Elana Meyers Taylor Just Won an Olympic Gold Medal—But She’s Most Proud of Her Parenting

The bobsledding champion, who took gold in Milan this past summer, says motherhood is like sport: "You always have to focus on what's next."

Elana Meyers Taylor wearing an Olympic uniform with Power Moms overlay
(Image credit: Getty Images)

To the world, Elana Meyers Taylor is a force of nature on ice—the most decorated Black Winter Olympian of all time, a pro at hurling herself down frozen chutes at 90 miles per hour, making split-second decisions that define the difference between a podium finish and a devastating crash. But for the 41-year-old bobsledder, the high-stakes environment of the Olympic track is often more predictable than the daily challenges she navigates as a parent.

Meyers Taylor’s motherhood journey has been defined by unconventional hurdles. Her oldest son, Nico, 6, has Down syndrome and profound hearing loss. Her second son, Noah, 2, is also profoundly deaf. Navigating a world that isn't always built for accessibility while maintaining an elite athletic career would break most, but Meyers Taylor has turned her family’s reality into a powerful platform for advocacy. One that the world bore witness to in the viral moment surrounding her February win on the biggest stage, signing to her boys that mommy took the gold.

Elana Meyers Taylor celebrating after winning in the Winter Olympcis

Moments after signing to her sons "Mommy won" following her gold medal win at the 2026 Winter Olympics in Milan.

(Image credit: Getty Images)

Hard to believe that she’s in this position today because she asked a simple question: Why not me? After dreaming of making it to the Olympics in softball and not making the team, she emailed the coach of the bobsled team in 2007 on a whim and happily accepted his invite out to Lake Placid to try out. She admits that despite a major learning curve, she quickly fell in love with the sport, making her debut (and taking bronze) in the two-woman event at the 2010 Games in Canada.

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Returning from her most recent competitive stretch, Meyers Taylor is in a reflective mood, navigating the forever balancing act of "mom guilt" and the travel that’s essential to maintaining her own identity. For the California native, being a Power Mom isn't about having a perfectly organized life. It’s about the fierce, unrelenting fight for her children's right to be heard.


How would you describe your parenting style and what does it mean to you to be a Power Mom?

I listen to a ton of podcasts on this...I'm probably the only person warming up for this bobsled race listening to parenting podcasts. I'm definitely not a gentle parent, although I try to do the things like, Label your emotions and all that kind of stuff. I tend to be a bit more permissive than I would like to be, as you can see by the fact that we have way more toys in our house than we need.

As for what it means to be a Power Mom, for me it's just going out there and showing other people that you can fight through your challenges. You can overcome obstacles. Whether it's in parenthood, on the ice, or what have you. My story’s been one big episode in fighting. Even in that Olympic race where I actually won the gold medal, I had to fight from behind.

I fight for my kids; I'm a momma bear. I’m fighting for what you believe is right and fighting for what you want.

You’ve been very open about the fact that your motherhood journey hasn't been easy. How has your perspective changed since having your boys?

Motherhood has definitely changed everything. I think it does for anybody, let’s be honest. You think motherhood’s going to be one thing going in and then it turns out it’s something totally different. In our case, with the two kids both being deaf and Nico having Down syndrome—the only way I know how to parent is with disabled children. That’s my only experience. These are the only kids that I have.

It’s given me a lot of perspective, even in sport. I used to have a bad day on the ice and would be the worst thing in the world. Now you realize there are way worse things in the world than having a bad day on the ice. It’s also given me a little bit of freedom. I can go out on the ice and just enjoy it. I feel like I have more of an opportunity now to slow down and make sure I’m enjoying those moments. I watch my boys and remember to celebrate the small things, you know? Because in our house, small things are big things.

How do you manage the "low-lows" and the overwhelming moments while remaining a pillar for your family?

I have a lot of really good people around me. My husband is a rock-steady guy and the stalwart of our family.

