From the FasterSkier archive — posts syndicated from athletes’ and coaches’ own blogs between 2004 and 2012, kept online as published. Current coverage is at fasterskier.com.

Tag: Nordic skiing development

  • Long-Term Development in Nordic Skiing: What We Say vs. What We Actually Do

    Long-Term Development in Nordic Skiing: What We Say vs. What We Actually Do

    This article was made possible through the generous support of our voluntary subscribers. If you value coverage like this, please support FasterSkier with a voluntary subscription.

    The U.S. women’s relay after taking a historic third in the 4 x 3.3 k relay at 2017 Junior World Championships on Sunday at Soldier Hollow in Midway Utah, with (from left to right) Hailey Swirbul, Julia Kern, Hannah Halvorsen, and Katharine Ogden. (Photo: U.S. Ski Team/Tom Kelly)

    As the season winds down, it’s worth stepping back and asking a simple question: Does the way we develop young skiers in the United States reflect the philosophy we say we believe in? I know everyone is probably done with hearing about how the Norwegians do it, so let’s look at what we say we know and what we embrace.

    Many coaches and programs describe cross-country skiing as a lifetime sport. We talk about patience and say it takes ten years or more to develop as a skier. Clubs reference long-term athlete development models, and parents hear that endurance sports reward athletes who build gradually and peak later in life.

    All of that is true.

    But much of the system we’ve built rewards the opposite.

    Once rankings, camp selections, college recruiting, and program reputation become tied to junior results, the incentives quietly shift. Development begins to be measured by podiums and training hours rather than movement quality, long-term improvement, or whether athletes are still engaged in the sport five or ten years later.

    The U.S. men’s silver-medal relay at 2018 Junior World Championships in Goms, Switzerland, with (from left to right) Luke Jager, Hunter Wonders, Gus Schumacher, and Ben Ogden. (Photo: JWSC2018.ch)

    What is long-term development

    Aerobic capacity develops over years, often decades. Technical efficiency improves gradually. The durability required to handle training load is built slowly through years of training.  Most elite endurance athletes reach their peak in their mid-twenties or early thirties, not in high school.

    If peak performance happens ten or fifteen years after an athlete first enters the sport, the early years should focus less on maximizing results and more on building the foundation that supports long-term growth.

    That foundation includes several elements.

    Movement skill. Nordic skiing is a technical sport, and the best skiers move efficiently long before their physiology fully matures. This efficiency is critical to managing training loads in the future. More efficiency in technique equals less stress and load from training.

    General athletic development. Running, biking, jumping, climbing, and playing other sports all contribute to coordination and resilience. Athletes who move well tend to adapt better to training later.

    Motivation. The most valuable asset a young athlete has isn’t VO₂ max or the hours trained by some arbitrary definition. It’s the desire to keep showing up year after year.

    Junior athletes race during the 2022 U.S. Cross Country Championships in Soldier Hollow, UT. (Photo: Tobias Albrigtsen / @untraceableg)

    The System Sends Mixed Signals

    In practice, the system often sends young athletes a different message.

    Junior racing has become increasingly competitive. Rankings exist even for younger age groups, and selections for camps, trips, and development programs often depend on early results. National events and development pathways can make performance at 14 or 15 feel like it carries some long-term significance. Yet we also claim to know that identifying future elite athletes at that age is extremely unreliable. If that’s true, it’s worth asking why the system places so much weight on those results.

    One example is allowing U14 athletes to ski up in order to qualify for Junior Nationals. It doesn’t happen frequently, but it happens every year. It’s hard to reconcile that with the philosophy of not rushing development. If long-term development truly matters, governing bodies should show leadership and address this issue.

    In some regions of the country, qualifier races have U16 athletes seeded in the start list with U18 and U20 athletes. People say it doesn’t matter because we separate them in the results. I disagree, the are intermingled with much older and more developed athletes. But more than that it is again the message begin sent?

    At the same time, training culture has shifted. Training data is widely shared, and conversations often revolve around hours. Young athletes begin comparing workloads long before their bodies are ready to handle them. Often the more is better attitude prevails, even though we say that we should be working on other skill aspects of development.

    These pressures can push athletes toward earlier specialization and higher training loads than their stage of development requires. A 14-year-old begins to feel like they need to train like a college skier. A 15-year-old worries that missing races or reducing training volume might put them behind.

