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

 Clicca qui per la versione italiana

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.

Olimpiadi di Milano Cortina: biathlon (17-02-2026)

 

Dopo l’esperienza di ieri, stavolta a Valdaora, da dove si prende la navetta per Anterselva, ci vado in treno. Perdo quello che pensavo di prendere e prendo il successivo, mezz’ora dopo: anche questo mi assicura un buon margine per l’inizio, ma avrei voluto avere anche il tempo di prendermi da mangiare. La navetta si prende subito, non c’è la coda che c’era nel 2020. Come allora, però, il viaggio è in due tappe: Ad Anterselva di Mezzo (dove c’è un parcheggio e una fan zone non ufficiale) si scende e se ne prende un'altra. Il tratto a piedi fra le due me lo ricordavo più breve, ma suppongo fosse sempre così. Il percorso dalla fermata della seconda navetta ai cancelli, invece me lo ricordavo già lungo, ma stavolta è stato un vero tormento, col ginocchio che faceva male. Al cartello dei 400 metri alla fine (vedrò al ritorno che in tutto sono 700) sono già a pezzi, credo anche per la quota. Certo, l’ultima volta che l’avevo fatto avevo sei anni in meno e le ginocchia meno disastrate. Visto che oggi ho anche un anno di più, mi chiedo per quanto tempo ancora potrò andare a vedere gare del genere: a 70 anni, non dico a 80, sarò ancora in grado di fare percorsi del genere?

All’ingresso mi fanno svuotare lo zaino. Vedo che hanno una scatola piena di bandiere e mi sembra strano che le abbino sequestrate, visto che dentro ho visto tanta gente con aste di bandiera più rigide e più grande di quella che mi hanno sequestrato ieri: magari sono state solo dimenticate. Poco dopo, vedo un chiosco quasi senza coda e sono tentato di prendermi da mangiare, ma rinuncio perché non so quanto manca alla tribuna. Alla tribuna, che poi è la stessa dov’ero negli ultimi due Mondiali di Anterselva (2007 e 2020) arrivo poi verso le 14,15 - 15 minuti prima della partenza, e naturalmente è pienissima. Salgo una scala fino in cima e non trovo posto, mi sposto in una accanto e un posto lo trovo, avvantaggiato dal fatto di essere solo. Dalla mia posizione, però, non vedo i bersagli delle prime 15 postazioni, coperti da un cartello.

Sulla strada avevo visto soprattutto tedeschi, norvegesi e svedesi, con qualche ceco. Attorno a me ho tedeschi, norvegesi (una mi aiuterà a legarmi la bandiera alle spalle) e anche un paio di belgi. In giro vedrò anche finlandesi, sloveni, svizzeri e persino un gruppo di australiani (non rappresentati in questa gara). Quando lo speaker fa l’appello delle tifoserie, il boato dei tedeschi si sente molto di più di quello degli italiani.

Si parte: il primo tratto, nel bosco, è quello che non si vede dal vivo, ma anche dallo schermo riconosco le piste che ho fatto tante volte. Poi si intravede la prima discesa e l’inizio della risalita, dopo un altro tratto nel bosco gli sciatori ricompaiono per la lunga discesa, poi scompaiono ancora un attimo prima del saliscendi prima del tunnel d’ingresso allo stadio. Solo nello stadio, comunque, si vedono abbastanza da vicino da poterli distinguere, anche col binocolo. Al primo poligono, boato dei tedeschi per il loro staffettista che fa cinque centri molto veloci e riparte in testa. La Svezia è terza con una ricarica, l’Italia, sempre con una ricarica, transita ottava, dietro alla Norvegia che ne ha due. Al secondo poligono, la Germania sbaglia, la Norvegia passa in testa, l'Italia perde ancora, ma soprattutto solo quando sento dallo speaker "la Francia è ultima" mi accorgo che la Francia ha preso il giro di penalizzazione. Al primo cambio la Francia ha già recuperato sette posizioni e l'Italia evita di poco l'ultima posizione: problemi con gli sci o semplice giornata no?

Nella seconda frazione c'è il miracolo del francese Jacquelin, che al primo poligono è già quinto, al secondo è nettamente in testa (nella lunga discesa si vedeva già che aveva una curva di vantaggio), nel terzo giro cala, ma rimane in testa. L'Italia chiude 18^: ormai non viene più inquadrata al poligono, quindi i risultati li devo vedere dal vivo: per fortuna che il suo bersaglio, essendo lontano dai primi, lo vedo.

Nella terza frazione si consolida il trio di testa Francia-Norvegia-Svezia, che chiudono molto vicine. Svizzera e Finlandia girano ed escono dalle prime posizioni, l'Italia è 15^. Il pubblico continua comunque a seguire anche i poligoni degli ultimi, festeggiando i centri. Certo, il Belgio, penultimo, ha alcuni tifosi vicino a me, ma viene sostenuta anche la Romania, che è sempre più vicina al doppiaggio: alla fine sarà doppiata alla fine del primo giro (per loro) della quarta frazione. Anche il Belgio non aveva concluso il secondo poligono quando il vincitore è arrivato, ma gli è stato comunque concesso di finire la gara.

