Milano Cortina Olympics: biathlon (17-02-2026)

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After yesterday's experience, this time in Olang, where you take the shuttle bus to Antholz, I go by train. I miss the one I thought I planned to take and take the next one, half an hour later: this also gives me a good margin for the start, but I would have liked to have had time to get something to eat. The shuttle bus is easy to catch, there is no queue like there was in 2020. As before, however, the journey is in two stages: at Antholz Mitte  (where there is a car park and an unofficial fan zone) you get off and take another bus. I remembered the walk between the two stops being shorter, but I suppose it was always like this. I already remembered the walk from the second shuttle stop to the gates being long, but this time it was a real torment, with my knee hurting. At the 400-metre sign at the end (I will see on the way back that it is 700 metres in total), I am already exhausted, probably also because of the altitude. Of course, the last time I did this I was six years younger and my knees were in better shape. Since today I am also getting one year older, I wonder how much longer I will be able to go and see races like this: at 70, not to mention 80, will I still be able to do routes like this?

At the entrance, they make me empty my backpack. I notice they have a box full of flags, and it strikes me as odd that they confiscated them, especially since I saw plenty of people inside with flagpoles that were much sturdier and larger than the one taken from me yesterday—perhaps they were simply forgotten. A little later, I spot a kiosk with almost no queue and am tempted to grab something to eat, but I decide against it as I’m not sure how far away the grandstand is. I reach the grandstand—incidentally, the same one where I sat during the last two World Championships in Antholz (2007 and 2020)—at around 2:15 p.m., 15 minutes before the start, and naturally, it’s absolutely packed. I climb the stairs to the top but can’t find a seat, so I move to the next block and finally find one, helped by the fact that I’m alone. From my spot, though, I can’t see the targets for the first 15 lanes, as they’re blocked by a sign.

I had mostly seen Germans, Norwegians and Swedes on the way in, with a few Czechs. Around me are Germans, Norwegians (one of whom helps me tie my flag around my shoulders), and even a couple of Belgians. Around the venue I’ll also spot Finns, Slovenians, Swiss and even a group of Australians (not competing in this race). When the announcer calls out the different sets of fans, the Germans’ roar is far louder than the Italians’.

The race begins: the first section, in the woods, isn’t visible in person, but even on the screen I recognise the tracks I’ve skied many times. Then you catch a glimpse of the first descent and the start of the climb; after another stretch through the woods, the skiers reappear on the long downhill, then vanish again just before the undulating bit before the tunnel into the stadium. Only in the stadium can you see them closely enough to distinguish individuals, even with binoculars. At the first shooting range, there’s a huge cheer from the Germans as their relay skier hits all five targets quickly and sets off in the lead. Sweden is third with one reload, Italy—also with one reload—comes through eighth, behind Norway who needed two. At the second shooting, Germany misses, Norway takes the lead, Italy falls further back, but it’s only when I hear the announcer say “France is last” that I realise France has ended up on the penalty loop. By the first changeover, France has already recovered seven places and Italy narrowly avoids last: was it ski problems or just a bad day?

In the second leg, there’s a miracle from the Frenchman Jacquelin, who’s already up to fifth at the first shooting, well in the lead at the second (you could see on the long descent he was already leading by one bend), and although he fades a bit in the third lap, he stays in front. Italy finishes 18th: by now they’re no longer shown in the screen at the range, so I have to check the results live—luckily, I can see their target as it’s far from the leaders.

In the third leg, the leading trio of France-Norway-Sweden consolidates, finishing very close together. Switzerland and Finland drop out of the top spots, and Italy is 15th. The crowd still follows the shooting of the teams at the back, celebrating every hit. Admittedly, Belgium—second to last—has a few supporters near me, but even Romania, who are ever closer to being lapped, are cheered on: in the end, they’re lapped at the end of their first lap of the fourth leg. Belgium hadn't finished the second shooting when the winner crossed the line, but were still allowed to complete the race.

In the final leg, the competitors are very spread out; live, it’s impossible to follow what’s happening outside the stadium, except when they come into view. I can’t follow the shooting results for the mid-field teams, as I can’t see the targets and the screen now only shows the top three. After the first shooting, France with Perrot opens up a 10-second gap on Norway and 20 on Sweden; at the second, they need two extra rounds, but still finish while Christensen is just starting to shoot. The Norwegian doesn’t miss and stays 8” behind, but on the last lap, France’s lead grows and by the final climb before the stadium, it’s clear the gap is unbridgeable. Sweden finishes third, Germany fourth, and the USA fifth. Italy ends up 14th, behind teams like Bulgaria and Estonia.

After Germany finishes, some people start to leave. I wait for the last finisher, then head off myself, not staying for the victory ceremony—not just because I’m not keen to see the French celebrate, but mostly because I’m hungry. I grab a polenta with cheese, a bit liquid so I spill some on the way to the tables, but tasty nonetheless. I hear the French anthem when I’m already well outside.

The journey to the shuttle is a queue almost from the start: it lasts nearly an hour. The first shuttle runs quickly, but the second takes forever, at least 45 minutes, and (like many others) I’m standing the whole way. Tomorrow is the team sprint cross-country—let’s hope it goes better than today.