Milano Cortina Olympics: cross country sprint relay (18-02-2026)

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I imagined that sooner or later it would happen, and it happened today: I saw a race already started. I arrive late in Auer, and the shuttle doesn't leave right away. So I arrive at the car park with less than 10 minutes to go, and the road is long; now I can go a little faster than in recent days, but if I overdo it, my knee calls me to order. I arrive at the gates at the start time and discover that I'm not the only one who's late: there's a queue like I've never seen before. Given the situation, I start looking at images of the race on my phone. The queue then disappears in about ten minutes: the checks are quick.

Going up, when I reach the bridge overlooking the track, I check to see if anything can be seen from there, but I see nothing. I check and realise we’re in the break between the first and second relay skier of each team. The format, in fact, has changed compared to the last World Championships I saw : there are no longer qualifying heats, but instead a time trial similar to the individual race qualifiers, where the times of both relay skiers are added together. The first Italian relay skier finished tenth, and believing that only ten go through, I think she’s at risk, but then the announcer says that fifteen qualify. We finish ninth overall.

This time, on the hill, I manage to get a place in the front row, but when I arrive the women’s qualifications are almost over: I only see the athletes in the final stretch and can’t work out how the track is laid out or if there are other visible sections. Near me is a group of Germans. Today, the most numerous group definitely seems to be the Swedes, followed by the Norwegians. Then, besides the Germans, there are Finns, Swiss (some with cowbells), French, Slovenians, Americans, and even a couple of Brazilians (Brazil had a women’s team, finishing 21st out of 26). But the Italians are far more numerous: this time the cheering will be loud. You can spot fan clubs for both Pellegrino and Barp (naturally, Pellegrino’s is much bigger).

After about ten minutes, the men’s qualifications begin. I discover that you can see the initial part, with a short climb, then after a while two bends, one uphill and the other, a little later, downhill, and after another bit the final stretch. When the first two arrive, you notice that the second, the American Ogden, has come very close to the first, the Norwegian Hedegart, and in fact is ahead of him by 6 seconds (they start every 15). Barp, who started third, slots in between the two, the Frenchman behind him seemed to have closed the gap, but actually he’s behind. I have to find out the rankings from the announcers (one speaks Italian and French, another English), because I can’t read them on the screen. Unexpectedly, Spain and Australia slot into first and fourth respectively. Among the second relay skiers, Klaebo sets the fastest time, while those for Spain and Australia don’t match up to their first skiers. It ends with USA first, Norway second, Italy third, Spain fifth, Australia ninth. Slovenia is the first not to qualify in both the men’s and women’s: to think that in 2019 the women won a medal. The best of the women would have finished ahead of nine men.

There is an interval of more than an hour. There’s no queue at the kiosks or the shop: I get myself a muffin and buy a few more things, after yesterday’s purchases, but I’m still missing something. For the finals, there are no more front row spots: I settle for the second row, in a more central position than in the morning. I struggle to see the two bends in the first part of the track, but in exchange I can see the screen very well.

The women’s final starts: the group is already down to 12 after the first lap, then 10, then 8, with Italy the first behind them. On the third lap Sweden begins to take a bit of a lead, which increases on the fifth. On the last lap Switzerland (although, hearing the skier’s name, for a while I think it’s Germany) moves up to second place, overtaking Finland and closing in on Sweden. On the final straight it seems really close, but there’s no more room to catch up. Finland, fighting for the bronze, falls at the start of the last climb and is overtaken even by Italy, who finish eighth. For the bronze, Germany edge out Norway on the line.

We move on to the men’s race: at the end of each of the first three laps someone seems to drop off, but then at the beginning of the next lap the group comes back together. On the fourth lap Spain drops off, on the fifth Norway takes a small lead and Australia drops off too. At the start of the last lap Klaebo pulls away, followed at a distance first by the American Schumacher and then by Pellegrino. When they appear in the final stretch, Norway’s lead is clearly unassailable, Pellegrino doesn’t seem far from the American, but the fourth, the Swiss, is closing in menacingly. The places remain as they are: Pellegrino wins bronze. It’s the fourth Italian medal I’ve seen, and also the last, as I have no more races with Italians. In Turin I saw one more, even though we had won fewer and I had only stayed a week. I think it’s because the ticketing system then allowed for more targeted choices.

After the race, many head for the exit, but I go against the flow to get something to eat. At the typical food kiosk, I get a risotto with red wine and sausage: truly delicious, I didn’t expect to eat something so good at an Olympic site. At the table, I meet two Swedes from Stockholm. I move to the edge of the hill overlooking the stadium, now empty, and watch the victory ceremony. When I reach the shuttle, I see that the one to Tesero centre and Cavalese has a very long queue, but the one to Auer doesn’t and never even fills up.

