On skeleton

From Victorian Brits plunging down icy chutes in St Moritz, and a Latvian family transforming a Soviet-era track into an Olympic medal factory, to a British gold medallist embracing his Latvian coach at the bottom of the Milan-Cortina Olympic run, skeleton tells a story of speed, risk, and unlikely bonds. This is that British-Latvian story.

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On skeleton

Face first at 80 miles an hour

Imagine lying headfirst on a tea tray, pointing downhill on an ice track, travelling at over 120 kilometres an hour. Your chin is just a few centimetres from the track, and you are precisely guiding your tea tray down the hillside. That, more or less, is skeleton.

In this episode, I’m diving – quite literally – into one of the most extreme winter sports in the world, and a sport where Latvia and Britain are strangely, gloriously interconnected.

Skeleton began as a slightly eccentric pastime for British holidaymakers in the Alps, and today, Latvia, a country with fewer than two million people, has become one of its leading nations. From a track in the hills and forests of Sigulda, some of the finest sliders in history have emerged – the Dukurs family – and this year, that same Latvian expertise delivered Olympic gold for Team GB’s Matt Weston at the Milan–Cortina Winter Games.

Along the way, we’ll explore the sport’s origins in St Moritz, meet the Dukurs family who transformed a Soviet-era track into a medal-winning arena, follow Matt Weston’s path to Britain’s first men’s skeleton Olympic gold, and conclude in Sigulda – where, if you’re daring enough, you can race down the ice yourself or at least watch others do it. Join me for the adventure!

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From St Moritz to the Olympic Games

If you want to understand skeleton, you should start not in Latvia, but in Switzerland – at the glamorous, snow-covered resort of St Moritz.

In the 1870s, British visitors at the Kulm Hotel in St Moritz began racing down icy lanes between the village and nearby Celerina. They experimented with wooden sleds, making them steerable, and eventually established a dedicated ice track – the Cresta Run – which was opened in the 1880s. The sport that developed around it was essentially high‑speed, head‑first sledding, very much a British club: tweed by day, black tie by night, and sheer lunacy in the mornings.

By 1885, there was already a major race, the Grand National, and by the late 19th century, a Mr Cornish had popularised the head‑first position that would become the hallmark of the skeleton. That posture – chin millimetres above rock‑hard ice – is part of what makes skeleton look so terrifying today.

The skeleton sport owes its Olympic origins to St Moritz. When the Winter Games were held at the resort in 1928 and again in 1948, the Cresta-style event was part of the programme. Still, it vanished from the Olympics for over 50 years before making a comeback in a modernised format at Salt Lake City 2002. Since then, it has been a regular event, now sharing artificial tracks with bobsleigh and luge rather than the open, natural Cresta. 

The skeleton sled is built around a steel chassis with a composite shell (often fibreglass, sometimes carbon) and steel runners. It weighs approximately 40 kg, with strict maximums set by the sport’s rules. Competitors begin by sprinting and pushing the sled for up to 50 metres before jumping on, stomach-first, and lying face down in an aerodynamic position. They steer using subtle shoulder, hip, knee, and toe movements. Competitors wear a helmet and a snug-fitting speed suit, along with spikes on their shoes for extra traction when pushing off. Races usually consist of two runs down the track, except for the Olympics, when it is four runs, with combined times determining the winner. Margins between competitors are often hundredths of a second.

So you have this charming British origin story – hotel guests in the Alps betting on who can descend the ice fastest – that eventually turns into a global, professional, Olympic sport. And that’s the stage on which Latvia, of all places, will later punch far above its weight.

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How Latvia became a skeleton power

If St Moritz is the birthplace of skeleton, Sigulda is its spiritual home in Latvia.

The bobsleigh and luge track in Sigulda dates back to the Soviet era and winds down a hillside above the Gauja valley. After independence, it became not just an elite training centre but also a kind of winter playground where Latvians could try bobsleigh‑style rides and where a new generation of athletes learned to slide. My brother and I, along with a few Royal Marines, descended the track in a six-person bobsleigh in the late 1990s. It was the most terrifying experience I have ever had! I’m tall, and despite wearing a crash helmet and ducking down in the bob, my head still scraped against the ice walls. Ouch! We also managed to put a hole in the fibre-glass bob because our brakeman, a Royal Marine, didn’t pull hard enough on the lever. As a result, we hit the end-of-runoff barrier, which cost us collectively a few hundred Lats. That was our lunch and drinking money!

