The second World Cup stop of the 2024/25 season in Lac-Beauport, Quebec, should have been a celebration of momentum. Ashton Salwan had just landed a triple for the first time in competition at Lake Placid, finishing 18th and becoming the only American not on the U.S. Ski Team to compete on the triple jump that weekend. But instead of building on that moment, Ashton arrived in Quebec with no bib, no guarantees — only a backpack full of gear and a burning hope that someone might scratch.
World Cup rules don’t make room for fairness — just opportunity. For Ashton, that meant waiting around like a vulture, hoping that an American athlete would pull out so he could take their place. It's an agonizing position: professionally prepared, physically ready, mentally focused — but powerless. You’re not injured. You’re not underperforming. You’re just not in. The only way in is if someone else drops out — and no one’s rooting for that. Especially not your own countrymen.
There’s an unspoken code at these events. The U.S. athletes competing were assigned early World Cup starts at the beginning of the season, and those not selected — no matter how talented — are seen as threats. Ashton felt that weight. The sidelong glances. The careful avoidance. The tension that builds when your presence means someone else’s exit. Deep down, he knew the other U.S. athletes didn’t want him there. Not because they disliked him, but because his readiness was a reminder that any slip-up on their part could cost them their spot.
Lac-Beauport wasn’t about aerials. It was about identity. Ashton wasn’t just chasing a chance to jump — he was fighting to be seen. To be taken seriously. To make the system acknowledge what he had already proven on snow. It’s one thing to land a triple; it’s another to be invisible after doing it. That kind of exclusion doesn’t just test your patience — it challenges your belief that hard work will ever be enough.
Every day Ashton was there — warming up, watching, staying locked in. Not because he had to, but because he needed to. That’s the life of an outsider. You show up not for the glory, but for the grind. For the 1% chance that something shifts and you're suddenly in. And even if the chance never comes, you walk away knowing you were ready. That’s how you earn respect in this sport — even if it’s only your own.
Ashton left Lac-Beauport without competing in this 2-day World Cup event, but with something stronger: conviction. This journey isn't about instant rewards. It’s about playing the long game — staying sharp, staying humble, and staying ready, even when no one’s watching. Because eventually, the door opens. And when it does, only those who’ve been waiting in the shadows will know how to walk through it.
"I showed up each day and stayed ready. Because that’s what this journey demands — patience, grit, and the nerve to believe in yourself when no one else does.” ~Ashton Salwan
