Lather. Rinse. Repeat. They’d been here before. I’ve written about this before. More than once. These Games have happened before. This Olympic thing, this redemption thing, is like a video on a loop playing a story on repeat. It’s built into the competitions. It’s the nature of the beast. It’s why the Olympics is a gift that keeps on giving.
The Greeks created the four-year interval, back when lifespans were shorter. They had a Games every year, but only one Olympiad to honor Zeus. It must have been the same, with veteran athletes returning after a loss to win. If they survived the wars, disease, injuries, and other calamities of 750 B.C.E.
The Winter Games are a particularly brutal place for athletes to perform. Landing on the wrong part of a blade, tipping your ski into the wrong side of the pole, or twisting a curling rock just a little too much can crush medal hopes faster than a boot on an ant. What makes them even harsher is that you may have waited four years to glide away from center ice or launch down that hill, only to see all that work erased in a second. Then, it’s time to make hard choices; can you go back to training and wait out that four years for one more chance?
As another successful Winter Olympics begins to come to a close, for my last post I want to reflect on the Milano-Cortina performances in this context, this idea of what it means when the four-year pressure is released. Sometimes, redemption happens within the Games, when an athlete comes back on their second run or in overtime; other times it happens over a longer span, as the old man or woman returns for one last try. Redemption–given four years of work and maybe four more waiting in the wings–can mean different things.
Racing for a Billion
Tucked behind the headline that American speed skating phenom Jordan Stolz had not won a third gold was the name of the actual winner: Ning Zonghyan. It was considered Stolz’s strongest event, and he skated well. But Ning had a little more to prove. Four years earlier, at home in Beijing, he had been lauded as the biggest speed skating success in China since Albertville. He finished fifth.
He had hoped for better. Despite being praised in the Chinese press for his “huge leap” in Chinese skating, despite being chosen as the flag bearer in Milano-Cortina, Ning wanted the podium. Hence, back to work to start shaving down his time. In Beijing, he was 5 seconds slower than the Olympic record, an eternity in a race that has photo finishes at the 100th of a second.
Ning was already more successful at these Games, with two bronzes behind Stolz’s golds. But he liked the longer distances. Though Stolz was the one to beat, there was also the veteran defending champion (age 36), Dutch skater Kjeld Nuis. He was paired with Ning and they both laid down a blistering time that topped the Olympic record by a second, Ning slightly faster. Stolz couldn’t match it.
American media is hard on its athletes, but we have so many and take them for granted, frowning when they don’t meet the goals we set for them and virtually ignoring them when they win in sports that we don’t watch, like speed skating. China has a billion people and fewer competitors to cheer for. Every Chinese Olympian knows how many eyes are on them, and the pressure of being one of only a few makes it that much harder.
After the race, Ning pounded his chest and embraced his coach with great emotion. On the podium, he leapt in the air and pounded his chest again. When the red flag started going up, down came the patriotic tears in Milano and, probably, back in China as well.
The Brutal Brevity of the Short Program
There were a lot of tears in figure skating, too, tears of regret and of relief. Hmmm… Redemption, Resilience, Regret, Relief….maybe Figure Skating should just be reduced to the 4Rs. Decades ago, skaters had to complete actual figures on the ice, factored into their scores to the irritation of champions like Scott Hamilton and Dorothy Hamill, who had to become exceptional to offset their lousy Figure Eights. Those were zambonied away long ago, leaving only the Short and Free Skate. The Short sounds easier, but every skater know they are a trap. You have to hit every element in the program perfectly, and because there are fewer of them, there is a bigger possibility that a small mistake can kill your chances.
This is how one of the best pairs in the world, Riku Miura and Ryuichi Kiahara of Japan, found themselves plummeting to fifth after their Short program. In the team event, the two were unflappable and near perfect, pulling Team Japan into a deadlock with the United States. But in the Pairs competition, Kiahara made a tiny mistake on one of the their two lifts. He didn’t quite push Miura up as planned and, while there were no crashes or dramatic drops, something looked off as she came down. Coming off the ice, their faces were ashen, and their coach patted them, saying “It’s not over” in a voice that suggested it was over.
Skaters may be under a spotlight in the U.S., but in Japan, they are under a microscope. They become celebrities as children, attracting sponsorships and relentless paparazzi. Two-time Olympic champion Yuhuru Hanyu’s 2023 marriage only lasted three months because the aggressive Japanese media stalked his wife so relentlessly. So, while we may find the Japanese Pairs’ emotional reaction intense–and that of the Men and Women singles’ medalists–they are keenly aware of the pressure back home.
In the Free Skate, Kihara and Miura were aggressive in their quest for perfection. In fifth place, they skated ahead of those in medal contention, just trying to erase the story of “failure” from Kihara’s buckling shoulder. When they finished, Kihara let the tears of relief flow; apparently, he had cried all morning. They perched on the winner’s seats and watched the other teams commit error after error until suddenly they were left sitting in the chair, in first place. Kihara is clearly a sensitive guy and cried through the results and most of the medal ceremony. But he’s a Gold medalist so, dude, cry all you want!
Fifth to first is a classic redemption story, but what about 13th to fifth? Citius, altius, fortius.
Amber Glenn’s journey to become an Olympian is full of more ups and downs than most, partly because she’s older. She was a junior champion pushed into seniors before she was ready, struggled with the stress and pressure put on her, and spent ten years coping with physical and mental injuries. Not to mention being the only queer female skater and threats on social media for being open about it. She finished 8th at nationals in 2018, and, in 2022, couldn’t compete because she had COVID. For her to return to “fighting shape” and win three consecutive national titles might be called redemption enough.