At the core of Latvia’s skeleton story is one family: the Dukurs. The father, Dainis Dukurs, was a bobsleigh brakeman who later became the manager of the Sigulda track, sled designer, and national team coach. Working at the track from the mid‑1990s, he had his sons – Tomass and the younger Martins – try luge, bobsleigh, and skeleton until, as he put it, “when they lay down on the sled, they fell in love with the sport”.

Both sons went on to long international careers, but it was Martins who became a legend. He dominated World Cup seasons, won multiple overall titles and medals at World Championships, and for years was widely regarded as the best skeleton slider in the world. Yet the Olympic gold eluded him, with heartbreaking near-misses including silver at Sochi 2014.

Tomass had also been a fixture on the circuit since the late 1990s, achieving top‑three finishes in the World Cup and earning a World Championship bronze. He came painfully close to Olympic medals in Vancouver and Sochi, finishing fourth each time. Alongside them, the Dukurs brothers consistently kept Latvia on the podium over two decades, transforming a small nation into a powerhouse that everyone else in the sport had to respect.

And behind it all, back in Sigulda, was Dainis Dukurs – tinkering with sled designs, managing the track, and mentoring not only his sons but also a stream of Latvian and international athletes. If skeleton is a family business anywhere in the world, it is in that corner of Vidzeme. 

And if you stand by the track in Sigulda today, you can feel that the Dukurs years were not the end of something, but the beginning. The family’s medals and sleds are already in museum displays, but out on the ice, there’s a new generation tracing the same lines in the curves.

In luge, one of the faces of that new wave is Elīna Ieva Bota – a Sigulda athlete who quietly climbed the World Cup rankings and then, at Milano–Cortina 2026, threw herself into the history books with silver in the women’s singles. She became the first woman from independent Latvia to win a Winter Olympics singles medal, showing that the country’s sliding future isn’t just about men on skeleton sleds but also about women leading the way on the fastest tracks in the world.

In skeleton itself, the names may be new, but the story is familiar. Junior and Youth Olympic champions from Sigulda – names like Dāvis Valdovskis, Emils Indriksons or Marta Andžāne – are already winning medals at under‑20 world championships and Youth Olympics, and turning up on ‘ones to watch’ lists for World Cup races on their home ice. They’re 18, 19, and 20 years old, born long after the track was built, but raised on the idea that Latvians belong at the sharp end of the results sheet.

So when you watch a sled drop into the first curve at Sigulda, you’re not just seeing the legacy of the Dukurs family – you’re seeing the opening chapters of whatever comes next for Latvian sliding sport.

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Matt Weston’s 2026 Olympic gold with Latvian know-how

This year at Milan–Cortina, the long connections between Britain, Latvia, and skeleton were brought together in one event – or rather, four events – by a man from England sliding on Latvian‑designed kit, coached by a Latvian legend.

Matt Weston, a 28-year-old slider from Britain, arrived at the 2026 Games as one of the favourites after a dominant few seasons on the World Cup circuit. In Cortina, he didn’t just win; he owned the track. In the first two heats, he set track records and built a lead of nearly four tenths of a second, which in skeleton is an eternity. Under huge pressure on the final day, he extended that lead once more, finishing the competition with a near-perfect last slide.

At the finish, Weston broke down in tears and embraced one of his coaches – none other than Martins Dukurs, the man who had so often come close to Olympic gold himself. For years, Dukurs was known as the best slider never to win the Games; now he was the coach behind Britain’s first men’s skeleton Olympic title.

There was more Latvian DNA in that victory than just the coach. Weston has been closely connected with Latvia, training on the Sigulda track and using equipment developed in Latvia, including highly-tuned steel runners – the ‘skis’ of the skeleton sled – which are crucial for speed and control. In skeleton, hundredths of a second depend on details: the polish of the runners, how they are profiled for specific ice conditions, and how the sled responds in certain curves.

Martins Dukurs said after Weston’s victory, “The result in skeleton depends on three things - the starting run, the ride, and the technique. And the technique includes both the sled and the blades - it's a whole. There's a whole set of variables, from the choice of material to the specifics of the construction itself.” Both Dukurs and Weston thanked a small family business in Liepaja called Metālmeistars. This company has been working with Dukurs and the Latvian national team since 2010, and supplied the British, Austrian, and Latvian national teams with blades and other sled equipment for this year’s Winter Olympics. The sales manager at Metālmeistars, Amis Balodis, said that many processes are involved in producing skeleton sleds, including production techniques they regularly use: laser cutting, bending, CNC milling, waterjet cutting, thread cutting, and grinding. The company’s core business is machining precision parts used in the construction industry, medical equipment, and agriculture. Skeleton sleds are a nice sideline!

