BEIJING, China — If you’re going to freeze to death at a Winter Olympics in China, do it early, is what I always say. And so, as the Games began, I took a train, a bus, a cab, another bus and a gondola to the men’s downhill, where temperatures were rumored to be in the negative four-millions. As it turns out, it actually wasn’t that cold. But it was apparently too windy to race down a mountain like an insane person, and so the downhill was postponed.
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We are three days into the Olympics, and despite a few logistical mishaps, a lack of snow not made by humans, a host country with an atrocious human-rights record, and the strong suspicion that everybody here knows when we poop, I am happy to report that countries are bonding over the one thing that unites us all: stupid COVID protocols. There are small panes of useless plexiglass between diners, people perpetually disinfecting random surfaces, and rules that prohibit us from sitting next to each other on the bus unless there are a lot of people on the bus, in which case the official position is “whatever.” At the alpine venue media center in the Yanqing zone, if you lower your mask in the first-floor workroom, a volunteer will immediately tell you to raise it or go upstairs to the second floor, which is exactly as crowded as the first floor.
There was something mildly reassuring about knowing that a government that wants to control everything still can’t control the wind. Unpredictable weather is as much a part of the Winter Olympics as balletic skaters getting robbed by corrupt judges. Wind delays could and do happen anywhere, even at a real ski resort.
It was a reminder that these Olympics, like all others, are going to create spontaneous moments of joy, even if the few people allowed to attend events are not allowed to celebrate them because of more stupid COVID protocols. Fans are allowed to clap but not cheer from behind their masks.
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The first moment of surprising American joy came Sunday, when Julia Marino won silver in the snowboard slopestyle. Marino’s second run (of three) put her in first place with one competitor left: Zoi Sadowski-Synnott, who managed a gold-medal winning run for New Zealand’s first-ever Winter Games gold medal.
That moment will linger for years—for Marino, for Sadowski-Synott and for New Zealand—and there will be more like it. Over the next two weeks, the 2022 Beijing Games are going to prove that the Olympics are unbreakable. You could put them anywhere—and for the right price, the IOC would.
This week, a handful of American sporting celebrities will take a shot at shaping that overused and misguided word: legacy. Starting with Monday’s giant slalom, Mikaela Shiffrin could affirm with the American public what has become obvious in the skiing world: There has never been anyone like her. We will see that Chloe Kim is no longer the giggly teenager who dominated and tweeted her way into our hearts in PyeongChang. Nathan Chen can win gold and become an American rarity: a man who becomes a star in figure skating.
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If you are wondering whether these Olympics have been fun so far, the answer is … well, not really, and even if they were, I would not risk saying so. Fun is greeted with suspicion. It’s going to be a hard couple weeks for the athletes, and circumstances will surely have some effect on the competition. We could see a repeat of what happened to Simone Biles in Tokyo, even if it is on a smaller scale and doesn’t make international news. The combination of Olympic pressure and a sterile, soulless environment will wear on people. And, as in Tokyo, there are no friends or family here for support.
But the Olympics go on. They are not just an exercise in identifying the best in the world; they help athletes discover the best within themselves. There is nothing quite like having an Olympic medal on the line and the wind at your back … you know, as long as it’s not too much wind.