End of the mountain experience. Tomorrow, it’s back to Milan.

Milano Cortina Olympics: cross country men's relay (15-02-2026)

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I arrive at Auer station by car, more or less at the same time as the 10.42 train, which seemed too late to me (but I was able to leave later). The shuttle bus waits for those arriving by train, then departs. During the journey, many people look at the women's giant slalom, with Brignone leading. We arrive at around 11.30 (departure is at 12). The walk from the car park to the gates is not long, about 800 metres, but for me it is torture because my knee hurts and I struggle to bend it. There are only a few people left to enter, so much so that the staff are distracted.

For spectators in category C, like myself, they say it's best to climb up a little hill. I recognise it as the one where I watched the 50 km at the 2003 World Championships, one of the last with interval starts (those were the days), with Piller Cottrer finishing fourth. Of course, back then the Italian cross-country team was much stronger: I had put today’s race among those with no hope for a medal, but since last night many say there’s a bit of hope, so we’ll see. Climbing is tough, given the condition of my knee: at one point there’s a small bridge overlooking the track, I’m tempted to stop there, but I fear I’d only see the classic technique track, so I climb to the top. About ten minutes remain before the start, so I don’t have time to choose the best spot: naturally, there are no places left in the front row, nor in much of the second. I settle behind a group of Germans: I can hardly see anything of the stretch in front of me, but in exchange I can see the finish area and the screen on the right.

The largest groups seem to be German and Swedish, then Finnish, American and Swiss. Of course, after the Italians: unlike other occasions, this time the home support will be the strongest. I see few Norwegians, but on the screen, I see them and will see more as they exit: they must have all been in other categories. Before the start, the announcer calls out all the fan groups, and some, like the French, seem entirely absent. The race begins: I see the initial stretch, then the skiers disappear, and after a while someone points out that they reappear behind us, still all together. In this first lap (each leg has two laps), I’ll only see them at the end: there’s a bit of track in front of me, but I’ll only catch a glimpse once; in the following laps I’ll see something of the immediately preceding stretch, with a small climb, to my left.

The first lap ends with a group of six in the lead, in the second you see on the screen Graz attacking: I see him come to the exchange along with two others, whom I can’t distinguish (I’ll find out from the app they’re Norway and USA) and he changes third. In the second leg, Norway pulls away with someone whose name sounds like “gne gne” (I’m not the only one with that impression) and I’ll later find out he’s called Nyenget: Italy and France drop back before Canada and USA, but then catch up, Finland tries to hold on, but in the end will change closer to Italy and France than to Norway.

Norvegia.

They switch to free technique, so the track changes. After the initial stretch, many, like me, look around to see if they reappear behind us, but you don’t see them. Someone notes the track is on the other side and, indeed, I’ll only see them in the final stretch. In the following laps, I’ll notice they cross the bridge right behind me and so are visible immediately afterwards, though only briefly. In the third leg, Norway increases its lead: the announcer will say the skier Hedegart “literally flies”, though of course he stays on the ground. In the second lap, France pulls away from the others and gets closer, but with Klaebo in the last leg, there shouldn’t be any contest. They reach the third exchangewith France in sight of Norway and the others well distanced: Finland, then Italy, which seems much closer to Finland than Finland is to France, but in reality, it’s only slightly so.

Pellegrino takes to the track, and already when he reappears for the first time behind us, you can see the gap to Finland has decreased. It stays more or less like that for the whole first lap, but on the second pass at that point he will have caught up. They stick together for a while, seem to be going really slowly, but after a bit you see (on the screen) Pellegrino break away. I miss Klaebo's finish because I hadn’t realised the finish is in a different place from the exchange, but when it’s Pellegrino’s turn I see it clearly, the gap is decisive: it’s a medal.

Pellegrino lo vedo bene, il distacco è netto: è medaglia.

After the finish, many leave without waiting for the medal ceremony. I’m tempted to do the same, but then I see the view is now clear and so probably the medal ceremony will be visible, and in fact, I see it. While waiting, they did karaoke of “Sarà perché ti amo”, but this time only the Italians were singing. I leave as the Norwegian anthem is played: even descending, given my condition, is difficult. On the road, like many, I watch the second run of the giant slalom. I stop to eat at a restaurant near the shuttle bus car park and there I see first Brignone’s gold, then the silver in the snowboard cross. On the shuttle I read about Vittozzi’s gold, which I can’t watch because my phone ran out of battery: there’s a group of Finns celebrating their bronze.

che festeggia il bronzo.

Another memorable day. Tomorrow, curling and bobsleigh.