    The Boulder Nordic Junior Race Team out for an adventure ski in 2014. (Photo: BNST)

    What are the impacts of the mixed signals

    The most visible consequence is burnout. Many people challenge the idea of burnout. But after more than forty years around this sport, I’ve seen the pattern repeatedly. Just because we don’t measure something well doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.

    Coaches who have spent time around junior skiing see the pattern: talented athletes who disappear from the sport sometime between their late teens and early twenties. Sometimes academics, finances, or changing interests are the reason. But often the explanation is simpler, they are tired from too much too early and to intense.

    There are also physical consequences. Adolescence is a complex period of growth and development. Training loads that are manageable for more mature athletes are impossible for a developing body. When volume and intensity climb too quickly, overuse injuries and chronic fatigue become more likely.

    Early specialization is not the problem. Rather, it is ineffective programming that has these young athletes training like more mature athletes.  This early training focus limits athletic development. Athletes may accumulate impressive training hours but miss the movement diversity that builds long-term durability.

    The biggest loss in this process is one that is unseen because those athletes are lost from the sport.

    From a coaching perspective, the shift shows up in small ways. Conversations revolve around weekly training hours instead of how well athletes are skiing. Easy sessions slowly become harder. Fatigue accumulates while movement quality quietly declines. None of this happens overnight, but over time, the focus drifts away from skill development and toward simply doing more.

    Development in endurance sports isn’t about accumulating work. It’s about adapting to the work being done and building the capacity to handle more later. A training log that looks impressive at 15 doesn’t necessarily translate into success at 25. What matters more is whether the athlete remains healthy, motivated, and technically sound over the long term.

    Hailey Swirbul celebrates the U16 Junior National Championship title in the Freestyl Mass Start in Stowe, Vermont, in 2014. (Photo: Voisin/FasterSkier)

    What Good Development Actually Looks Like

    If long-term development is the goal, the early years should look different from elite training. Young skiers benefit from variety. Running, cycling, hiking, and other sports build coordination and resilience. The goal isn’t to replicate elite training programs but to create athletes who move well and enjoy being active.

    Technique deserves major attention. Nordic skiing rewards efficiency, and athletes who develop strong movement patterns early often progress faster later because every hour of training becomes more productive. Training volume should increase gradually over time. Consistency across years matters far more than pushing limits in any single season.

    Most importantly, development should seek to preserve motivation. The sport needs athletes who remain engaged long enough to realize their potential. We often see athletes try to do a big training year to catch up or reach a target training volume. It rarely works out.

    The Problem With “More Volume” Thinking

    In Nordic skiing, training volume carries a certain mystique. Conversations quickly turn to hours, weekly totals, yearly totals, and stories of elite athletes training 800 to 1,000 hours per year.

    It’s easy to see why. Endurance sports reward consistency and large training volumes. But a subtle misunderstanding often occurs. Volume stops being seen as the result of long-term development and starts being treated as the cause of performance.

    Correlation becomes mistaken for causation.

    Hunter Wonders (APU/Alaska) winning the U16 Boys Mass Start Freestyle race at the US Junior National Championship in Stowe, Vermont. (Photo: Voisin/FasterSkier)

    High Volume Works for Elite Skiers

    At the elite level, high training volume makes sense. World Cup athletes have spent years building the capacity to handle that workload. Their aerobic systems are highly developed, their movement patterns are efficient, and their bodies have adapted gradually.

    High volume works because it sits on top of a massive foundation: technical skill, durability, and years of progressive training.

    The problem arises when that model gets copied without the same foundation underneath it.

    The Missing Variable: Training Age

    One of the most overlooked concepts in endurance development is training age. Training age refers to how many years an athlete has spent consistently adapting to structured training. Two 18-year-old skiers may have very different training ages. One may have spent eight years gradually building capacity. Another may have entered the sport recently and increased training dramatically. On paper, their training logs may look similar. In reality, their ability to adapt to those loads can be very different.

    Training only produces progress when adaptation occurs. Without adaptation, training simply builds fatigue.

    The U18 Girls field works its way past the Loppet Foundation Adventure Center in Minneapolis during Junior Nationals on March 11th, 2022. (Photo: David J Owen Photography)

    The Efficiency Problem

    Elite skiers move extremely well. Their technique allows them to ski long distances while conserving energy and minimizing unnecessary muscular stress. Developing this efficiency early is critical. In the future, it will allow the athletes to train large volumes without the metabolic and neuromuscular stress that can lead to overtraining.

