As Ilia Malinin made his way through the cruel crush of journalists trying to make some sense of what they had just seen, he returned to one answer, over and over again.
“I don’t understand what happened.”
But, of course, he did understand what happened. He understood better than any person in Milan, on the planet.
Why We Wrote This
When dreams of Olympic gold falter, as they did for Ilia Malinin when he fell twice in the men’s free skate program, the spirit of the Games offers an equally valuable lesson.
The Olympics happened.
He might not yet know what mistakes in form led to him abandoning quad after quad in the men’s free skate of the 2026 Winter Olympics. Why he twice stumbled to the ice. Why he two-footed a landing on his signature backflip, which he has said is now as easy as a single-spin jump.
But in those first moments after one of the most shocking results in Olympic history, when Mr. Malinin did not win gold, or even a medal, but finished eighth, he knew one thing had gone horribly wrong.
“It just felt so overwhelming,” he said.
After the event, the stewards shepherded him through the media lines quickly. The normally cantankerous media did not complain. Everyone understood. Some even thanked him for stopping.
Those questions he did face, he answered as best he could in his confusion. And he acknowledged what had been plain from the moment he stepped on the ice Friday. He wasn’t ready for this, for the Olympics.
Not as a skater. But as a 21-year-old Virginia kid who loves his two cats, Mysti and Miu Miu, likes to build Lego creations, and hasn’t talked to his mom since he arrived in Milan because she didn’t want to give him any extra stress.
“This is definitely something I wasn’t expecting,” he said. “But this is not like any other competition.”
Sure, Mr. Malinin landed his first quad when he was 13. He remains the only person ever to complete the fearsome quadruple Axel in competition. He last lost in 2023, more than a dozen events ago. And coming into this Olympics, he was installed as a 99% favorite to win gold.
But that was another universe, and in a way, another Ilia.
Since he arrived in this alternate five-ring version of reality, strips of that Ilia have been falling away, revealing something unfamiliar underneath.
He gutted his way through the team event, but unconvincingly, leading to questions of: Where’s the real Ilia? The men’s short program on Tuesday night seemed to restore order. He was back to his imperious best. He admitted the Olympics had shaken him, but he had found his footing again.
“Going into this individual event, I decided to try different strategies,” he said. “Really just try to calm things down and not get too excited, enjoy my time on the ice, and try as hard as I can.”
It worked, and then it didn’t. At no point on Friday did Mr. Malinin feel in control, he said after Friday’s event. “Something felt off, I don’t know what specifically.”
Mr. Malinin was hardly alone. The entire final round of the free skate on Friday did not make for easy viewing. Both of Mr. Malinin’s closest competitors collapsed under the weight of the moment, too. Adam Siao Him Fa, a French skater of stunning grace, was down on the ice as much as up in the air. He finished seventh. Japanese skater Yuma Kagiyama managed to hold things together enough for a silver, but barely. His skate was a morass of step-outs and slips.
Kazakh Mikhail Shaidorov delivered the cleanest performance, and for that, he won the unlikeliest of golds, given the deficit he faced after the short program and the quality of the skaters in front of him. But on a night for bravery, Mr. Shaidorov gave a performance worthy of memory.
Unfortunately, the same was true of Mr. Malinin.
At times in recent years, his perfection has seemed almost impossible. The unbelievable quads upon quads that seemed as if they were AI deepfakes. The platinum blond locks, just long enough to need to be swept back just so. The hint of the artist and the diva in a young man choosing to skate his free program around his own voice, dreamily pondering the meaning of life.
But all that fell away in four agonizing minutes Friday, revealing the introspective rink rat who just loves to skate and had no idea, really, what he was getting himself into.
We’ve seen this before, of course. Most clearly, eight years ago, when American figure skater Nathan Chen similarly imploded at the Pyeongchang Olympics. Or American gymnast Simone Biles and her “twisties” at the 2021 Tokyo Games.
Mr. Chen came back four years later to win gold. So did Ms. Biles, who happened to be in the audience Friday night, surely understanding what happened all too well.
Before Friday night, Mr. Malinin said he would like to compete in at least two more Olympics, aiming for the 2034 Salt Lake Games. He has spoken of adding a “quint” to his routine, which he has reportedly landed in practice. He was even taking inspiration from Mr. Shaidorov and a new combination the Kazakh skater introduced in Milan.
“I definitely think that post-Olympics is where I can … kind of just play around with those things,” he told People magazine last spring.
That must seem a million miles away, at the end of a long tunnel of introspection, of trying to understand.
But before he said anything about his performance to the assembled print journalists on Friday, he found a way to express gratitude.
“Even with that skate, the crowd never stopped supporting me,” he said, clearly moved. “That is why this is such a special sport.”
Perhaps, even in the rawness of that worst moment of his sporting life, he was beginning to understand in a different way. What to cherish, what to focus on, whom to do this for.
It was the skater, all the artifice shattered. And it was the skater who rose after his catastrophic scores were displayed to the crowd and immediately moved toward Mr. Shaidorov, giving him a long hug.
Why did he do it?, he was asked.
“I know he’s had a tough season, and I was so happy for him,” he said.
That, too, is the Olympics, and a part of the Olympics he understood perfectly.