Milano Cortina Olympics: ski jumping (14-02-2026)

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 I arrive at Auer station around 4 p.m.: there are Finnish and Swedish people around (not headed for Predazzo, as I will later discover). I wait for the shuttle bus (the race is at 6.45 p.m.) so as not to arrive too early and wait under the rain. I get on at around 4.45 p.m. and see that it may be one third full or a little more: I hope it doesn't wait to fill up before leaving, and in fact it leaves shortly afterwards. There is traffic, and it takes just over an hour. The journey from the car park to the entrance is a little longer than the website said: 700 metres instead of 400, but maybe they moved it, made some changes because of the bad weather. The entrance procedures are a little longer and more chaotic than usual, but we're still talking about ten minutes.

I enter around 6:15 PM: the trial jump is already over, and they're working on the track. The rain is picking up. Just past the entrance, there's a fork between category A and category B seats: for category A, there's a grandstand at the end of the track, while category B offers a spot right by the side of the track (still level) and a three-level terrace. I try out the different terrace levels, but in the end I opt for the side of the track. Here, it's not a problem having someone in front since you need to look up and (from the terrace) to the left. Anyway, my neck will end up a bit sore. Earlier, I considered grabbing something to eat, but the line is too long, and I worry it will be even worse at intermission. I also noticed that, for once, the men's bathroom line is longer than the women's.

When I find myself at the side of the track, in the middle of the fans, I think there's nowhere else in the world I'd rather be at this moment—not even at San Siro watching Inter-Juve—even though I'm expecting more than two hours standing, in the rain, possibly without food. The largest group is definitely the Germans, followed by Slovenians and Poles. There are also Finns, including a group wearing historical bibs from the Cortina 1956 champion, Americans, Japanese, and Romanians. Surprisingly, there seem to be few Austrians, considering their tradition and proximity, but when their jumpers arrive, they'll make their presence known. There's even an Italian sign for Kobayashi, "Koba's bite."

They do karaoke with "Nel blu dipinto di blu" (okay, the announcer calls it "Volare," but as a former music quiz champion, I have to mention the exact title), and many sing along, not just Italians. Shortly after, it begins: the first to jump is the Italian Cecon, who lands far from the K-point (115 meters versus 128), so it’s clear he won’t qualify for the second round—he’ll finish third to last, ahead of only numbers 3 and 4. The Americans in front of me get excited for Frantz, who, jumping as number 13, lands at 133 meters and takes a clear lead. Bresadola, number 16, slots into third, which means he has a decent chance of qualifying: he needs seven others to do worse. One of these is Insam, number 18, but he’d need eight to do worse, so it’s immediately obvious it’ll be tough. A Kazakh, number 20, lands at 140.5, just half a meter from the HS point, and in addition to taking a clear lead and staying there until number 38 (the Pole Tomasiak), convinces the jury to lower the start by two bars.

When we reach number 24, Bresadola needs three more to stay behind to qualify (or so I think): I end up rooting for every jump. An Estonian edges ahead of him by one tenth o a point, but an American and a Slovenian remain behind, so as far as I can tell, only one more is needed, which will be hard since the best are up next. Then, the announcer says he’s qualified and I check that it’s true, but at the end some big names like Lindvik, Kraft, and Lanisek (the latter will still be among the top 30) will also end up behind him. The disqualification of the Austrian Tschofenig makes him gain another position: he’ll finish 26th. The Germans accompany each of their jumps with a hum, but it doesn’t bring much luck—the best finishes 10th. The Polish fans are much more vocal. The Japanese Nikaido, jumping third to last, lands at 140 meters and takes the lead by nine points: only Kobayashi and Prevc are left, but the former falls behind (11th), and the latter jumps 138.5 meters but, with less wind compensation, stays second by 7 points.

There are just over 20 minutes of break, and I figure if I spend the whole time in line I might manage to get something to eat. There are two food stands: "typical products" and "hamburgers and hot dogs," but the first includes pizza (along with two polenta dishes) and the second features a hot dog with sauerkraut, which comes from a closer place. I choose the typical products because the line is shorter, though the two lines tend to merge. Seven minutes before the restart, I realize I won’t make it in time and think about leaving, but since the line has moved up quite a bit and I can see the ski hill from there, I decide to stay. In fact, the second round begins while I’m still in line and not at the front: I see Lanisek do even worse than in the first round, finishing last, and Bresaola finishing second to last.

I manage to get back to the side of the track during the break after the first 10 jumps: when I see the Americans, I know I’ve found my original spot. None of those who disappointed in the first jump redeem themselves, until Kobayashi, who jumps 138.5 meters and takes the lead by 13 points. With five jumps to go, he’ll still be in the lead, but all five will overtake him. The Poles celebrate Tomasiak’s great jump (138.5 meters), who was fourth, but celebrate even more when Sundal’s jump right after isn’t great (still 135.5 meters, so I wondered if their celebration was premature), which means he wins a medal. The scene repeats, even louder, with the Slovenians in the final two jumps: a roar for Prevc, who clears the HS point (141.5 meters), and an even bigger roar for Nikkaido, as he doesn’t reach that level. Still, it’s 136.5 meters, but seeing the low wind compensation, it’s clear it’s done—he stays six points behind.