Although I’m not a fan of winter sports - I don’t ski or skate - I was delighted to see Matt’s victory. Naturally, because I’m British, but also because of the Latvian connection to his achievement. Absolutely thrilled!

So you have this remarkable picture: a British athlete, on an Olympic track in Italy, winning gold in a sport invented by Victorian Brits, on technology and coaching shaped in Latvia. It’s a very 21st-century take on that old St Moritz story – international, collaborative, and still driven by people willing to go head-first into the unknown.

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Sigulda today: Latvia’s ice laboratory

If all of this makes you eager to see skeleton up close – or perhaps lie on a sled and instantly regret your life choices – Sigulda is where you should go.

The bobsleigh and luge track there runs through the forest above the Gauja River, and it’s busy all winter with training sessions and competitions in bobsleigh, skeleton, and luge for both Latvian and international teams. The track is certified for top-level international events and functions as a year-round training base. Still, winter is when it truly comes alive, with national and international races scheduled throughout the season.

For visitors, there are several ways to experience it. In winter, usually from November to mid‑March, you can book rides on different sleds: the ‘soft bob’ for a gentler group ride, the ‘taxibob’ driven by a professional that can reach around 100 kilometres an hour, and even a soft skeleton or ‘frog’ where two people go head‑first down the ice on their stomachs. There are also spectator areas where you can stand in the cold, hear the faint rumble of a sled approaching, and then watch it flash past in a blink.

Around the track, Sigulda shows what Latvians do well: a blend of serious sport and simple pleasures – forest walks, hot drinks, and that slightly understated pride in a place that has quietly produced some of the world’s best sliders. If you come here on a winter weekend, you might see a future Olympic champion trudging up the path to the start house with their sled over their shoulder.

Sigulda is about an hour from Rīga and easily reached by train, car, or bus.

If you can’t get to Sigulda, do visit the Latvian Sport Museum in Rīga's old town at 9 Alksnaja iela. You will find a winter sports hall of fame inside the museum. Displays show in pictures and words the successes of Latvian sliders at the Winter Olympics. The luge two-man silver at the Vancouver Olympics in 2010, bronze at Sochi in 2014 and Turin in 2006. Individual luge bronze at Sochi and a mixed team relay bronze at the same games. Two-man bobsleigh bronze at Sochi in 2014 and PyeongChang in 2018. And, of course, Martins Dukurs’ silver in skeleton at the Vancouver and Sochi games. Against a wall is Martins’ and Tomass’ very first skeleton sled they bought in 1996 in Lillehammer, Norway. It does look rather basic compared to today’s skeleton sleds! You can also see safety helmets, gloves and shoes. The museum also shows the history of Latvians competing in the Winter Olympics for the Soviet Union. And, for the younger folk (or those young at heart), there is a real two-man bobsleigh you can jump in. The museum is open from Tuesday to Saturday.

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Tying Britain and Latvia together

From Victorian Brits plunging down icy chutes in St Moritz to a Latvian family transforming a Soviet-era track into an Olympic medal factory, to a British gold medallist embracing a Latvian coach at the bottom of a Cortina run, skeleton tells a story of speed, risk, and unlikely bonds. At the Milano Cortina 2026 Olympic Winter Games Opening Ceremony, IOC President Kirsty Coventry delivered a speech emphasising the power of the Olympic Games to showcase the best of humanity through athletes’ courage, compassion, and spirit.

For me, it’s also a story about how a small place like Sigulda can influence global sport, and how a country like Latvia, with its quiet forests, beautiful beaches, and tidy towns, can contribute to who reaches the top step of an Olympic podium. For a small country like Latvia to achieve success in skeleton against the big winter-sport power nations like the USA, Canada, China, and Norway is phenomenal.

If you visit Latvia in winter, maybe leave your black tie at home – this isn’t St Moritz – but bring a warm hat, some courage, and perhaps a willingness to see the country from a very different perspective: face‑first, with the ice inches from your nose.

Turieties cieši, hold on tight.

[Image of skeleton competitor from Unsplash+. Music by Vlad Krotov from Pixabay]