Nell'ultima frazione i concorrenti sono molto sgranati, dal vivo non ci si capisce più niente, tranne che quando entrano allo stadio. Non capisco i risultati al poligono delle squadre di centro classifica, visto che non vedo i bersagli e lo schermo ormai segue solo i primi 3. Dopo il primo poligono, la Francia con Perrot prende 10 secondi sulla Norvegia e 20 sulla Svezia, al secondo utilizza due ricariche, ma finisce comunque quando Christensen ha appena cominciato a sparare. Il norvegese non sbaglia e rimane a 8", ma nell'ultimo giro il vantaggio della Francia aumenta e quando si vedono nell'ultima salita prima dello stadio si vede che il distacco è incolmabile. terza Svezia, quarta Germania, quinti gli USA. L'Italia chiude 14^, dietro a squadre come Bulgaria ed Estonia.

Dopo l'arrivo della Germania qualcuno comincia ad andarsene. Io aspetto l'ultimo arrivo, ma poi vado anch'io, senza aspettare la premiazione, non solo perché non ho tanta voglia di veder premiati i francesi, ma soprattutto perché ho fame. Mi prendo una polenta al formaggio, un po' liquida, tanto che ne rovescerò un po' andando verso i tavoli, ma buona. L'inno francese si sentirà quando sarò già fuori da un po'.

Il viaggio verso la navetta è una coda fin quasi dall'inizio: durerà quasi un'ora. La prima navetta passa velocemente, ma la seconda non finisce mai, ci metterà almeno 45', e io (come tanti) sono in piedi. Domani sprint a coppie di fondo, sperando vada meglio di oggi.

Biathlon World Championships in Antholz: mass starts (23-02-2020)

Clicca qui per la versione italiana There are far fewer people at the station than yesterday: only a group of Germans with Stuttgart scarves take the train with me. In Olang they let us go immediately to the square (instead they channel those who come from the opposite direction) and we take the shuttle in 15 minutes. At the shuttle change I think I will take advantage of the advance to visit the village (called "Biathlon World"), but it is still closed. I arrive at the stadium more than an hour early, exhausted after the climb, and I take the opportunity to explore the surroundings. Going to the stands, you will meet the mascot of the 2021 Cortina World Championships. Next to that of Cortina, there are the stands of Pokljuka (Slovenia), home of the next Biathlon World Championships, and of Ruhpolding (Bavaria), home of the next "Summer World Championships" (I didn't even know they existed).

I arrive on the grandstand shortly after 12, and there aren't many places any longer. A concert by a German-speaking singer is underway, which must be quite well known, since many sing the chorus in one of his songs. At 10 minutes from the start, the participants are announced, the first 10 in football style: the speaker says the name and the attendance the surname. To make it more difficult, the list that appears on the screen will never be on the sama page as the announced athlete. They give the three and a half minutes to the start and the athletes have yet to enter the starting area and put on their skis: I would be taken by anxiety, they are calm.

They start: all in group until the first shooting range. There in 16 make no errors, Wierer is not among them, but at the second shooting range she makes an excellent series and rallies. I see that there is one who made 5 mistakes, I think "poor her", then I find out that it is Vittozzi. At the third shooting she will arrive very far behind, then she will come back a bit, but she will still arrive last. Wierer instead arrives in the leading group at both the third and fourth shooting: she makes a mistake in each, but most of the opponents do worse, so much so that after the fourth polygon she seems to go away: she has 14 seconds on Roeiseland of Norway. The speaker already seems to be commenting on her third gold, but at the checkpoint of the first kilometer of the last lap we all realize that we have spoken too early: Roeiseland is 6 " behind. When they come back into sight in the final downhill (which I have done many times too) the Italian still seems to have a good margin, but in a small climb she is reached, then passed in the entrance tunnel of the stadium and shortly afterwards she will give up, closing closer to the third than to the first.

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This time, being the last day, they are making the victory ceremony directly. Original formula: the winners start next to the stage and when they are announced they climb first on the stage, then on the podium. The Norwegian anthem is heard singing loud enough, although certainly not at French levels. It was 1.30 pm: it is not long before we take a seat again. I think I will eat in the nearest kiosk, but the queue discourages me: I will find one almost with no queue.

I'll be back in the grandstand around 2.20pm. I see a lot of people in the aisles and I get scared, but in reality there are still almost empty rows. Compared to other races, more French flags are seen. In front of me there are Russians, behind some Swedes. Before the last race they present the staff and the volunteers, the host also sings some songs. The race ends up in a duel between the French and the Norwegians, with the former placing 4 in the top 7, but the latter winning with J.T. Boe, the only one without errors at the shooting range. Windisch seems to be able to enter the fight for first places up to the third shooting, where he will make 2 mistakes.

After the race, I don't consider stopping at the victory ceremony, much less at the closing ceremony, which they advertise: I'm tired and I want to be among the first to leave the stadium hoping to find less queue, but then I can't resist Kaiserschmarrn (sweet omelettes in pieces, typical Austrian) and I linger. The queue to get to the shuttle is still about 50 minutes: I have time to hear both the victory ceremony and the closing ceremony. They also set off fireworks, although it is still daytime.

At the shuttle change, I enter Biathlon World, but it is being dismantled. However, a kiosk is still full of people drinking. I then try to buy merchandising, but I have to give up because they only accept cash and I am left without. It's not over: problems with the trains will bring me back a couple of hours later than expected. At the station I also see yesterday's man with a hat

It's over: on the one hand I am sorry to have seen only two days, but on the other I don't know how long I would have resisted, communting has exhausted me. After all, I'm getting older...