindfulness gave him a way to sharpen his presence during races and training. During intervals, he began noticing moments when his focus drifted. “My mind starts thinking about what I’m gonna have for lunch,” he admits. “I’m getting better at bringing myself back… loosen up, ski relaxed.” The work is subtle, internal, and mostly invisible, yet deeply connected to the kind of racer he wants to become.
Passing It On: What He’d Tell the Next Generation
If Schoonmaker were speaking to a group of juniors in Tahoe today, he would know exactly what he would emphasize. “I love this puzzle of trying to get better every day,” he says. “Focus on the small things you can control… let the cards fall where they fall.” But he would also add a piece of training wisdom gained from experience. “I almost feel like I got a little too caught up in L1 and L3,” he says. “Walking up hills on classic skis isn’t getting you better at classic skiing. You have to ski fast to get better at skiing fast.” It is the kind of message that cuts through both trends and dogma.
Life on the Road: Davos, Oslo, and a Simpler Suitcase
Schoonmaker’s favorite destinations reflect a balance of beauty and familiarity. Davos stands out. “I’d love to go there when I’m not getting ready for the Tour de Ski… explore it a little more,” he says. He also holds a soft spot for Oslo. “That’s a special spot. I always feel like I’m having a really good time there.” On race mornings, he keeps things simple: “Probably a couple eggs and a few pieces of toast with jam.” And he no longer travels with the heaviest item from his early career. “I brought over an Xbox… took up, like, 12 pounds in my bag,” he laughs.
Olympic Season: Ambition, Clarity, and the Calm Before the Heats
Despite the stakes of the Olympic year, Schoonmaker hasn’t reinvented his approach. “I honestly haven’t been doing anything different,” he says. “I’m more excited to be healthy and head into Period 1 feeling good.” But his goals are not small. “My goals would be to win a medal,” he says. “That’s what I’m shooting for.” A chance to race the relay again is just as meaningful. “The relay in Trondheim was super fun,” he says. “I would love to get another chance.”
As for the individual sprint, his ambition is both grounded and bold. “If I could make the final… that would be a solid day,” he says. “But I do feel like I can win a medal.” Few athletes can express that kind of aim with such composure. Schoonmaker delivers it as calmly as if he were describing a morning ski.
Where He Stands Now
What stands out most about Schoonmaker at this moment is not bravado, but clarity. He is no longer the boy who raced for raffle prizes, nor the college skier unsure of his place, nor the rookie dragging an Xbox through European airports. He has become something steadier, more self-aware, and more intentional. A sprinter with composure. An athlete with perspective. A competitor capable of holding his ambition lightly without losing its sharpness.
Presence, for Schoonmaker, is not stillness. It is an ongoing process of tuning himself to the shifting rhythms of a sprint heat, listening to what his mind and body are telling him, and moving through the season with intention rather than urgency. If he keeps his head up—literally and figuratively—this may be the season when the skiing world begins to see not only what he has built, but why it was built this way.
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