“There’s no way to lose,” said Alyssa Liu at the 2026 Milan Winter Olympics. For anyone who’s experienced figure skate blistering, sobbed in a locker room, or hopped on the scale after practice, you understand the weight that sentence held, regardless of her gold medal.
Alyssa Liu has brought the complex sequences, intricate jumps, and beautiful combination spins that have landed her a gold medal in the women’s figure skating singles event. Her performance had a total score of 226.79, including 7 triples. But beyond the gold, she has cultivated a historical and powerful message to young female athletes after retiring at age 16 in 2022, and returning roughly two years later.
What does this victory mean?
When Liu explains her victory, it becomes a lot more simplified than one would expect. Her nonchalant attitude towards performing has been refreshing as a past figure skater, and for the figure skating community as a whole. Liu’s response to the media about her medal is inspiring to say the least. “What is there to lose? Every second you’re there, you’re gaining something. There is nothing to be lost,” Liu said.
On April 9th, 2022, Liu announced that she was retiring from figure skating and publicly decided to compete again on March 1st 2024. She credits her roughly two year break as a time for reflection and re-evaluation. After her break, she communicated to her coaches about her different boundaries she had related to choreography, creative expression, and performance on the ice. “Listen to your heart and your soul. You know what’s best. And trust yourself,” Liu said.
Although figure skating is depicted as an artistic and lighthearted sport, as it is, there are also some disturbing practices and expectations deeply rooted in its culture. In media, these ideas have been explored in the film, I Tonya (2017) which dismantled financial barriers alongside the renowned attack and conflict between olympic skaters Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan. Additionally, the television series, Spinning Out (2020) reflected the psychological depths related to nutrition, body image, and self harm.
The 2022 Olympics captured the epitome of toxicity that exists within figure skating. There was a doping scandal involving Kamila Valieva, a competitive Russian figure skater, as she tested positive for a banned heart medication that can increase blood flow efficiency and endurance. As a result, all of Valieva’s competitive results from December 25, 2021 and onwards were disqualified.
Anna Shcherbakova won the gold medal, praised for her presentation and artistry, but her moment felt quiet and isolated as Alexandra Trusova landed 5 historic quadruple jumps yet finished with silver. Trusova broke down sobbing and arguing with coaches backstage. “I hate this sport,” Trusova said. “You [her coaches] promised me gold.”
Each of these athletes represented Russia, except as a Russian Olympic Committee due to Russia’s notorious history for doping scandals. None of these young athletes are to blame or are invalid in their responses, as they stem from exploitative and abusive practices that coaches continue to enforce on children.
MY Experience
I was a competitive figure skater from 6 to 14 years old, which made quitting one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make for myself. It was a huge piece of my identity: I would have skating practice before and after school in middle school, and occasionally traveled on the weekends to skate in competitions all throughout New England.
When I had first started skating, I had so much love and passion for it. It was such a creative way to express myself at a young age and to be a part of a community with other young women that adored it as much as I did. But over time, my spark and love for the sport was masked, and I began to hate it.
On Saturdays, I would be at a recreational rink for at least 5 hours. My friends and I would practice our routines and we’d also assist skating lessons to the younger girls. Oftentimes, one of the parents would come bring us lunch. In that moment, I was able to recognize that some of these girls were literally starving themselves.
One of them had a food journal to log meals, advised by her coaches, and many ordered the meal lowest in calories. Naturally, I began to compare my plate, and later on, my body. At this point it didn’t feel like we were skating together anymore, but against one another.
In figure skating, there is an immense amount of pressure to be thin rather than strong. As I, along with my skating friends around me, hit puberty, it just became more prominent. I was 10 years old when it the first time I had encountered a nutritionist who was hired to tell us how to fuel our bodies appropriately.
To translate her message: sugar and carbs were going to make you a “bad” skater and fruits and vegetables would make you a “good” one. It was detrimental for both my relationship with food, and my body image.
I believe that athletes, especially young, should be encouraged to question their coaches and their practices openly, which is what Liu displayed for everyone at home.
Healthy coaching and support systems are necessities and tools that should be utilized rather than frayed from. Skaters should also be creatively entitled to their work and have a voice in the choreographic process that takes place when designing a piece.
There is an undeniable responsibility for professionals within these industries to serve as role models for young adults and aspiring athletes. Every athlete makes the choice to either acknowledge and utilize the volume of their voice in these moments, or to let it pass.
Inherently, younger generations centralize the words spoken to them and idolize the practices that are modeled to them, unaware of their sustainability and ethical standpoint.
Although these unethical practices are more visible and easier to pinpoint within Russian culture, similar pressures to win gold while maintaining a specific silhouette still exist in the United States, in more micro-aggressive and systematic ways.
There are similar themes in other female-dominated sports such as ballet, dance, and gymnastics. Similar to Liu’s break from figure skating, Simone Biles withdrew from her Gymnastics events due to mental health struggles at the Tokyo 2020 Olympics.
This is why Liu’s message spoke to a larger audience than the pool of young figure skaters. She spoke to women, as an entity. Not only is it inspirational, but a true act of feminism for to confront and acknowledge the systemic gaps that still exist today.
Alyssa Liu has been someone I’ve watched perform since I was about 12 years old. Watching her athletic journey and creative process alongside my own time away from figure skating has inspired me to return, and I intend to join UCSB’s performance team this upcoming fall. Her development as an artist, a woman, and an athlete has been remarkable.