    Young athletes often lack efficiency. When technique is still evolving, large training volumes can actually slow technical development. Fatigue reinforces inefficient movement patterns that later become difficult to change.

    For developing skiers, time spent improving movement quality can be far more valuable than time spent extending distance.

    The Cost of Chasing Hours

    There is also a practical cost to the “more volume” mindset. Elite athletes structure their lives around training. Sleep, nutrition, and recovery are integrated into the system. Young athletes are balancing school, travel, social life, and other commitments. When training volume climbs, something gives. Sleep declines, recovery becomes inconsistent, and fatigue accumulates.

    Under those conditions, simply adding more hours rarely produces better results.

    What Volume Should Really Represent

    Training volume does matter. Endurance sports ultimately require substantial workloads. But volume should be viewed as a long-term outcome of development, not a short-term objective. Successful endurance athletes rarely build training hours quickly. They accumulate them gradually across many seasons, allowing their bodies to adapt step by step. By the time they reach elite levels, high training volumes feel natural because they have spent years building the durability to support them.

    The 2026 US Ski and Snowboard Junior National Championships in Cable, Wisconsin, hosted by the American Birkebeiner Ski Foundation. (Photo: Tryg Solberg)

    A Better Question to Ask

    Instead of asking how many hours an athlete should train, a better question might be:

    What training can this athlete adapt to right now?

    For some athletes, the answer may involve increasing volume. For others, improving technique, strength, or intensity distribution may produce greater gains. Development is not identical for every athlete. What matters is finding the training load that promotes consistent adaptation rather than constant fatigue.

    Why This Matters for the Future of the Sport

    Cross-country skiing, like all endurance sports, depends on long-term participation. The sport needs athletes who remain engaged, not only as competitors but as lifelong skiers, coaches, and community members.

    A development system that pushes athletes too hard, too early risks losing them before they reach their potential. It also narrows the pathway to elite performance by favoring early maturity and filtering out late developers.

    If Nordic skiing truly wants to remain a lifetime sport, its development culture must reflect that philosophy.

    Closing

    Cross-country skiing has always valued endurance. That value should extend beyond physiology and into how we develop athletes. Endurance isn’t just about how long someone can ski hard on race day. It’s about how long they can remain engaged in the process of improving.

    If we truly believe Nordic skiing is a lifetime sport, then our development system should not resemble a funnel that selects kids out at every progressive age group. It should look more like a runway, where every young athlete has the opportunity and the time to fully develop their potential, not just the ones who mature early.

     

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    The 2026 US Ski and Snowboard Junior National Championships in Cable, Wisconsin, hosted by the American Birkebeiner Ski Foundation. (Photo: Tryg Solberg)
  • Colin Rodgers and the Culture of SMS T2

    Colin Rodgers and the Culture of SMS T2

    This article was made possible through the generous support of our voluntary subscribers. If you value coverage like this, please support FasterSkier with a voluntary subscription.

    The first time I saw Colin Rodgers, he was climbing onto a podium in the basement of a hotel in Biwabik, Minnesota. I honestly can’t remember the name of the hotel, but I can remember the rooms, the enormous lobby complete with an indoor minigolf course, and the basement where the awards were taking place. It was Junior Nationals, 1997, and he’d just won the opening U16 race. We were there with the New England contingent. They held the awards in this low-ceilinged basement room, and although he wasn’t the tallest of boys, his blonde hair almost touched the ceiling tiles. Colin went to Holderness School in New Hampshire, and as I looked up at his smiling face, it was obvious that he was the kind of kid who was going somewhere.

    A few years later, I was watching him again, but this time from behind as he skied away from me up one of the small climbs on Woodpecker during the 3 x 5 k Classic Relay at the Williams College Carnival. Colin raced for Middlebury, and I raced for UNH, and at carnivals, he’d ski away from me. That was the deal. He was always a step, or a lot more, ahead.

    We caught up over Zoom last week. Colin was in a hotel room in Falun, Sweden, traveling with the U.S. Ski Team on the World Cup circuit. I was sitting on a rocking chair in the foyer of our local dentist’s office while my boys were inside getting their teeth cleaned. That’s how FasterSkier interviews happen sometimes.