Otherwise, I try to be as stable as possible. I make sure to feel things but at the same time, recognize that I still have things to do. That's the part of being an athlete that I think really caters to motherhood: you always have to focus on what's next. There's always stuff to do even if you're in the midst of those lows. There's always something else to focus on. There's always something to learn from whatever situation you're in.

I know the challenges are still coming, but I've come into my own and feel so much more confident in my ability to figure it out.

I’m curious about how you navigate teaching your kids right from wrong versus letting them loose to learn lessons on their own.

I do a pretty good job of that. Nico, I'm very protective of. He's a very cautious kid and he's not a risk-taker or anything like that. He's a homebody; he wants to stay in his comfort zone. With Noah, he puts himself out there like crazy. Eventually I learned, Hey, he needs to do this. He needs to learn how to jump so he can learn how to land it, or he needs to jump because he needs to learn how to fall and stand back up.

I’m going to allow them to have experiences, but I'm also going to be there for them when they need me.

What are you hoping your boys take away from seeing you be an advocate and an athlete?

I hope they’re able to use their voice in whatever capacity that is, whether it’s sign language or with an AAC device. I hope they're able to fight for themselves because they're going to have to. They're going to go through things that I'm never going to understand as a hearing person and as a person without Down syndrome. I can’t relate. At some point, they're going to have to take the mantle up for themselves. I want them to learn, like, Hey, this is what you have to do, because you're going to have to work to get what you want.

I hope to be a model in that sense. I also want to show what we go through on a daily basis. Yes, we might have to worry about speech therapies or physical therapies, but at the same time we have a lot of joy. Disability doesn't have to be something that's scary.

How have you handled the public scrutiny or unsolicited opinions that come with being a parent in the spotlight?

Unless you know what we go through on a daily basis, you really can't weigh in. I’m constantly reminding myself of that. Nobody can really appreciate what we go through. Unless you're living this life, you can't know.

I’m out here trying to do the best I can every day, and I think I’m doing a pretty good job. I don’t worry about the judgment of others. Before they judge, they could come watch these kids for me. If they're not willing to do that, then they don't get an opinion on it. I don't really have time to worry about what other people think about my parenting style.

I'm probably the only person warming up for this bobsled race listening to parenting podcasts.

You’ve achieved so much in your sport, but you’ve said parenting is the real challenge. What is your relationship with "success" now? What do you see when you look in the mirror?

It’s taken me a long time to be confident in myself and confident in who I am. That’s what I see in the mirror. I see a woman who's confident in herself and confident in—not that life is going to be perfect, but that I can deal with any challenges that come my way. Life has tested me and I think life will even continue to test me. I don't think you win a gold medal and—you know, all your dreams come true, it’s funny—you win a gold medal and then, you know, immediately you're back in parenthood. The gold medal goes away and you're just back to Hey, how do I get these kids to go to sleep? and How do I get these kids to eat their vegetables? I know the challenges are still coming, but I've come into my own and feel so much more confident in my ability to figure it out.

When you are in the thick of it—balancing training, the travel, the therapies—how do you find balance? What keeps you grounded?

Realizing that I'm not my best self if I don't have the ability to do other things. Without me being able to do the things that I'm passionate about, like, I'm not able to give everything to them. So, knowing that I need to go do this, I need to go train, I need to go do something else outside of being solely focused on them, allows me to come back to them and be that much better of a person, better of a mom. It took a second to realize that. I had to learn how to trust. As much as you don't want to leave them, it's actually good for them to have other people in their lives that they can trust and that love them. They need that interaction just as much as I need the time to be able to get out and do my own pursuits.

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Emily Abbate is a Brooklyn-based, veteran journalist on a mission to empower women to live healthier, happier, and more-motivated lives. Now a 13-time marathoner and triathlete, the certified wellness coach and former fitness editor at SELF is the brains behind the podcast Hurdle, acclaimed by The New York Times as “addictive,” cusping 10 million downloads with listeners in more than 220 countries. You can find her most recent bylines in GQWomen’s Health, and Marie Claire.