I let out a laugh—quiet, surprised.“Please.He’d do it, smirking, then act like it was no big deal.”
She glances at me sideways.“You’re not even pretending to be unaffected.”
“I’m not,” I say, eyes still on him.“I’m just choosing to appreciate the view.”
She watches me for a beat too long.“You’re glowing, babe.”
“Don’t ruin it,” I say.But I don’t deny it.
***
Val Gardena, Italy (South Tyrol), February 4, 2026
First Olympic race, super-G
I love Val Gardena.I have seen it shine with a Christmas vibe during the December races.I have enjoyed the sun and warmth in April during my spring skiing holidays.Today, it´s the Olympics, and it feels strangely cozy here.
With more cameras than ever, the small town is buzzing with flags, colors, and fans.Drones fly over our heads, and security measures are strict.In regular World Cup races, you can walk anywhere carrying anything; now, fans are checked and scanned in every area, including the mix zone where I am sitting, which is guarded by armed forces.
Still, the place feels familiar.
It gives the false perception that we will face just another super-G today.Three training sessions have passed with superb weather.Today the sun is shining, the sky is blue.It looks like the Italian organizers paid for the weather.Maybe, they did.
This is a Catholic country; it would not surprise me if the Pope himself were to serve a Mass for the fine weather during the Italian Olympics.
“The course looks great,” Jonas says beside me, his voice a little tense.
“It always does here,” I agree.“Can you imagine the Italians wanted the Olympic downhill in Bormio?”
“I sure can.Bormio is Italian, Val Gardena is Tyrolean.These guys hate each other´s guts.”
“I´m glad they found agreement, then, for our guys´ sake.”
“Well, South and North Korea managed to cooperate to make the Olympic idea come alive.It would be a shame if the Italians and Tyroleans were worse sports players.”
“True,” I agree, and we both go silent as the first racer skates out of the gate.
An American, Andrew Seaton, skis the course, and I take notes.
My hands are shaking, and I try to pretend that it is from the cold.”
***
Thomas
Up here at the top of the Ciampinoi mountain, the race is about to start.
Niko is pacing, Lukas is staring at the sky, and Martin…
…is building a snowman.
“Really, man?”I ask, pointing at the snowman´s giant dick made of a wooden stick.
“It´s Bellini, don´t you see?”he smirks.
“Did I hear my name?”Bellini strides our way.His broad camera-ready smile a little tight.
The nerves of the home Olympics got to him.