    Colin Rodgers (SVSEF) – 4th Place

    Since his competitive career ended, Colin has given himself fully to coaching. First with the SVSEF Gold Team, who he had raced for at the end of his career, and later junior skiers at Green Mountain Valley School, where he spent nine years. And now, as head coach of the SMS T2 Team at Stratton Mountain School in Vermont, he works with some of the best cross-country skiers in the world.

    The team this year included Jessie Diggins, Ben Ogden, Julia Kern, and Canadian skier Remi Drolet, as well as collegiate skiers Fin Bailey and Jack Lange. Of the professional skiers, three of them finished in the top six at the Olympics. All four were in the top 20. Ben Ogden came home with two silver medals and ended a 50-year Olympic medal drought for American men in cross-country skiing. And Jessie Diggins, who is currently wrapping up a career that is the best of any American skier ever, added a bronze medal to her collection.

    Colin still seemed a little stunned by it all when we spoke.

    “We were so far beyond wherever I thought we were going to be,” he said. “I had a good feeling about this year. But for Ben to take home two silvers, and Jesse a bronze, and Remi to be in the top 20 and really help Canada with a historic relay finish, and Julia in the top six. It’s stuff that I could never believe was truly going to happen. And here we are talking about it.”

    SMS T2’s Rémi Drolet, Ben Ogden, Julia Kern, Jessie Diggins, and coach Colin Rodgers. (Photo: courtesy photo)

    Colin grew up in Westford, Vermont. His father was the program director for the U.S. Biathlon team from 1984 to 1988, which brought the family to northern Vermont. His parents built a house in Westford that year and never left.

    He went to Holderness, then Middlebury, and after college, he headed to the Maine Winter Sports Center, where coaches like Jens Johansson, Eli Brown and Will Sweetser were building something in the northern reaches of the state. From there, he moved to Sun Valley, Idaho, where he joined the SVSEF Gold Team and kept racing.

    Colin was good. He raced on the World Cup. But the jump he’d always hoped to make didn’t quite happen.

    “I think as a nation now, we’re so much more educated,” he said. “I had amazing coaches. But we were just kind of, maybe sometimes trying too hard.”

    He talked about spending time in Scandinavia and being around athletes who were significantly better than him. What he noticed wasn’t that they worked harder. It was that they were smarter about the work.

    “I probably trained at level two way too much of the time,” he said. “Especially being a little more anaerobic and linked to the sprint side. I really needed to be doing the easy training even easier.”

    He paused.

    “When it’s time to go, you’ve got to let the dog run,” he said, quoting his old Middlebury coach Terry Aldrich. “And that was the exact opposite. Like, now it’s time to really peak, and you let it loose.”

    I told him I’d heard a version of that from the other direction. When I was coaching, I used to tell my kids about Matt Whitcomb, who had been a teammate of Rodgers at Middlebury, previewing a course at Junior Nationals and telling the athletes they had to “walk the f-ing dog.” Every time they got to a climb, they were pulling back on the leash. Walking the dog.

    Two coaches. Related metaphor. Opposite leash relationships. That’s about as clean a summary of training philosophy as you’ll find in this sport. Keep the dog relaxed in training often, until it is time to let it run when it matters.

    Matt Gelso on the finishing stretch with coach Colin Rodgers encouraging in West Yellowstone (Photo: Toko)

    Before Stratton, the coaching experience that shaped Colin most was the time he spent around Rick Kapala at Sun Valley.

    Kapala ran the Sun Valley Education Foundation for nearly 30 years and built a program Colin still talks about with real admiration.

    “It was serious training, but it was also really creative,” Colin said. “You’d go out for long mountain adventures, do different kinds of workouts. It kept people engaged.”

    That stuck with him. When he moved to GMVS to coach high school athletes, he kept coming back to a simple question.

    “What would make me really want to go to practice today?”

    He laughed when he said it.

    “It sounds basic. But it actually matters a lot. If people don’t want to be there, something’s probably off.”

    He talked about his coaching years at GMVS and how, for him, the job was about getting kids to believe in what they could do.

    “When kids are in high school, they’re questioning everything. How they look, how they’re growing. And you’re just like, no, dude, this is fun. This can be a real blast. And believe. Like, damn, I can do a good job at this. If I’m doing this every day, I might as well be good at it, right?”

    He spent nine years doing that work. And then the SMS T2 job came along.

    “It was an opportunity there’s no way I was going to pass up,” he said. “It’s changed my life. Literally.”

    The program at Stratton operates under a mission statement crafted by Colin’s predecessor, Sverre Caldwell: international excellence and local inspiration.

