It felt like the cinematic close to an epic comeback story. Fresh off making history at the Milano Cortina 2026 Winter Olympics, two-time gold medalist Alysa Liu returned to the Milano ice one final time—not gripped by competition nerves, but radiating the ease of someone who had already claimed everything she came for.

The arena erupted in a tidal wave of cheers, every seat contributing to the roar, yet this moment carried none of the usual weight: no judges’ eyes dissecting her every edge, no leaderboard ticking up or down, no numerical verdict hanging in the air. It was the Exhibition Gala on the closing night of the Games, a celebration where athletes perform for pure joy rather than scores. For Alysa Liu, it marked the perfect, liberated epilogue to a journey that had already rewritten U.S. figure skating history.

Gliding to the lush strains of Donna Summer’s MacArthur Park Suite—the same electrifying music that had powered her gold-medal-winning free skate days earlier—she appeared weightless.

Beaming, luminous, practically levitating over the ice. The intense, score-chasing intensity that has long defined elite figure skating had vanished entirely. What remained was unfiltered joy.

Each spin, each sweeping glide felt intimate and expressive, a quiet thank-you fused with a gentle farewell. She wasn’t pursuing technical points; she was fully immersed in the emotion of the moment, sharing her light with a crowd that had witnessed her triumph and now basked in its afterglow.

At just 20 years old, Liu had already achieved what many skaters spend entire careers chasing. Her path to these Olympics was anything but conventional.

A former prodigy who captured her first U.S. national title at age 13, she became the youngest American woman to land a quadruple jump in competition and the third to execute a triple Axel. Yet the pressure of constant excellence took its toll. After finishing sixth in the women’s singles at the Beijing 2022 Olympics and being left off the U.S. team event roster, Liu stepped away from the sport at 16.

She announced her retirement in characteristically blunt fashion, seeking the freedom to live a life beyond the rink—time with friends, normal teenage experiences, and space to heal from the mental strain that had dimmed her love for skating.

That hiatus proved transformative. Away from the relentless training cycles and public scrutiny, Liu rediscovered herself. She explored interests outside the ice, processed the burnout that had driven her away, and gradually felt the pull back toward the sport she once adored.

When she returned less than two years later, it wasn’t as a reinvented version of her younger self, but as someone who had chosen skating on her own terms. The results spoke volumes: a world championship title in 2025, followed by this breathtaking Olympic run.

In Milano Cortina, Liu first contributed to Team USA’s success in the team event, helping secure gold with her performances in both the short and free segments. Then came the women’s singles competition, where she delivered a fearless, joyful free skate to MacArthur Park Suite—a bold, disco-infused choice that defied the sport’s sometimes staid conventions.

Landing all seven planned triple jumps cleanly, including demanding combinations, she amassed a total score that edged out formidable Japanese rivals Kaori Sakamoto (silver) and Ami Nakai (bronze). The victory ended a 24-year drought for U.S.

women in Olympic figure skating gold, the first since Sarah Hughes’ surprise win in Salt Lake City 2002. Liu’s beaming celebration—arms raised, smile wide—captured a moment of pure, unscripted elation.

With two Olympic gold medals now draped around her neck—one from the team event and the historic women’s singles title—Liu spoke candidly to reporters afterward. She said she didn’t need hardware to validate her journey or her worth, but she was grateful to have them.

That raw authenticity landed as powerfully as any quadruple jump she ever landed. In interviews, she emphasized how her time away had taught her to skate for happiness rather than perfection, a mindset that freed her to perform without the crippling fear of failure.

On this closing night of the Games, she transcended the nickname “Queen of Milan” that fans had bestowed upon her during the competition. She was simply a 20-year-old woman embracing exactly where she wanted to be—closing out her triumphant, double-gold return on her own liberated terms, not under pressure, but in pure freedom.

The Exhibition Gala performance felt like a love letter to the sport and its fans. Unlike her competitive programs, where every element carried point value, this skate allowed Liu to play, to experiment, to connect. The music swelled, her edges deepened, and the crowd responded with waves of applause that seemed to lift her higher.

It was a reminder that figure skating, at its core, is an art form capable of profound emotional resonance. Liu’s ease on the ice reflected a deeper truth: success isn’t just about medals; it’s about arriving at a place where joy overrides everything else.

As the final notes faded and she struck her ending pose—arms open, face alight—the arena rose in a standing ovation that echoed long after she left the ice. For Liu, this wasn’t goodbye to skating altogether; she has expressed interest in continuing, perhaps exploring shows or new competitive chapters. But in that moment, it was a perfect punctuation mark on an extraordinary chapter.

Her story resonates far beyond the rink. In an era where young athletes face immense pressure to perform from childhood, Liu’s willingness to step away, heal, and return stronger offers a powerful model. She proved that pausing isn’t quitting—it’s sometimes the path to true greatness.

The Milano Cortina 2026 Games will be remembered for many things: stunning performances, record medal hauls, unforgettable moments. But among them, Alysa Liu’s luminous farewell skate stands as a beacon of what happens when talent meets freedom, when pressure gives way to pure, radiant joy.

In the end, it wasn’t about the scores or the hardware. It was about a young woman who had claimed her place in history, then chose to celebrate it on her own terms—gliding freely across the ice, weightless and whole.