On the eve of the opening ceremonies of the Milano Cortina Olympics, one of those irresistibly viral stories started percolating around the internet.
In a press conference, a journalist asked an official from the World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA) about a report in a German tabloid that ski jumpers were injecting hyaluronic acid into their penises in order to enlarge their private areas, which would presumably give them an aerodynamic advantage in the sport. A bemused official promised to look into it.
[time-brightcove not-tgx=”true”]Uh oh.
This was one of those stories that could have consumed the global media that descended into Milan and the Italian Alps for the duration of these Games. Winter sports experts would be called upon to play amateur urologists.
Thankfully, that didn’t happen. Perhaps weeks, months, or years from now, a 2026 Olympic ski jumper from Norway will be busted for crotch violations. But the main storylines to emerge from that winter sports empire were its lead in the gold and overall medal counts, and the awe-inspiring athletic machinery that is cross-country skier Johannes Høsflot Klaebo, winner of six golds at these Olympics—a new winter record for a single Games.
But we can’t forget the Norwegian biathlete who broadcast his infidelity to the globe. The Olympics will always stage absurdist theater. A Canadian curler cursed. Ice dancing judges did their cringey judging. The IOC pulled the credentials of a Ukrainian skeleton racer who insisted on honoring slain athletes on his helmet. The display violated rules against in-competition political protest, determined the International Olympic Committee (IOC), sparking much debate.
Not a scandalous one. The Milano Cortina Olympics closed out unscathed from an unmitigated disastrous event (think: Ryan Lochte). Though let’s not be blinded to the Olympic challenges ahead: the IOC seems eager to let Russia back into the Games, even though the aggression against Ukraine is ongoing and, according to a whistleblower who spoke to the New York Times, the head of its anti-doping agency reportedly participated in a doping scheme. The official, Veronika Loginova, dismissed the claim as “fantasy.”
The Games always offer discomfort. And moments of joy—in its purest form—as well as pain and surprise. While Lindsey Vonn’s Olympic comeback ended with a frightening crash in Cortina d’Ampezzo, overall, Team USA broke its winter gold medal record, set on home soil at the 2002 Salt Lake City Games.
Here are 10 Milano Cortina memories that will forever stand out to TIME’s veteran Olympic correspondents.
The fallible quad god
Skating. Where to start? Coming to Milan, I was prepared for a busy and eventful Olympics. The U.S., after all, had world champions in three of the four events—in men, women, and ice dance. With that many reigning champions, Team USA was also expected to win gold in the team event. Seemed like a no-brainer.
So I was prepared to write gold medal stories and weave in themes of the U.S.’ strength in skating in the absence of the Russian teams, who have historically produced Olympic champions in all four disciplines. But things, as everyone knows by now, didn’t quite go as planned.
While the U.S. won gold in the team event, thanks to a clutch performance by “Quad God” Ilia Malinin, even Malinin seemed off his game in Italy. Ice dancers Madison Chock and Evan Bates finished behind the French team of Laurence Fournier Beaudry and Guillaume Cizeron after controversial judging despite pretty clear mistakes by the French. And then Malinin, among the most consistent skaters in recent years, had the entire arena gasping when he popped and fell on jumps.
One thing that struck me after that event was Malinin’s maturity, at 21, in addressing what had happened. Before he left the kiss and cry, he congratulated the gold medalist, Mikhail Shaidorov from Kazakhstan, who secured the first gold in figure skating for his country. Probably the last thing Malinin wanted to do was face the media with our obvious and, in the moment, painful questions when his emotions were still raw. But he was frank and insightful, admitting that the pressure of being at his first Olympics might have finally gotten to him, revealing that as he took his starting position, the negative thoughts started flooding in.
Malinin didn’t want that performance to be his last memory of his first Olympics, so he was fortunate to be invited to skate at the exhibition gala, to erase, in some ways, the program that didn’t remotely reflect the extent of his skills and talent. It was a deeply emotional and raw program that he said was meant to remind the world about how harmful the pressures created by social media and public expectations can be. — Alice Park
Silver linings
A few Olympians who were strong contenders for gold instead picked up silvers and relished their accomplishment. For example, Eileen Gu, who represents China, and Chloe Kim of the U.S. were all smiles after picking up silvers in their competitions (for Gu, slopestyle and Big Air freeskiing; for Kim, halfpipe snowboarding). A reporter asked Gu—who later won gold in the halfpipe event on the last day of competition—if her achievement at these Olympics felt more like two golds lost or two silvers gained. Gu laughed at the inquiry.