    Colin said that phrase was part of what sold him on the job.

    “It’s everything I believe in. We’re trying to be the best we can be, win races, kick ass internationally. But then also, along the way, inspire the next generation of skiers coming up.”

    At Stratton, those two things aren’t separate. The T2 athletes train on the same roads and trails as the younger skiers in the school’s Nordic program. When Stratton kids show up for a summer or fall practice, and the older athletes are there, everyone just funnels in together and heads out.

    “It doesn’t even need to be talked about, really,” Colin said. “It’s just showing up, doing the work. This is how it’s done. And if you keep working really hard for a long time, you’re probably going to get really good too.”

    He brought up the chain of inspiration that runs through American skiing. Jessie Diggins was inspired by Kikkan Randall, by Andy Newell, by Simi Hamilton. Kern was inspired by Diggins.

    “When you get motivated by somebody who’s special and inspiring to you, if you have some talent and the fire to go for it, you realize you can chase that person. And then it’s like, oh, I can maybe be them. And then it’s like, oh, maybe I can be better than them.”

    One of the more interesting aspects of Colin’s role at SMS T2 is that he’s not the only coach in the picture. Not even close.

    Kristen Bourne and Colin Rodgers out for a run during the OD run at Park City camp, 2025. (Photo: Matt Whitcomb)

    Diggins works primarily with Jason Cork on the U.S. Ski Team staff. Ogden’s training has long been guided by Patrick Weaver, his college coach at UVM. Kern has a deep relationship with Kristen Bourne, who is also a national team coach. Drolet works with Dave Wood, a former coach of the Canadian national team. And Bailey goes to UVM and skis for Weaver, while Lange goes to Dartmouth and is coached by Brayton Osgood.

    Colin sees his job as connecting the dots.

    “Each athlete comes in with their own support network,” he said. “Jason has been working with Jesse forever. Ben has a really close connection with Weave. And I’ve been able to learn a lot from Patrick about how Ben ticks.”

    He was honest about what that requires.

    “When you step into a role like this, you have to check your ego,” he said. “It’s not about being the only voice in the room. It’s about helping the athlete succeed.”

    What he brings is proximity. He sees the athletes more frequently than some of their other coaches, especially during training blocks in Vermont. He can offer technique advice, fill gaps when someone else isn’t available, and keep everyone communicating.

    “I think one of my strengths is the ability to connect people,” he said. “And to connect with people.”

    Colin has watched American skiing grow up. When he was racing, relatively few American men were competitive at the highest levels. The development pathways weren’t as clear. The coaching wasn’t as sophisticated.

    “We’re closer as a nation now to what it means to go to that next level,” he said. “We know what to do. As coaches, we’re totally clued in on this systematic, long-term idea of how to periodize correctly, and also how to make it fun.”

    Colin Rodgers, Jessie Diggins and Julia Kern. (Photo: courtesy photo)

    He pointed to results at every level. At the time we spoke, American athletes were fighting with the best in the world at the World Junior Championships. On the World Cup, Diggins, Kern, and Ogden, along with the APU-based skiers, are proving it can happen at the very top.

    “A lot of people have helped build this,” he said. “It’s not just one program or one coach.”

    But the jump from junior skiing to the World Cup is still enormous. And programs like SMS T2 exist to help athletes survive that transition.

    “Having environments where athletes can develop during that stage is really important,” he said. “The gap is huge.”

    Before we wrapped up, I asked Colin what success looks like for him five years from now.

    He went big picture with a slightly longer lens. The 2034 Olympics will be in Salt Lake City. There’s a generation of young American skiers who have already raced at Soldier Hollow, the Nordic venue, during their youth careers. Now they’re looking ahead to competing on home soil.

    “We’re working towards 2034,” he said. “And we want to be successful there. If we stay on this trajectory, we can have medals. That’s our ultimate goal.”

    Within Stratton, he wants to grow the team thoughtfully. This year was lean, focused on supporting the Olympic athletes. Going forward, he wants to build back toward four or five athletes on each side, men and women, plus NCAA skiers.

    “We have to do it the right way,” he said. “We don’t want to take on too many people too fast.”

    Jessie Diggins (USA), whose World Cup career will conclude in a week and a half, celebrates her bronze medal in the Olympic 10 k Freestyle in Tesero, Italy. (Photo: Vanzetta/NordicFocus)

    He’s also thinking about the athletes who won’t be there. Jessie Diggins is retiring. That will leave a void at SMS T2 and on the World Cup, where Colin noted she currently sits at 380 career starts, more than any other skier.

