Third at U.S. Mogul Nationals: How a Season I Almost Lost Became the One I'll Never Forget

Hey guys.

I have been trying to figure out how to write this one for awhile now, because honestly I still don't totally have words for it. But I'll try.

On March 28, 2026, I stood on the podium at the U.S. Freestyle Mogul Championships at Palisades Tahoe and finished third in the senior women's singles. I was 15. I beat a couple of World Cup skiers and current U.S. Ski Team members. I'm only the second 15-year-old to podium at Nationals in the last decade — the last one was Olivia Gaccio, who's on the U.S. Ski Team now. And I am the first Black mogul skier to ever podium at U.S. Nationals.

I'm still not sure that last sentence is real.

But before I get to the part where I'm crying at the bottom of the course in California, I have to tell you how I almost didn't make it there at all.

So… About October

This past October I was training in Chile. Summer in the U.S. means winter down there, so it's where pretty much every mogul skier in the world ends up at some point to keep working on stuff in the offseason. I was feeling really good. I had new tricks I was building. The plan was: come home strong, ski U.S. Selections in December, and lock in my spot for the rest of the season.

Then I got hurt.

I'm not going to do a whole injury blog right now (I will probably write one eventually) but the short version is: I got hurt training, I had to fly home, and I missed U.S. Selections.

If you don't ski moguls, here's why that matters. Selections is basically the event that determines who gets to do what for the rest of the year. Missing it doesn't end your season, but it makes everything harder. You're playing catch-up from October all the way to nationals.

So that's what I did. I tried to play catch-up.

Then It Got Worse

Here's the part I haven't really talked about publicly until now.

My NorAm tour was aweful. Like, really rough. I didn't make a single final the entire tour. Not one. The year before, I didn't miss a final. So going from "didn't miss a final" to "didn't make a final" in twelve months is a head trip I can't fully explain.

And then the Olympics happened.

So my best friend is Liz Lemley. Liz is also from Ski & Snowboard Club Vail, and this year, at 20 years old, she went to her first Olympics and won gold and bronze in moguls. I cannot say enough about how proud I am of her. I went out there to watch and cheer her on, because that's what you do when your best friend is about to do the biggest thing of her life.

But I also have to be honest — sitting in those stands was hard. Like, really hard.

There I was, watching my best friend win an Olympic gold medal, and I'm so happy for her I can't even describe it, and at the same time my brain is doing this thing where it's like, that's the level. That's where you're trying to get. And you couldn't even make a NorAm final last week.

I was at the lowest point I'd ever been. I'm not going to fake it. There were a lot of conversations with my dad and my coaches that I'm really glad nobody filmed.

The other thing the bad NorAm tour did: I missed Junior World Championships. 

At the start of the season I was considered a strong candidate to qualify. Coming off the year I'd had before, that's the trip I expected to be on. And I wasn't going.

If you'd asked me in February whether missing Jr Worlds was good or bad, I would have said it was the worst thing that ever happened to me.

Looking back now? I think it might have been the best.

Why Staying Home Saved Me

Because here's what happened when I didn't go to Jr Worlds: I stayed home. I trained. I didn't compete for a stretch. I worked on my skiing instead of running around airports trying to peak for the next event.

When you're on the competition circuit you're constantly chasing the next start list. You don't always have time to actually fix things. You're surviving the schedule. Staying home gave me time I didn't know I needed — to slow down, drill the things that were broken, and get my head right before nationals.

If you've read my last post about Aspen, you know I've been working on this for a while — figuring out how to not let the bad runs and the falls live in my head rent-free. The injury, the NorAm tour, watching the Olympics from the stands — all of that made it ten times louder. But staying home and working it out was what finally turned the volume down.

Showing Up to Nationals

The week of the U.S. Freestyle Mogul Championships I was nervous. Of course I was nervous. But I was also kind of weirdly calm? Like — I had nothing to lose. I wasn't supposed to be there in the way some of the other girls were supposed to be there. World Cup athletes were on the start list. I was the kid who missed Selections, didn't make a single NorAm final, and didn't qualify for Jr Worlds.

My coach Freddy talked to me a lot about taking risks. Mogul skiing is this funny sport where you can ski safe and clean and still get beat by someone who throws something harder and lands it. You have to be willing to risk the run to win the run. He kept reminding me of that.

So I decided that's what I was going to do. I wasn't going to ski not-to-lose. I was going to ski like I had nothing to be afraid of, because honestly, what was the worst thing that could happen? It already had.

The Run

Quick thing before I tell you about the run — if you don't ski moguls, here's how a competition day works. Everyone gets one qualification run. The top 20 move on to Finals 1. Those 20 all get one more run, and only the top 8 advance to Finals 2. So by the time you get to that last run, more than 30 girls have been cut, and it's just you and seven other skiers left. One shot. Winner takes it.

By the time I dropped in for Finals 2, I had already survived quals and Finals 1. This was my third run of the day. And it was the only one that counted for the podium.

When I dropped into the course at Palisades Tahoe, I felt the same thing I always feel — that weird quiet right before the gate opens. Just my breath and the radio.

