Ilya Malinin

The Olympic Games are a test for the strongest. Figure skating is especially brutal: the competition and standards are unforgiving. "You're either first or nothing"—that's how Ilya Malinin thought. His father, the coach, demanded daily, grueling work; the tension never left Ilya, neither on the ice nor at home. He worked like a horse, sacrificing his psyche for the gold—he had to bring victory to America; everyone expected it of him.

All the short programs went perfectly: Ilya was in the lead, and victory seemed within reach. But a few hours before the free skate, an argument broke out between Ilya and his Russian teammate, Petr Gumennik, with whom he had more than just a friendly relationship. Petr was skating under a neutral flag, but everyone knew he was Russian. Gumennik saw Ilya dejected under the pressure of expectations and wanted to approach him and make peace, but there was no time—the competition had already begun.

Petr skated terribly: many underrotations and falls, he missed his chance, although he was usually expected to finish second at most. Everyone assumed Malinin would win. But from the very beginning of the free skate, something snapped in Ilya: it was as if he'd been switched off—his thoughts were racing, his concentration was gone. He botched almost all his jumps, underrotated, and fell twice. It was a disaster.

When the music ended and the audience applauded, Ilya buried his face in his hands: the applause felt false; he felt he didn't deserve any. He felt like he'd let down his father, his country, the entire world. Gumennik, watching from the sidelines, was horrified and blamed himself: because of their argument, Ilya hadn't been able to pull himself together—all his efforts had suddenly been in vain.