    “Jesse’s going to go on and do a lot of really cool things and still inspire the next generation in new ways,” he said. “And then there’s going to be up-and-comers who are going to step up and be inspired by everything she’s done, and by everything Ben and Julia and Remy are already doing.”

    International excellence. Local inspiration. It’s a simple mission. But Colin Rodgers has spent a career learning that the simple things are usually the ones that matter most.

    He’s been chasing the highest levels of this sport since he was 15 years old, standing on a podium in a hotel basement in Minnesota. The path just looks different now.

     

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    Rémi Drolet and Colin Rodgers. (Photo: courtesy photo)
  • The Long Way In: Zak Ketterson and the Patience It Took to Reach the Olympics

    The Long Way In: Zak Ketterson and the Patience It Took to Reach the Olympics

    This article was made possible through the generous support of our voluntary subscribers. If you value coverage like this, please support FasterSkier with a voluntary subscription.

    Zak Ketterson (USA) during the 10 k Classic in Toblach, Italy, as part of the 2026 Tour de Ski. (Photo: Vanzetta/NordicFocus)

    On Monday, a clear winter morning in northern Italy, Zak Ketterson skied intervals while his teammates enjoyed a point-to-point on an idyllic pre-Olympic winter day. The sun was out. The snow was good. He was working.

    “I did some hard intervals,” he said later. “So it was still nice and sunny and everything, but not as enjoyable.”

    That small distinction — between the workout that feels good and the workout that gets you ready — has followed Ketterson for most of his career. He has never been the prodigy. He has never been the junior who arrived early, polished, and inevitable. His path to the Olympic start line has been indirect, uneven, and occasionally fragile. It has also been intentional in ways that only make sense in hindsight.

    At 27, Ketterson is preparing to race at his first Olympic Winter Games, starting with the Skiathlon on Sunday, the culmination of a season that has quietly redefined his place in American men’s cross-country skiing. He has been competitive across formats, consistent across weekends, and calm in moments that once rattled him. But none of that came from doing things the “right” way — at least not the way modern development systems tend to define it.

    Ketterson arrived here by starting late, resisting structure, leaning into racing before training, and trusting that if he kept showing up long enough, the pieces might eventually fall into place.

    They have. Just not quickly.

    Ketterson’s favorite sports as a child were football and baseball. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)

    A Winter Without a Script

    Ketterson grew up in Minnesota, where winter is not an inconvenience so much as a condition. The days shorten. The lakes freeze. School calendars and community life bend around the cold. You don’t opt out of winter there; you adapt to it.

    In many households, adaptation means skiing. For Ketterson’s, it meant something else first.

    “For me, I was always really into football and baseball,” he said. “That was my fall sport and my spring sport.”

    Those sports gave his year shape. Football stretched into late autumn. Baseball pulled him toward summer. They came with teammates, structure, and a clear sense of belonging. Winter, by contrast, arrived as a blank space.

    Basketball — his favorite sport to this day — lived somewhere between play and possibility. He loved it but never formally committed to it. Organized winter athletics never quite settled into his life. Not yet.

    Before skiing was ever part of his life, Ketterson dreamed of being a pro athlete. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)

    Cross-country skiing entered almost accidentally, carried in by family rather than ambition.

    “My brother, for whatever reason, was more into cross-country running, track, and cross-country skiing,” Ketterson said. “He kind of convinced me, like, yo, you don’t have anything going on in the winter, you should just try this.”

    It wasn’t a calling. It was a solution.

    He was thirteen — late by elite skiing standards, but early enough to slip into the margins of the system. In Minnesota, seventh graders could train and travel with high school teams. Ketterson joined at the JV level, young and mostly anonymous.

    The draw wasn’t the work. It was the race.

    “I really liked racing, especially mass starts and sort of the competitive head-to-head aspect of it,” he said.

    Training, on the other hand, felt like an obstacle.

    “I absolutely hated that,” he said. “When it came to going into the woods and just doing a two-hour ski or something, I hated it.”

    Sometimes, hatred turned into avoidance.

    “There were a lot of practices where I would hide in the woods,” he said. “My friends and I would just pretend that we trained, but we were actually just building snow forts.”