As the celebration for the Slovenians begins, with congratulations from the others, they tell category B spectators to leave only five minutes after the awards ceremony, as if we were soccer away fans, "to ensure an orderly exit." I was unsure about staying for the victory ceremony, but now I know I have to. From the side of the track I won’t see it, so I move to the terrace: from there, you can see. Coventry herself presents the medals. The Slovenians sing the anthem quietly at first, but towards the end, they let themselves be heard.

There aren’t many people in line for the shuttle to Auer; there are more waiting for shuttles to the parking lots. The problem is, you can't see the shuttle. Soon one arrives, but I realize it’s not enough, and I’m one of the first left behind (at least the line is orderly here). There’s a bit of a wait for the second. Next to me sits a Polish guy in a Vancouver beanie: I find out he was at those Olympics, too. Tomorrow he’s going to watch the biathlon, while I’ll be at the cross-country.

Four Hill Tournement in Garmisch (01-01-2020)

Clicca qui per la versione italiana We arrive at the parking lots around 11.30 am: it waseasier than expected both to get to Garmisch, and to find parking. We get in line for the shuttle: one arrives, and given all the people there, we are afraid we won't be able to get on all, instead compared with Rome at rush hour we are very comfortable.

We enter the stadium shortly after 12 o'clock. We are in the parterre, which is more or less half full, but we manage to make our way and get quite close to the hill. The unnumbered grandstand is most full, the numbered one is almost empty, but will fill up in an hour. German flags dominate, then the largest group is the Poles, with large banners obstructing the view of the scoreboard. Then we see Japanese (also families with children) and Norwegians. Very few Austrians (considering that we are 20 km from Austria): I see some of them at the beginning, then they will be noticed only at the second jump of their best representative. There are no Finnish jumpers, but a Finnish flag is always there. You don't see Italian flags: there should have been mine, but I forgot it in the hotel.

At 12.30 we start with the trial jump. Both the name of the jumper and the result are only announced by the speaker, they do not appear on the scoreboard. Usually announcements are only in German, only some particularly good results from non-German-speaking athletes are announced in English. even when there are no banners of the Poles, it is difficult to look at the scoreboard because of the sun. The Italian makes a disastrous jump, perhaps the worst of all.

After the trial jump, I take a tour of the fan zone. The queue at the toilets is impressive, so much so that I fear I will stay there until the start of the race, instead it goes on quickly.

Instead, I give up taking to drink: all kiosks have long queues.

While waiting for the start of the race, we listen to music, especially traditional German, and we sing. Sometimes the speaker asks the attendance to finish sentences: he does not seem to take into consideration that someone may not understand German. By 2 pm, start time, the sun has disappeared behind the mountain and the cold begins to be felt, so much so that my family will decide to leave after the first run. However, nothing comparable to what I suffered in Lahti or, for other reasons, in Doha.

The Four Hills races are held with the "duels" formula: 25 matchups and the winners and the best 5 losers pass to the second run. We start with the challenges between mid-rankeds (n. 26-n. 25. 27-24) to finish with those between the best and the worst. Unlike usual, the best jumpers have the lowest numbers. Only two duels will be won by the jumper with the worst ranking: among them the one in which Lindvik of Norway will make the hill record with 143.5 meters: he will close the run in the lead and his opponent will be the best loser. When the Germans, who are 12, jump, they can hardly be seen across the forest of flags. I am influenced by the atmosphere and the performances of their two best, Eisenbichler and Geiger (the attendance up especially for the first) seem to me much better than they are. When the Italian, Federico Cecon jumps, the speaker reminds the successes of his father Roberto, but he is another thing: he will close 47th out of 49.

In the brake between the two runs, I begin to feel tired: I have been standing for three hours. The speaker reminds to cheer for the 5 Germans, but in reality he forgets one: they are 6. We start and first a forejumper, then the Norwegian Tande give the impression of risking to fall: Tande will arrive last, but safe. We get to the epilogue: Kobayashi, winner in Oberstdorf and fourth after the first run, shoots 141 meters and therefore seems on track to win again. It's Geiger's turn, and I miss him completely among the flags. However, I understand from the enthusiasm that he did well: 141.5 meters and he takes the lead. Kubicki of Poland does not overtake him: only Lindvik remains, jumping in silence "only" 136 meters, but enough for him. Norwegians aside, the stadium falls silent.

At the exit, given the crowd, I give up looking for a bus and decide to walk: it is just over 2 km, but it is a beautiful, scenic road