The Olympics, which officially came to a close on Sunday, were full of viral moments: the wolf-dog Nazgul, who joined the women’s cross-country team sprint; the Norwegian medalist who used his post-victory interview to try to win back his girlfriend, whom he cheated on; Japanese skier Ikuma Horishima’s loss of control, crossing the finish line backward and somehow still securing silver.
And, yet, amidst all of that, one moment captured the attention and imagination of the entire world like no other: Alysa Liu’s gold medal free skate.
Liu, and her routine, have seemingly broken the internet since she won gold on Thursday. The irony of all ironies is that Liu and her performance were a complete rejection of the Olympics’ obsession with zero-sum competition. A reflection of the wider world in which we live, the Olympics are consumed with setting and meeting goals, rather than appreciating the processes themselves — the joy and adventure of the doing. There is often a relational cost, too, given the fierce competitiveness. What’s more, Liu subverted and disregarded the protocol and expectations for athletes, particularly women, at every turn on her journey to Olympic gold.
There is something much deeper happening here: It is her liberation ethic.
Part of her appeal is the comeback story — we all love an underdog. Liu previously retired from skating to prioritize her mental health and well-being. When she decided she wanted to return, even her coach, Phillip DiGuglielmo, steadfastly tried to talk her out of it. But Liu was undeterred and, what’s more, she insisted that this time would be different: She would be in charge of her routine, her schedule and what she ate (all of which is highly unusual for Olympic-caliber athletes).
But the reason why Liu captivated the world’s attention in such a profound way goes much deeper: It is her liberation ethic.
Liu repeatedly said she wasn’t there for the medals, but rather for the experience.
“I just personally can’t bring myself to truly care about winning a medal or not … I mean when I’m enjoying performing it doesn’t matter what happens,” Liu said. Just days before the viral free skate performance, she echoed this sentiment, saying, “I don’t need a medal. I just need to be here, and I just need to be present.”
A preoccupation with outcomes almost always comes at the expense of being present and in touch with our own humanity: We do not have the space to connect to the experience, as well as everything we are feeling, and enjoy ourselves if we are exclusively focused on the end result.
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In relinquishing this obsession with outcomes, Liu embodied a liberation ethic. She operationalized love: love of herself, the sport, her audience, the creative process and her community — and it poured out of her. In her electrifying performance — the way she flew across the ice with such ease, grinning the whole time, playfully engaging with the audience — there was a liberatory quality to her every move that was palpable. And, I would argue, that is ultimately what we all long for: The space to be connected to our humanity and divinity, as well as, by extension, others’, too, even as capitalism tries to convince us that our value is attached to what we can achieve rather than who we are.
Liu was all too aware of this. When asked what she wanted the takeaway of her Olympic journey to be, she said, “I think the most important part of my story is human connection — really that’s all I want in my life … is human connection.”
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“I hope that with all this attention, I can at least raise awareness about mental health in sports and mental health in general,” she added. “And I think my story’s pretty cool and so I hope that inspires some people as well.”
As part of this liberation ethic, Liu is so unapologetically herself, quirky and wonderfully weird (during an interview she said she asked a friend back home to set up her laptop so Liu’s cats could watch her free skate performance). The high-pressure, outcomes-oriented culture of professional sports demands that athletes — again, especially women — erase their humanity, suppressing who and what they are in service of controlling them. It reproduces harmful gender roles. And it is part of a culture in which abuse is normalized.
Liu repeatedly said she wasn’t there for the medals, but rather for the experience.
In ice skating alone, coaches have been known to either enable or pressurize female skaters into having eating disorders. As noted, Liu defiantly declared she eats whatever she wants (including lava cake for breakfast one day during the games). And in a conservative sport that attempts to demand women make themselves quieter and smaller, Liu, with her noisy, striped hair and piercings, takes up space. Instead of demure bows and stoic expressions after her performance, Liu skated up to the camera and yelled, “That’s what I’m f—ing talking about! Yeah!”
And, thus, in embodying a liberation ethic and operationalizing love, Liu is both the best of us and what we all long for. She reclaimed her value by committing to the process and the present, even as the world tries to convince us that our value is attached to how we perform within systems of oppression. Rather than depriving herself of the present or of her humanity, Liu immersed herself in both and made a celebration of it.
The joy and love that pours out of someone who allows themselves to be fully present, free and alive is infectious.
