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Watching Ilia Malinin skate in person continues to be a surreal experience. I saw him land his backflip at nationals last month, and twice in his first two Olympic skates this weekend. What strikes me every time is the effect it has on the crowd (see Snoop Dogg, for example). The collective roar shakes the room — I could feel it in the seats on Sunday — and seems to zap right back into Malinin's veins for the rest of his skate. I asked him about it after his first Olympic backflip on Saturday.
"It's honestly such an incredible roar-feeling in the environment," he said. "Once I do that backflip, everyone is, like, screaming for joy and they're just out of control."
We're not used to seeing backflips on Olympic ice, in large part because the move was illegal in competition from the late 1970s until 2024 (though that doesn't mean people weren't doing it). Here's a closer look at the backflip, just in time for the men's short event today.
Taking in the action
Yesterday I briefly ventured out of the figure skating arena to the long-track speedskating rink (a totally different venue) to watch the women's 1000-meter race, eager to get a glimpse of Team USA stars Brittney Bowe and Erin Jackson in action. I did! It was thrilling to see their arms and legs move so fast that they almost seemed to be gliding slowly. Ultimately, the headline was Dutch phenom Jutta Leerdam, who won gold and set a new Olympic record in front of a hugely supportive crowd that included her fiancé, American influencer-turned-boxer Jake Paul.
But, in the spirit of going beyond the headlines, I wanted to share some things I noticed even before that final heat:
The Milano Speed Skating Stadium should be called Moving Walkway City. The rink is technically attached to the closest metro stop, but it's about a mile on foot to get there (per my Apple Watch, it took 25 minutes each way), and most of that path is lined with the conveyor belt-like structures I've only ever seen at airports. There is also the option to walk on the regular pavement, but why would you choose that when you can feel like a gliding, windblown Twilight vampire? Point is, you really have to build in time for this part of the commute or else you'll end up like the guys behind me, all but shoving people out of the way on the narrow belts as they sprinted loudly ahead.
Each race happens so fast — 1,000 meters is 2 1/2 laps around the rink — that I spent about as much time walking to and from the rink as I did watching the action, a huge change from figure skating's long, late (at least in local time) nights. The speedskating rink was also a lot warmer than the figure skating venue, where I've been chilly even in my thermals. Their layouts are also totally different: I've seen the distinctive speedskating oval on TV so many times, but was struck in reality by the hustle and bustle of the carpeted space in the middle, occupied by timekeepers, journalists and other officials.
I also didn't realize until today that, while each time trial consists of two skaters, others warm up in the lanes right next to them at the same time. The TV cameras make it look like the two who are racing are the only ones on the ice, since they follow right beside them. There's also a small camera whizzing in the air behind them in a way that immediately made me think of the golden snitch in the Harry Potter Quidditch games.
I immediately noticed that probably 80% of the crowd was wearing orange, and that the cheers for the two Dutch skaters were noticeably louder than the robust applause for the U.S. women. I did not see Jake Paul, but I did see a lot of people near me turn towards a particular section of the stands after Leerdam's breathtaking final lap. I took note during a brief break in the action, when the emcee queued up John Lennon's "Imagine" and urged the crowd to sing along (his vision did not really become a reality). And on the return trip, I actually chuckled when I saw volunteers sitting in lifeguard-esque chairs along the long walkway, using megaphones to steer the masses back toward the metro.
What I'm drinking
Pretty much every drink I've had here comes from a plastic bottle: the water that lives in my hotel room, the late-night Coke Zero I buy at the rink, the acqua naturale and/or frizzante I choose from at a cafe.
Back home, I usually keep a reusable bottle in my bag. I was warned about Italy's lack of refillable water bottle opportunities and tried to plan accordingly. But what I didn't know about was the bottle cap situation. Why oh why do they not come completely off? You can unscrew the cap as much as you want, but part of it will always stay tethered to the rim (and sometimes scratch your nose when you try to take a sip).
At first, I thought I was just reaching new levels of sleep deprivation. But then I learned that this is the new norm, thanks to a 2024 European Union directive that aims to encourage recycling and reduce littering. The EU said at the time that bottle caps were among the top 10 most commonly found single-use plastic items on European beaches, posing a threat to the animals that swallow them. Understood! I think anyone who's seen a cute picture of a seal — or lost the cap to a half-full beverage bottle on their way out the door — can come around to that.
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