    If this were a conventional development story, it might end there. Plenty do. A late start, uneven buy-in, resistance to structure — those are often warning signs.

    But Ketterson kept finding himself back on start lines.

    Early days on skis for Zak Ketterson. (Photo: Courtesy Photo)

    Racing as the Through Line

    What sustained him through those early years was not discipline, but opportunity. Each step forward offered another race, another environment where effort produced immediate feedback.

    Junior Nationals. Then World Juniors. Eventually, college.

    “The thing that kept me in the sport initially was just the racing,” he said.

    That instinct — to measure himself against others rather than against a stopwatch or a training plan — would define much of his early relationship with the sport.

    By the time he reached Northern Michigan University, skiing stopped being seasonal. It became daily. The margin for avoidance narrowed.

    “I started to develop more of a relationship with the training aspect of it,” he said. “Especially in college, I began to really enjoy the process of trying to improve and optimize things.”

    Sleep. Nutrition. Recovery. The quiet details, that barely registered when skiing was something you fit around football and baseball, suddenly mattered.

    The shift wasn’t romantic. It was practical.

    That change carried him into a professional career after graduation — not as a finished skier, but as someone finally willing to do the work consistently.

    A young Zak Ketterson (Midwest/Loppet Nordic Racing) leads the U16 Boys 5 k Classic Mass Start at the 2013 Junior Nationals in Fairbanks, Alaska. (Photo: bertboyer.zenfolio.com. Proceeds go to NNF)

    Northern Michigan, Daily Work

    Northern Michigan University didn’t transform Ketterson overnight. It narrowed the margins.

    Skiing there demanded repetition. Cold mornings. Tired legs. Routine. Improvement stopped being incidental.

    The biggest shift came junior year, when he began dating his now wife, Julie Ensrud, and skiing stopped being something he did mostly alone.

    “When I started dating her my junior year in college,” Ketterson said, “that really coincided with when I started doing a lot better in skiing.”

    Julie grew up in Norway, in a system that treated sport as something you lived inside rather than something you added on. She attended a specialized Norwegian sports high school. She trained at volume. She understood structure.

    “She was kind of living semi-professionally from the age of 16,” Ketterson said.

    She noticed the basics first.

    “I started going to bed a lot earlier,” he said. “I would always just be on my phone until 11 or 11:30.”

    Food followed.

    “Not only eating healthier,” he said, “but eating more of the right things. More carbs. The timing of what you eat with training.”

    By living together senior year, Ketterson’s bad habits became visible.

    “She’s probably the hardest worker and most efficient person I’ve ever met,” he said. “She gets an email and does it immediately.”

    Ketterson noticed the contrast.

    “I used to be super disorganized,” he said. “I used to lose stuff and leave things everywhere.”

    Being around someone who treated time deliberately changed how he approached his own days.

    “She comes to basically every interval session I do,” he said. “Takes video. Takes lactates. Gives technique tips.”

    What could have felt like a sacrifice became shared life.

    “If I were single and just kind of doing this grind alone,” he said, “it would feel like a much bigger sacrifice.”

    Ketterson (NMU) racing at the CCSA opener in Houghton, Michigan during his college days at Northern Michigan University. (Courtesy photo)

    Learning How to Stay Anyway

    Leaving college did not feel like an arrival. It felt like exposure.

    Professional skiing offered fewer guarantees. Results came without permanence. Progress was harder to measure.

    “This is maybe my fifth year as a professional,” Ketterson said. “I feel like I’ve just been sort of taking small steps each year.”

    From the outside, those steps were hard to see. He qualified. He scored points. Then momentum faded.

    “I’ve had glimpses here and there of being quite good on the World Cup,” he said. “But it was so inconsistent and few and far between.”

    One year, sprint qualification came easily while distance slipped. Another season, the opposite.

    “I would qualify every sprint but struggle in distance,” he said. “Or I wouldn’t qualify in sprints, but I’d get a lot of top-30s in distance.”

    The belief stayed intact.

    “I believed I had that all-around potential,” he said.

    Belief, however, doesn’t quiet doubt when seasons stack without resolution.

    Ketterson’s wife, Julie Ensrud, assists him with lactate testing during a treadmill session. (Photo: Zak Ketterson)

    Choosing a Place That Could Hold the Work

    For American skiers, Europe is often something you pass through. For Ketterson, Norway eventually became something else.

    Julie’s family lived outside Oslo, close to training venues and the airport. There was also a cabin — quiet, familiar.