“I’m the most decorated female freeskier in history,” Gu said. “I think that’s an answer in and of itself. How do I say this? Winning a medal at the Olympics is a life-changing experience for every athlete. Doing it five times is exponentially harder, because every medal is equally hard for me, but everybody else’s expectations rise, right? And so the two medals lost situation, to be quite frank with you, I think it’s kind of a ridiculous perspective to take.”
The Canadian women’s hockey athletes might not agree. After they came within minutes of triumphing over the rival U.S. in a second straight gold medal game—before a Hilary Knight goal tied it, and a filthy Megan Keller move ended it in sudden death overtime—the Canadian players filed off the ice dejected, in tears, looking grief-stricken. Perhaps in team sports, the promise of achieving something so spectacular as a collective builds up so much anticipated joy that, when you fall short, any medal seems worthless. Those Canadian faces offered a reminder that, for some, second-place just hits different. — Sean Gregory
Capturing gold
Having spent the last two weeks at the Milano Ice Skating Arena, all of my memorable moments involve the rink in some way. I got a little obsessed with watching Jordan Cowan, from On Ice Perspectives, the company he created after leaving competitive figure skating, document the sport on film. Cowan developed a special camera rig that he carries onto the ice and that moves smoothly to capture quick turns and perspectives that bring viewers as close to skating next to the athletes as possible. Cowan started his company by producing videos while skating with skaters during their programs—just while they trained or did exhibitions. But for the first time at the Olympics, he recorded the athletes as they were introduced and as they left the ice following their programs. During the exhibition gala, he skated onto the ice during their programs to capture, close-up, moments from their programs. Wearing a custom-made white suit to blend into his frozen environment, he introduced a new, more intimate perspective for audiences that will hopefully make skating—and skaters—even more relatable. (It was Cowan’s camera that captured U.S. gold medalist Alysa Liu’s exuberant expletive as she skated off the ice following her program.) Cowan’s biggest challenge? Making sure he didn’t skate into the plush toys that fans threw onto the ice for the skaters. And did I mention he films while skating backward? — A.P
Paper train
Early one Sunday afternoon, en route to covering the women’s 500-m speedskating event, I sat on a Milan metro, scrolling on my cell phone to keep track of Olympic happenings. Most people on the train were looking at screens. At one station, an elderly Italian couple stepped onto the train. The man took an empty seat next to me; the woman sat across from us. I made a motion towards her with my hands, indicating I was more than happy to switch seats, so they could be next to each other. She politely shook her head no; she was fine where she was. I said something along the lines of, “Ah, you need a break from him, don’t you?” She seemingly spoke no English and had no idea what I was talking about.
They both opened up newspapers and started reading them. Seeing two newspapers being read by Italian senior citizens, in a sea of electronic devices, made me all warm and happy. It was time for me to transfer: I waved goodbye to the woman as I stepped by her onto the platform. I looked back—she got up to join her husband. But she dropped her paper on the floor, while going to look at her phone. — S.G.
Family affair
I didn’t even see it happen. I had my phone camera focused on Lindsey Vonn’s family—sisters Karin and Laura, and father Alan Kildow—as Vonn started her sprint down the Cortina d’Ampezzo mountain on Feb. 8 in the women’s Olympic downhill competition. My goal was to capture their reaction, in the second row of the spectator section, if Vonn could somehow return from an ACL rupture she suffered a little more than week prior, and take the downhill lead away from American teammate Breezy Johnson. All at 41-years-old. And perhaps she’d hold on and win gold. What a story that would be.
So while I didn’t see Vonn’s ski pole hit a gate, and her go careening down the mountain at full speed, the looks of horror on her family’s faces, and the ensuing hush over the crowd as medics rushed to Vonn’s attention, said it all. I put my phone in my pocket. Dance music kept blaring over the loudspeaker, as Vonn’s family members teared up with anxiety. I found those thump-thump tunes so inappropriate for this somber moment. Later, I was told that the organizers kept it playing so spectators didn’t have to hear Vonn screaming in pain on the mountain.
Read More: Lindsey Vonn’s Olympic Crash, Through The Eyes Of Her Family
Fans waved to Vonn as she was helicoptered off the slope and taken to a local hospital. Thankfully, her life wasn’t in danger. But after at least four surgeries on a broken leg in Italy, and another back home in the U.S., Vonn has a long recovery ahead of her. “No regrets,” Vonn wrote about her comeback a few days later on social media. Tough day for an unquestionably tough—and unforgettable—athlete. — S.G.
Voluntary kindness
Because skating events occurred at night in Milan, they weren’t over until close to midnight. By the time I was wrapped up and ready to return to the hotel, it was usually close to 1:30 or 2 a.m. I will be forever grateful for the two volunteers who one night, upon seeing me climb the rickety metal stairs to the metro station looking either exhausted or completely pitiful, asked, “Tutto bene?” They then quietly sat in the same empty train car with me so I wouldn’t feel alone, and gave me a nod when they got off a few stops before me. Grazie mille, as always, to the Olympic volunteers. — A.P.
