With the halfpipe emerging from the snow like a carefully cut corridor of possibility, Livigno had more of the feel of a test-ground for determination than a resort town in recent days. Twelve athletes readied themselves to condense years of training into three brief runs that would characterize their Olympic chapter under floodlights and alpine air.
With a 90.25 going into the last qualifying round, Chloe Kim was riding just weeks after suffering a shoulder dislocation. Her season had been discreetly derailed by a training accident that had caused her to fall awkwardly in Switzerland four weeks prior. But by getting back to work fast, stabilizing the joint, and modifying her training load, she greatly lessened the interruption and arrived in Italy looking calm and technically proficient.
She started with a calm backside 720 and worked her way up to a high, controlled 1080 that seemed to pause in midair during her incredibly successful qualifying run. As you watched her fall, you could feel the muscle memory she frequently alludes to, built up over twenty years of practice and improvement, as her knees absorbed the impact with remarkably precise timing.
While different in style, the field around her was quite comparable in ambition. Maddie Mastro rode furiously and linked tricks seamlessly, like she was weaving beads on a taut rope, as she attacked the pipe with double corks. With balance that felt almost architectural, Sara Shimizu of Japan, who has significantly improved since the last Olympic cycle, built her run piece by piece as she floated into the 900s.
| Event | Date & Time (Final) | Location | Top Qualifier | Injury Note | Defending Champion |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Women’s Snowboard Halfpipe | 12 February 2026, 19:30 CET (1:30 ET) | Livigno, Italy | Chloe Kim (USA) | Liu Jiayu (CHN) stretchered off after crash | Chloe Kim (2x Gold) |
| Finalists | 12 athletes qualified | Sara Shimizu (JPN), Maddie Mastro (USA), Gaon Choi (KOR), etc. | |||
| Streaming/Watch Live | NBC Olympics, Olympics.com |
Then the time no one desired arrived.
After a heavy crash late in qualification, Liu Jiayu slid down the wall and came to rest at the flat. Suddenly, the arena was quiet as medical personnel hurried in to stabilize her and bring her out on a stretcher. During that pause, the danger inherent in each spin became remarkably evident, the price of ambition displayed against a backdrop of snow.
During the last warm-ups, Kim stood at the top deck, gazing down the pipe with a methodical, not very dramatic, attention. She appeared so composed, as though she were going over her notes for a presentation rather than getting ready to jump fifteen feet above ice-packed walls, that I can still recall thinking about it.
When the final started, the beat changed.
The riders carved transitions, accelerated upward, spun, grabbed, and landed, each one dropping in like a different instrument joining an orchestra. At the tender age of seventeen, Gaon Choi rode with a maturity that was especially avant-garde for her age, articulating amplitude and poise in a manner that hinted at a bright future. Sena Tomita had very dependable control; her rotations finished square and steady, and her edges gripped tightly.
Even by Kim’s standards, her first final run was measured and clean. She confidently rode a switch, combined a backside 1080 with a frontside 900 tail grab, and then landed smoothly, absorbing the impact with her shoulders squared despite the brace under her jacket. She was in contention, but not untouchable, because of the score.
She smiled and talked briefly with her coach in between runs while carefully rolling her left shoulder and fixing her gloves. That brace, which was covertly worn beneath clothing, served as a reminder that even powerful champions change and adjust instead of retreat. Her clever injury management reduced strain while increasing scoring potential by altering her trick order and maintaining torque on specific rotations.
She was able to run higher on each wall since her second run was much faster off the drop. After launching into a huge backside air and grabbing cleanly, she moved into a smooth sequence that seemed more assured. The board tracked straight down the pipe like a train on well-laid rails, each landing crisp and edged decisively.
The last trick made it official.
She tucked her board tight and extended at the last second, landing centered and rode out neatly after completing a complicated spin. Not a single wobble. Not a flail. Just be in charge. Like a delayed echo bouncing off faraway peaks, the crowd’s response rippled through the auditorium when the score flashed—mid-90s, enough to secure gold.
Three halfpipe gold medals at the Olympics.
Through the implementation of a technically ambitious yet strategically constrained approach, she became the first snowboarder to win three Olympic halfpipe titles in a row. It was a result based on preparation, injury adaptation, transition refinement, risk management, and bravery, as well as on experience that is highly adaptable under duress.
With a run that was far better than his qualifying performance, pushing amplitude while being consistent, Shimizu took home silver. With flawless performance from the first to the end and lines that held up remarkably well under scrutiny, Tomita won bronze. When taken as a whole, they represented a competitive field that has become much more intense over the last ten years, improving standards.
The lesson, which was especially helpful for younger riders watching from home, was that patience, iteration, and smart recovery can be used to build excellence. Kim’s return was not impulsive; rather, it was planned and guided by years of data, coaching advice, and self-awareness. She turned potential weakness into competitive strength by focusing on performance and modifying expectations.
The sport has changed quickly since women’s halfpipe’s technical difficulty increased, proving extremely effective at generating athletes who can perform spins that were previously thought to be impossible. The ability to use judgment—knowing when to push, when to conserve, and when to trust the board beneath your boots—was what really stood out in Livigno, though, in addition to rotation count.
There was a sensation that something permanent had been built when the lights went down and the pipe team started polishing the walls once more in preparation for the next session. The show wasn’t just about one athlete dominating; it was about a discipline that has developed, turning fear into movement and risk into skill.
Younger competitors will examine these runs frame by frame in the upcoming years, making adjustments to edge angles, comparing grab positions, evaluating takeoffs, and looking for little advantages. The pace of progress will be gradual, occasionally imperceptible, but constant.
