Mac Marcoux of Canada, right, and his guide Robin Femy race to win third place in the men's downhill, visually impaired event at the 2014 Winter Paralympics in Krasnaya Polyana, Russia.The Associated Press
When Kalle Eriksson steps into the start gate for a para alpine race, he repeats the same three things to himself: front of the boot, outside ski, level shoulders.
Just behind him is Sierra Smith, hearing those whispers through their headsets.
For Logan Larivière, harsh sunlight can completely flatten the trail. On the brightest days, the cross-country course almost disappears. But skiing just ahead of him is Joe Hutton, describing the terrain, setting the pace, and warning of danger in real time.
At the Paralympic Games, visually impaired skiers do not race alone. They compete with guides who communicate constantly and cross the same finish line. But the role is far more complex than skiing beside someone.
Both pairings of Hutton and Larivière, and Smith and Eriksson, will take part in their first Paralympic Games together at Milano Cortina 2026. Neither guide competed at the Olympics in their previous careers, but this opportunity feels just as meaningful.
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Smith is a former women’s national Canadian ski team member, and was retired when she was invited to help a ski team with its training on the slopes and in the gym. That is where she met Eriksson.
“I put some race skis on and skied in front of Kalle, and immediately, I was like, ‘Holy smokes, this guy is fast,’ and it was really fun,” she said.
Four years later, they are still racing together.
It was a similar line of events for the connection between Hutton and Larivière. Hutton came into guiding after competing as an able-bodied skier. A former teammate had transitioned into guiding and encouraged him to consider it, and after meeting Larivière, he knew the role was his.
“I thought it was an amazing opportunity,” Hutton recalled. “Not only to continue to compete at the highest level, but also give the opportunity to another athlete to have that experience.”
Guides train on the same schedule as the athletes they partner with. They attend the same camps, complete the same strength sessions and spend the same hours for on-snow ski sessions.
In competition, they must ski the course cleanly while thinking one step ahead, including reading terrain, adjusting their line (adapting to conditions on the fly), and communicating clearly, all without obstructing their athlete.
But skiing alone is not enough.
For both Canadian duos, three elements define the job: trust, personality, and communication.
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“Trust, that is the name of the game,” Eriksson said. “That is what we are working on all the time, both on and off the hill. We’ve gone rock climbing together, mountain biking in the off-season to try and build on that trust.”
Trust moves in both directions. Guides have built trust that their partners are putting in the work, and competing their hardest on the course with the best form of communication.
“Watching Kalle want it and put the work in,” said Smith. “That makes my job so much easier.”
Smith and Hutton have built a deep understanding of what, and how well, their athletes are able to see on the snow. Essentially, they want to be ‘in the boots’ of their partner.
Overhead weather conditions can significantly impact Larivière’s vision. Bright light reduces contrast and depth perception.
“As we’ve continued to progress into races, we start to pick up on what information is needed and what’s not. So that’s a constant dialect between us. ‘Can you see this? Is it too sunny? Is it too shaded?’” Hutton explained.
“Depth perception sometimes is a struggle as well, so we build trust through those training experiences and being out there together.”
This is all part of building a personal “dictionary” and laying a foundation of how much information is being given out, as every pair is different. Before races, both teams inspect the course together. And after training, the duos debrief on their communication.
They identify sections that need extra warning, agree on key phrases, and sometimes write out race plans. Hutton describes the balance as “a fine line between providing too much information and not enough.”
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In alpine and Nordic skiing, guides typically ski just ahead of the athlete, communicating through headsets about their next move. Their conversations are not recorded for later review, however. In cross-country skiing, no headset is required, as the athletes and guides are close enough to each other.
Unlike able-bodied ski racing, visually impaired events formally recognize the guide-athlete partnership. Both athletes and guides receive medals, and results are recorded as a unit.
“I am absolutely there to help,” said Smith. “But, I am there to compete with Kalle. We’re one athlete together.”
“It’s 100 per cent a team sport,” Eriksson adds. “Sierra can’t race without me, and I can’t race without her.”
Eligibility for guides in visually impaired sport depends on international classification, which requires athletes to go through a medical and functional assessment that determines whether an athlete qualifies and in which category.
For Larivière, the process was far from straightforward. As a teenager, he dealt with the disappointment of falling short of the criteria, of not quite being “blind enough” to compete internationally.
“It demotivated me from skiing,” he said.
Nearly five years ago, classification criteria were adjusted, making Larivière eligible. That decision reopened the door to World Cup competition and accelerated his path toward the Paralympics.
Vision testing is conducted indoors under consistent lighting, which are conditions that do not reflect glare off snow or sudden changes in brightness outdoors.
Larivière’s visual impairment of 20/200 vision means that what a person with typical vision sees at 200 feet, he sees at 20 feet. Eriksson sees roughly six per cent of what 20/20 vision eyes see. Both of their respective classifications provide them the option to race with guides.
At Milan Cortina, both teams are focused on performance, with medal ambitions firmly in mind. But the Games also represent something broader.
“Any athlete, able-bodied or with a different disability, is able to see others on the biggest stage, and realize, ‘I’m not too different from them. Why can’t I do that?’” said Hutton.