"Ava Keenan, racer ready, 3, 2, 1, GO."

I went.

I don't really remember the middle of the run. Mogul skiers say this all the time and people think we're being dramatic but it's true. Your body just knows what to do if you've trained right. The course at Palisades is steep — like, steep steep — and fast, and the conditions were grippy that day, which I love.

When I crossed the finish line, I was in first.

Now, before anyone gets too excited — I had come out of Finals 1 in 4th, which meant in Finals 2 I skied 4th (the order runs from 8th qualifier down to 1st). So when I crossed the line, there were still four more skiers to go, and three of them were on the U.S. Ski Team. I knew the math. The girls coming down behind me were World Cup athletes. Realistically, I had locked up at least 5th, which was already wild for a kid who didn't make a single NorAm final.

So I stood there at the bottom. Waiting. Watching. Trying to breathe.

The way mogul scoring works, you don't get a number the second someone crosses the line. The judges have to score turns, air, and speed, and it takes a minute. So after each skier finished, you just stood there in the finish area, staring up at the top of the course, waiting for the announcer to call it out. Every time a new score came in, I braced.

The next skier down fell. I stayed in 1st. Three skiers to go — my worst-case just went from 5th to 4th.

The next skier down had a clean run and passed me. I dropped to 2nd. Two skiers to go.

The next one down passed me too. 3rd. One skier to go.

Ali Macuga.

If you don't follow the sport — Ali is on the U.S. Ski Team. She was World Cup Rookie of the Year in 2024, and she's currently ranked in the top 15 in the world. On that day at Palisades, she had already won both qualifications and Finals 1. She was the girl to beat. Not just for me — for everyone.

I watched her drop in.

She was skiing well. Like, really well. And I'm standing at the bottom already doing the math in my head — okay, 4th at Nationals is still amazing, 4th is more than I ever… — trying to be okay with it before it happened, because that's what you do when you know what's coming.

And then, on the last few bumps, right before crossing the finish line — Ali bobbled it was a big bobble. .

Not a crash. Not a fall. Just a real, visible mistake, in the part of the run the judges see closest.

I froze. Freddy froze. Everyone around me froze.

Because here's the thing about a bobble that late — you don't know. You genuinely don't know if it's enough. The rest of her run had been really good, and judges score what judges score. Ali is a name. I'm a 15-year-old who didn't make a NorAm final. It could go either way.

Nobody moved. Nobody made noise. We just stood there staring at the officials, waiting.

It felt like forever.

And then the score came out.

Third! I was still in 3rd!

Third. At Nationals. Ahead of two World Cup skiers.

I just stood there for a second. Then I looked over at my coaches and I lost it.

All my friends mauled me, everyone was going crazy!! They were jumping up and down, it was pandaemonium. I couldn't believe it.

And the Other Part

I am now the first Black mogul skier to ever podium at U.S. Nationals.

I want to be honest about this part because it matters.

When I started skiing at age two and then started competing at nine, I did not look like the other kids on the start list. I still don't. There aren't a lot of us in this sport. There just aren't. Mogul skiing, and skiing in general, has been overwhelmingly white for as long as the sport has existed, and I see it every single weekend at every single race.

So when I say my goal is to be the first Black skier to win an Olympic gold medal, I'm not just saying it because it sounds cool on a website. I'm saying it because somebody has to. And when I crossed that finish line at Palisades, that goal stopped feeling like this far-off impossible thing. It just felt like the next step.

I want kids who look like me to see this and know that the start list is for them too. The bumps don't care what you look like. Neither does the snow. You just have to be willing to point them downhill.

Stuff I'm Taking With Me

A few things I learned this season that I want to write down so I remember them:

• Success is not linear. I literally posted that on Instagram after the race because it was the biggest thing in my head. The year before, I won F15 Junior Nationals. This year I got hurt, didn't make a NorAm final, and missed Jr Worlds. This year I also podiumed at senior nationals. None of that is a clean upward line.

• Sometimes the trip you don't take is the one that saves your season. Missing Jr Worlds felt like the end of the world in February. By March, it was the reason I was ready.

• Risk pays off (sometimes). Freddy was right. I took risks all season and a lot of them didn't pan out. The one at nationals did.

• Watching your best friend win gold is the most complicated, beautiful thing. Liz, I love you. Watching you do that lit something in me that I'm going to carry for a long time.

Thank you to my coaches at Ski & Snowboard Club Vail, my parents (who sat through every bad lift ride with me), my teammates, and every single person who texted me after Chile, after the NorAms, and after the Olympics, when I really needed it.

This year was supposed to be a write-off. It turned into the most important season of my life so far.

On to the next one.

— Ava 🤍

Ava Keenan is a 16-year-old mogul skier from Vail, Colorado, training with Ski & Snowboard Club Vail. She is a three-time U.S. Freestyle Junior National Champion and the first Black mogul skier to podium at the U.S. Freestyle Mogul Championships. Read more of her story on the blog or follow her on Instagram.