Health comes first
As a health writer, I always enjoy when I’m able to combine my day job with the Olympics. It doesn’t happen often, but during the Tokyo and Beijing Games, which occurred during the COVID pandemic, it came in handy. So at this Olympics, I visited the medical clinic that the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee set up in the Olympic Village to help athletes with any health needs they might have. They also had a team in the mountains, who were instrumental in coordinating the care for Vonn when she crashed during her run. In the Village, the doctors told me their biggest request was for tests for flu, colds, RSV, and COVID. The clinic had a rapid test that could provide quick results and help athletes get the right treatment to keep them on their training and competitions schedules as much as possible. The clinic also provides physical therapy, massage, and mental health services for anyone who needs them. It was a crowded place after competitions and training sessions. — A.P.
Saved by a pasta
Thank heavens for pizzoccheri, the buckwheat pasta dish that’s a staple of Valtellina valley of northern Italy, where snowboarding, freestyle skiing, men’s alpine, and the new Olympic sport of ski mountaineering was staged at these Games. Olympic organizers tend to offer media members terrible food options at the venues in which they’re working. That may sound like a complaint. But it’s fact. I’m still trying to expunge from my palette the microwavable cheesy lasagna thingy I had to eat at the hockey area, in order to fuel up for a night with pucks.
So when a colleague introduced me to pizzoccheri, served with potatoes and cabbage, in Bormio, it was a game-changer. Anything you can stuff in your gullet in the afternoon, by the piles, so you don’t starve while waiting for a bus in the snow after Big Air after midnight, counts as an Olympic treasure. Pizzocheeri is comfort. Pizzoccheri is gold. — S.G.
Orange crush
The last time I covered speedskating in depth at a Winter Olympics was at the first one I was assigned to as a reporter: the Torino Games, two decades ago. I don’t remember the sport being that much fun. Two skaters, racing against the clock around a long oval, in an antiseptic urban facility, bored me. Two American stars, Shani Davis and Chad Hedrick, were locked in a prolonged spat over something regarding teamwork. It all seemed so tiresome.
Fast forward to 2026: I’ve totally changed my tune. The Milan subway rides to the speedskating venue, with the orange-clad Dutch speedskating fans, helped: they brought delightful energy to the proceedings. “My hands are sweaty,” one guy dressed in orange told me, anticipating the showdown between American Jordan Stolz and Jenning de Boo of the Netherlands in the 500-m, on Feb. 14. “But no matter what, we celebrate.”
Stolz got the best of de Boo that day, as he had three days prior, in the 1000-m. And the time-trial nature of speedskating, I found, added to the drama. It was easy to tell, for example, that Stolz was faster than de Boo as they skated in a pair. But was he faster than the rest of the field? As each skater crossed the finish, all eyes darted to the scoreboard, where times and placement were revealed. For a nanosecond, there’s mystery. Brief suspense is suspense nonetheless.
On Saturday, the IOC announced that speedskating won’t be held in host country France in 2030. Organizers are loath to build new venues for short-term use, so they’ll put the sport in either Italy or the Netherlands. If I’m assigned the 2030 Games—bosses, let’s run it back please!—I doubt I’d stray far from the home country, just to cover one sport. But I’ll miss the group glances at the clock. And of course, the Dutch. — S.G.
Closing time
After Paris set the trend by moving the Opening Ceremony from a stadium to the Seine, there seems to be a new ultimatum of finding creative locales for the bookend Opening and Closing Ceremonies. The Italian Olympic Committee opted to close out the Milano Cortina Olympics in Verona, about an hour’s train ride from Milan. No cookie-cutter modern stadium would do. How about one that was built around 30 AD?
Renamed the Verona Olympic Arena, the venue has a long history of hosting sporting events, beginning with gladiator battles, as well as cultural extravaganzas like concerts. It’s been restored in part over the years but maintains much of its ancient roots. Passing through the stone arches, climbing up the deep stone steps and imagining the spectators and entertainers from centuries ago making the same journey was a reminder that then or now, the tradition of gathering to celebrate, and to put aside feudal, political or personal differences, is a unifying and still-needed practice that will always stand the test of time.
One of the themes of the Closing Ceremony was an homage to opera and the arts, both of which have a rich tradition in not only Verona, but in Italy. It celebrated the power of music to connect through common human experiences of love, compassion, joy, and heartbreak. It was the perfect place, and the perfect message with which to close out the Milano Cortina Olympics of 2026. — A.P.
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