Regardless of His Results in Beijing, Gus Kenworthy’s Legacy Is Already Set

Competing in his third and final Olympics, the 30-year-old freestyle skier is going for gold, but even if he goes home without a medal, he’s already triumphed by helping change the culture for LGBTQ athletes.

BEIJING — Two years ago, when Gus Kenworthy decided to capitalize on his dual citizenship and join Team Great Britain, the freestyle skier figured that the switch would offer a much easier path to the 2022 Beijing Games than if he had stuck with the United States. He looked forward to pouring himself into practice, to focusing on his runs, to ditching the stressors that defined the leadups to his past two Winter Olympics appearances in Sochi and PyeongChang.

“I was super excited,” the 30-year-old says. “It has ended up being so much more of a bumpy road than I could’ve even imagined. It’s not been smooth sailing for even a second.”

The first obstacle arose in summer 2020, when Kenworthy suffered a “pretty bad” concussion during a training session. A broken femur came soon after, requiring arthroscopic surgery, followed by another concussion in October 2021 and later a three-month bout with COVID-19. He developed migraines and dizziness. He suffered a hematoma on his hip and tore several abdomen muscles, resulting in “horrible swelling that drained into my private parts.” He broke down in front of his coach, sobbing and pleading, “When am I going to catch a break?"

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In the end, the only thing that helped was time. His spot on the Olympic roster was already secure thanks to a solid run of performances before the spate of bad luck, including a World Cup victory in Calgary, so Kenworthy allowed himself to rest and recover. And now? “It feels like maybe I’ve gotten to the smooth part of the road. Maybe it’s starting to course correct.”

He is speaking on the phone from his California home last week, not long before he leaves for China to compete in the men’s halfpipe beginning Thursday afternoon. He is still here, pushing his body and mind to their limits despite all he has been through, because he can’t bring himself to stop—not yet. “I’m just too competitive,” Kenworthy says. “I ruin game nights. I think that’s it. I thought I was going to be done in 2018. But I couldn’t walk away from it. I will walk away from it after this one. I’m nearing the expiration date, but I had more in the tank.”

There are other reasons too, most of which boil down to the concept of closure. A silver medalist in slopestyle in Sochi, he has never gotten the chance to ski halfpipe on the sport’s biggest stage. (His hard-earned spot was given away to a teammate in 2014 via coach’s discretion, and an injury stole his chance four years later.) “That’s been a big, big motivator for me,” Kenworthy says. So was the thought of representing his mother Pip’s homeland. “It means the world to him to be doing this for her,” his longtime agent Michael Spencer says.

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All of which has led Kenworthy to a clear-eyed conclusion. “I know a lot of people are rooting for me, and people would be excited if I did well,” he says. “But it kind of doesn’t matter.” Sure, it’d be swell if he medaled, or even advanced to Saturday’s final in a crowded field led by former U.S. teammate and two-time defending champion David Wise. “I don’t think it defines me, though,” he says. “I just want to land my run and walk away with my head held high.”

Besides, at this point, Kenworthy’s legacy is already set. It is there in his six Dew Tour medals and five from the X Games. It is there in his childhood home of Telluride, Colo., where a street was rechristened Gus’s Way and a plaque was installed at the bottom of the gondola in commemoration his Sochi silver. (“Gus may be skiing for England now,” Pip Kenworthy says, “but he’s still a local hero.”) And most importantly it is here in Beijing, taking the form of the record number of out LGTBQ athletes whose presences fills his heart with deep pride.

“That’s been my biggest accomplishment in the sport,” Kenworthy says. “In 2018, Adam Rippon and I were the first two openly gay men to compete for the U.S. in a Winter Olympics. That is so insane for me to think about. I know there were so many other LGBTQ athletes who competed, and in the closet, and it’s sad. I feel very, very happy, and also relieved that there’s so much representation now, and there can continue to be more that can be done.

“I think I look back at my first Olympics, in 2014, and I was 21 years old. I was a different person. I was deeply in the closet. And I feel like that Olympics gave me a profile. It gave me a platform that I had never had before. It introduced me to a much bigger audience, and it gave me the opportunity to look within and come to terms with myself and stand up for who I am as a gay man and what I believe in and get to be an out athlete. I was always afraid.

“When I came out, I did it in a pretty public way [on the cover of ESPN the Magazine in October 2015]. A big part of that was like, Dude, there are other people like me, and maybe it’ll help one of them. I feel like it’s helped a lot more than that. I still get messages from people about their own journeys, and it’s pretty touching. I’ve had a ski career that I’m proud of. But my legacy is being an out athlete and helping change the culture a little bit.”

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As for what’s next, Kenworthy does not lack for options. Spencer reports the post-Olympics launch of the Worthy Foundation, a 501(c)3 nonprofit that will disburse funds to charities that Kenworthy is passionate about, such as the annual AIDS/LifeCycle bicycle ride through the California countryside. A cast member on the ninth season of American Horror Story, he also recently self-taped an audition reel for a gig that films after the Olympics, setting up his phone while in a hotel room at a ski competition. “I heard the casting director really liked it,” he says.

In the meantime, Kenworthy is focused on soaking up his final Games, stress- and pressure-free: The other morning he dialed Spencer on FaceTime from his bed in the Olympic Village for no other reason other than to say what’s up. “It was funny,” Spencer says. “There’s such an easygoingness with him right now.” His mother won't be able to attend due to the pandemic, but a local sports bar in Telluride plans to stay open late for family and friends to watch his swan song. "Last I spoke to him, he was feeling really good and positive," Pip says. And despite the insistence of Kenworthy's boyfriend, CAA Foundation executive Adam Umhoefer, he is also holding out hope that he might be able to adopt at least one dog from China, as he famously did in both Sochi and PyeongChang.

“[Umhoefer] was basically like, ‘We’re struggling to keep our two dogs happy, and comfortable around each other, so I’m not allowing you to bring another pet into this house,’” Kenworthy says. “My argument has been, what if a third dog is the missing piece? Who knows. It’s possible.”

Even if Kenworthy comes home without puppies or a medal, he will have still gotten all he wants out of his final Olympics. His legacy will be set. His heart will be full. His head will be held high.

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