She was disappointed with her long program in the team competition, “only” registering third, even though Team USA needed that to help earn a gold medal. She was better prepared for the Women’s Singles Short Program, starting out with a monster triple axel, then a sizzling combination of triple jumps, then… something happened. Brain freeze? Out-of-body experience? Alien telepathy? For whatever reason, in the middle of her third required triple jump, she stopped and didn’t complete the jump. It was far worse then falling or turning a triple to a double. It was a nothing. The audience wouldn’t know, but those knowing her program gasped. A snap of a finger, and a possible gold was gone, and probably any medal at all.
A medal was never a guarantee. The Japanese team was strong, and Alysa Liu, her own teammate, had the whole package. Maybe Glenn could have come in with a high score, then fallen her way off the podium, as Ilia Malinin did. That would have been a harsher way to “lose” a gold. Thirteenth place was a different kind of opportunity for Glenn. In her middle-of-the-pack skate, she leaped into a monster triple axel–only she and one other skater do them– and didn’t look back. There was a tiny touch down after one jump, but in her last minute in the Free Program, she skated with passion rather than nerves, skated to be a skater rather than to win a medal.
After that, Glenn sat for an hour, watching skater after skater not quite equal her brilliance, until the top four from Japan and her own teammate finally eclipsed her. She was gracious giving up her seat. She even became a viral “hero” for shielding one of the Japanese skaters, disappointed with a missed jump, from cameras zooming in for a close-up of tears. Though Glenn was initially pilloried for her Short program mistake, she ultimately responded with candor, good sportsmanship, and pure athleticism. In the end, her legacy won’t be for missing a jump, but for fighting back with pride.
Finally…
Resilience, that desire to try again, is a core mental skill required for all of these athletes. Olympic redemption under that resilience umbrella can take different forms. Mia Manganello Kilburg, for instance, couldn’t make the Olympic team in 2010. Or 2014. She left the winter sport to pursue a professional cycling career but the ice beckoned. She finally made the Olympic team in 2018 and was part of a bronze medal team in Speed Skating Team Pursuit. Today, in her last race, she qualified for the Mass Start, her specialty. Last time, she was 4th; here, she was just happy to be racing at 36. And, honestly, she ruined my point about being “just happy to be here” because in her last Olympic race, she slipped in for a bronze.
Veterans come in all types. What about Chock & Bates? Four Games for Madison Chock; five for Evan Bates ( just voted Closing Ceremony flag bearer by the way).
They had never medalled in Ice Dancing as a couple. Bates’ career had been up and down–like everyone else’s. Stepped on a partner’s hand during competition, severing a tendon. Four years later, that same partner cut his Achilles tendon during another fall. Did you know Ice Dancing was so dangerous? They split up.
Bates did better (and with fewer severed tendons) with Madison Chock, but they still kept just missing the podium. Eighth in Sochi; ninth in Pyeonchang (due to a serious fall); fourth in Beijing. The team gold they helped win in 2022 was great, but it was upgraded from a silver due to a competitor’s DQ. The team gold they helped win in 2026 was more satisfying, but their French training partners took a surprise gold in the overall competition. Nearly all stories led with “missed the gold.” But this was their first individual medal after four, five Games. Severed tendons, falls, injuries, and all manner of bizarre happenings did not keep them from coming back.
And, what about taking one step up on that podium? Elana Myers Taylor has a long list of accolades: six medals across five Games; oldest athlete to win a gold; most decorated Black American Olympian. She had five silvers and bronzes when she came to compete in Milano-Cortina, but never a gold.
The sport of bobsleigh is dominated by Germans who have superior resources, training, and coaching. They also don’t have toddlers with special needs, who mom brings so that everyone shares time together. After zipping down the treacherous course to earn a gold medal in Monobob, Taylor wept with her children, who were too young and too cranky to appreciate the moment. They are both deaf. She signed to them, “Mommy won.” She might have added, “At last.”
One Last Run Down the Hill
In order to earn redemption, there must be failure. Age. Loss. Disappointed. How boring to win all the time. One of the reasons Simone Biles really became the GOAT was because she experienced that failure and came back. The longer the drought after success, the more the pressure builds.
Mikaela Shiffrin won her first gold, like falling off a log, at 18 years old. She has since racked up hundreds of World Cup wins, dozens of titles, dozens of podiums–outside the Games. She was pressed to win everything in Pyeonchang and disappointed by only winning a gold and a silver. With no medals in Beijing, the press trumpeted her failures in large headlines. Here in Milano-Cortina, she didn’t help her teammate win a Combined medal, didn’t win the Super G, didn’t… Lather. Rinse Repeat.
Some athletes never make the podium in the Games, despite having stellar careers or breaking new athletic ground. Some only do it once. The impossible task of returning to the site of failure to go again seems pretty high, an Alp of a climb, let alone to ski down it around very slim gates set whimsically far apart.
In her last race in Milano-Cortina, in her specialty of the Slalom, Shiffrin took the gold. n her final race, she out-skied the other racers by a full second, a massive win. She curled up for a moment of silence before embracing the other medalists and confronting the press. She says her father’s untimely death in 2020 is still present her thoughts. There’s a lot to process when success comes after so many misses, especially when you thought, 16 years ago, that it would all be easy. I
First American skier to win two slalom golds; oldest and youngest slalom woman gold medalist. She already was the GOAT in slalom, even without this one last win. Can there be something bigger than a GOAT, a GOAT-R?
Her hands shook when she fingered the gold medal on the podium. Next to her was 34-year-old Swedish skier Anna Swenn-Larsson, who no one had put in the running to take any medal at all. Swenn-Larsson had also made four Olympics, paid her dues, year in and year out, never one to make headlines. But always willing to try one last time.