    “It works out super well,” Ketterson said. “I can just get these three- or four-day stints at the cabin and unpack my bag and feel really at home.”

    Most American skiers live out of their bags.

    “There are a lot of Americans who just live out of their bag and are constantly in hotels,” he said.

    In Norway, life slowed just enough for training to accumulate rather than reset.

    “They’re super into skiing,” Ketterson said of Julie’s family. “Her brother skied competitively growing up.”

    Her father, especially, was absorbed by the details.

    “He’s so into ski waxing and the nitty-gritty stuff,” Ketterson said.

    The support wasn’t motivational. It was stabilizing.

    “They’ve sort of adopted me,” he said. “Like, how can we support him?”

    Norway wasn’t the breakthrough. It was the ground beneath it.

    USA I takes the win in a rare World Cup 4 x 5 k mixed relay in 2022. From left to right, Scott Patterson, Rosie Brennan, Zak Ketterson, and Jessie Diggins. (Photo: NordicFocus)

    Nothing Fancy, Just Better

    With stability in place, the training changed.

    “I started working with a coach in Oslo,” Ketterson said.

    The relationship was loose.

    “He created the framework,” Ketterson said. “But I was still writing probably 90 percent of my training.”

    The biggest change was subtraction.

    “I used to do strength twice a week, sometimes even three times a week,” he said. “Now it was basically once every ten days.”

    The logic was blunt.

    “If you want to get better at double pulling,” he said, “you just need to double pull more.”

    He replaced strength with ski-specific work. Fitness became the priority.

    His training rhythm flattened.

    “My training became much more consistent,” he said. “Every week was pretty similar.”

    No dramatic rest weeks. No spikes. Stress accumulated steadily.

    He returned to the same hills. The same treadmill sessions.

    “If something feels way worse than the last six times,” he said, “then you know you need rest.”

    Zak Ketterson logs some roller-ski hours in Minneapolis with Team Birkie. (Photo: Instagram @zaketterson)

    Toppidrettsveka

    Late in August, Ketterson lined up at Toppidrettsveka, Norway’s popular roller-ski stage race.

    “I was expecting to be absolute middle of the pack,” he said.

    Instead, he stayed with the leaders.

    “From the first race — a mass start 50k — I was fighting for the win,” he said.

    Three years earlier, he had been dropped halfway.

    “That was one of those moments where it’s like, wow,” he said. “This is a really big difference from anything I’ve felt before.”

    Across stages, the pattern held.

    “That gave me a lot of confidence,” he said. “Like, okay — what we’re doing is really working.”

    Still, he waited.

     

    The Ultimatum

    By autumn, the feeling hadn’t faded.

    “I told Julie that this had been by far my best off-season ever,” Ketterson said.

    Then came honesty.

    “I told her that if I’m not good this year,” he said, “or if I don’t make a really big jump, then I kind of want to retire.”

    It wasn’t dramatic. It was diagnostic.

    “If this doesn’t work,” he said, “then I don’t know anything about training.”

    Zak Ketterson (USA) and Friedrich Moch (GER) (l-r) lapping through the stadium during the Men’s 20 k Mass Start Freestyle in Ruka, Finland, at the beginning of the 2025/2026 season. (Photo: Modica/NordicFocus)

    Ruka

    Ketterson finished 14th in the World Cup opener in Ruka.

    “I was crying in the finish,” he said.

    Not from disappointment.

    “It was such an emotional rush,” he said. “All the work that I’d put in, and that my wife had supported — it finally got some validation.”

    For the first time since college, the feeling matched the effort.

    The season didn’t spike. It held.

    “For the first time,” he said, “regardless of whether it’s a sprint or a distance race, I feel like I can compete that day.”

    Zak Ketterson (USA) racing on the Olympic Sprint Course in Val di Fiemme, Italy, during the 2026 Tour de Ski last month.  (Photo: Vanzetta/NordicFocus)

    Arrival Without a Finish Line

    Ketterson will start his first Olympic race just days from now — older than most of his teammates, newer to the stage, and unusually calm.

    “I’m just treating it like any other race,” he said.

    There is no demand for the outcome. Only execution.

    “What would haunt me,” he said, “is doing something that was within my power not to do.”

    So he will race. He will pace. He will pay attention.

    The long way in has given him that luxury.

     

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    Ketterson with family at the Minnesota State Fair. (Photo: Zak Ketterson)