The Olympic Games are a global gathering where humankind competes fiercely, yet also shares friendship and confirms that we are one. During the games, people experience moments of profound emotion and are reminded of our shared humanity.

Last week at the Livigno Snow Park in Italy, we once again witnessed human drama that went far beyond a contest for medals. The women’s snowboard halfpipe final revealed courage, determination, maturity and grace. In three distinct scenes, it reminded us what the Olympic spirit truly means.

The first scene belonged to Choi Ga-on of South Korea. In her opening run, she clipped the edge of the pipe and crashed hard. For several minutes she could not move as medical staff rushed to her side. Whether she would even be able to stand again was uncertain. Yet she refused to be carried off on a stretcher and stood up on her own. Later, she explained that she felt her legs were not broken and still could not give up.

In her second run, she slipped on landing, earning one of the lowest scores of the day. For most athletes, that would have marked the end, not only of medal hopes, but of confidence itself. A third attempt seemed almost unthinkable. Even her coach advised her not to continue. Still, she insisted on competing.

In her final run, Choi soared higher than anyone else. Her movements were measured and precise. Rather than chasing victory with visible anxiety, she displayed composure and control, as if she were performing a graceful dance in the snowy air. Spectators seemed to be mesmerized by her jumps. The judges awarded her 90.25 points, the highest score of the event. From the very place where she had fallen, she rose to claim gold. She showed the world what true courage looks like.

The second scene belonged to Chloe Kim of the US. She entered the event as the overwhelming favorite, seeking an unprecedented third consecutive Olympic gold medal. In her first run, she delivered an 88-point performance that reaffirmed her status. Although she slipped in the second run, she remained firmly in contention. Then came the decisive moment.

After Choi’s outstanding performance, Kim launched into her final attempt. She attempted the highest degree of difficulty, pushing for history. In the final seconds, she faltered. The score remained at 88. The record would not be written. Yet the most splendid moment came afterward. Kim accepted the result with a warm smile. Most importantly, she went directly to Choi and embraced her, offering heartfelt congratulations.

The Olympics are not a battlefield where enemies are eliminated. They are an arena where individuals test themselves to discover the limits of human potential and where competitors elevate one another. Great champions display dignity even in defeat as much as excellence in victory. Fierce competition unfolds within shared rules, and once the result is determined, it is accepted cleanly.

Kim’s embrace symbolized something larger than a medal ceremony. It was not the overthrow of one champion by another, but the passing of a torch, a generational transition accomplished through respect rather than resentment. In that moment, she proved that true greatness lies not only in winning, but in honoring those who have given their best.

The third scene belonged to Queralt Castellet of Spain, a veteran at 36 years old, competing in her sixth Olympic Games since Turin 2006. Her final ranking, 10th out of 12, did not bring the gold medal she has pursued since winning silver in Beijing. Though she slipped in her run this time, her presence conveyed a different message.

When Castellet first stood on an Olympic halfpipe, Choi had not yet been born. Youth speaks through vitality; athletes in their prime speak through refinement; veterans speak through endurance. The results may differ, but the willingness and the determination to challenge again and again, chasing a dream across decades, reflect a deeper definition of victory.

A gold medal alone does not define a champion. Together, these three moments illuminate the core elements of the Olympic spirit: competition grounded in rules, the pursuit of excellence to the limit, acceptance of results, respect for competitors and continuity across generations. These are the enduring values of the Olympics and true sportsmanship. This is not merely a lesson for athletics. In recent years, the international system has appeared increasingly fragile. Wars have resurfaced. Coercion is openly employed. The temptation to replace rules with raw power has grown stronger. The rules-based international order, painstakingly cultivated over centuries, often seems under strain.

Yet the halfpipe in Livigno offered a quiet counterargument. Human beings compete without seeking destruction. They strive to win while celebrating another’s success. They pursue victory without arrogance. The liberal international order ought to be no different. It was forged through centuries of conflict and painful trial and error, especially in the aftermath of devastating global wars that demonstrated the cost of unchecked power. It rests on the belief that rules matter, that results can be accepted and that rivals need not become enemies. It is sustained not by perfection, but by shared commitment. A handful of disruptors cannot easily dismantle a foundation built over generations.

In the arc of a snowboard soaring above the pipe, in the embrace between competitors and in the persistence of a veteran athlete, we glimpse something enduring. Even in an age of disorder, the language of rules and respect still survives.

The Olympic spirit may belong to sport, but it also speaks to the broader human condition. As long as we remember that competition and cooperation are not opposites, but complements, there remains reason for cautious optimism.

From a snow-covered slope in Italy, the world received a simple reminder: Order is not sustained by force alone, but by fairness, mutual respect and the grace with which we honor the human spirit that dares to challenge the limits together.

Wang Son-taek

Wang Son-taek is an adjunct professor at Sogang University. He is a former diplomatic correspondent at YTN and a former research associate at Yeosijae. The views expressed here are the writer’s own. — Ed.


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