MILAN — Maxim Naumov typically trembles as he waits in his opening position before the music begins. But on Tuesday, the 24-year-old U.S. figure skater stood firm at center ice with the Olympic rings beneath his feet and his right fist raised. A white gold ring with a single diamond on his ring finger glittered in the light.
It was his father’s ring.
A year after his parents, Vadim Naumov and Evgenia Shishkova, were among 67 people killed in a Washingon, D.C. plane crash, Naumov carried their strength during his Olympic debut and delivered an emotional season’s best 85.65 in the men’s short program that qualified him for the free skate.
U.S. teammate Andrew Torgashev also scored a season’s best in his Olympic debut, qualifying for Thursday’s free skate with an 89.94. His coaching team, which includes Irvine-based Rafael Arutyunyan, fist-bumped after Torgashev hit the final combination jump of his program. Skating to “Maybe I Maybe You” by the Scorpions, Torgashev flashed the rock-and-roll symbol to the crowd as he saluted.
Instead of the raw emotion Naumov released after the U.S. championship that clinched his Olympic spot last month, he smiled purely and breathed deeply while the crowd at Milano Ice Skating Arena showered him with applause. He looked toward the rafters and spoke to his parents.
“Look what we just did,” Naumov said. “We did it.”
Maxim Naumov holds a photo of his parents after competing during the men’s free skate at the U.S. championships.
(Stephanie Scarbrough / Associated Press)
The elder Naumov and Shishkova were three-time world pairs skating medalists and two-time Olympians. The 1994 world champions coached at the Skating Club of Boston and remained at the 2025 U.S. championships in Wichita, Kan., after the competition to coach a development camp.
Maxim Naumov, who had finished fourth at the U.S. championships for the third time in a row, returned home immediately after the competition. In one of their last discussions as a family, Naumov’s father laid out the plan to ensure they could reach the Olympics in one year. The talk lasted about 45 minutes. After the first 30 minutes, Naumov said he was rolling his eyes the way children often do, but he understood the message: They were going to work together and revamp everything they do.
After the crash on Jan. 29, 2025, Naumov struggled to leave the house. He couldn’t bear to tie his skates. Going to the rink felt unimaginable.
At every moment, Naumov wanted to lay in bed and rot. He instead chose to find the thing that felt like the most difficult task and attack it. At first it was simply waking up. Then it was getting out of bed. Then it was going to work and coaching his parents’ former students. Now they’re his students.
“The only way out is through,” Naumov said. “Everyone has the ability to do that: to remain strong in your mind, have willpower and do things out of love instead of fear. I think if you’re able to do that, whatever it is that you’re going through, however big or small, you can have small wins every single day, and you can do things that you never thought that you could.”
Naumov earned his Olympic spot by finishing third at last month’s U.S. championships. The emotions of the national competition that would decide the family’s dream were so heavy that after he finished his free program, he found a secluded corner in the tunnel and sobbed.
Finally on the Olympic stage, Naumov felt nothing but stillness. Naumov said he felt his parents’ presence and the support of the entire figure skating community “like a hand on my back pushing me forward.”
Looking at old videos can still be painful for Naumov. But he mustered the strength to look through the family’s large photo album ahead of the U.S. championships and pick out several photos he brought to the competition. His parents had always been in the kiss-and-cry with him. With his spot on the Olympic team at stake, he wanted them there again.
Waiting for his score in Milan, Naumov flashed a photo he picked. He is flanked by his parents standing on the ice for the first time at about 3 years old.
Two decades later, he was stepping off Olympic ice.
“To be able to just have 2 minutes and 50 seconds to show what you’ve been working on for 19 years, and to be able to make it happen when it matters and when it counts, there’s no feeling like it at all ever,” Naumov said, still breathless from the emotional performance more than 30 minutes after he nailed the final note. “I just hope that I made everyone proud.”
U.S. flags waved on every side of the rink as he saluted the crowd. He knows his mother would have not been there watching in person because she was too nervous to attend. Refreshing the online score tracker to keep up with Naumov’s program, she would always find a way to send a message of support to her son.
Before his program, Naumov sent a message of his own.
“Mom and dad,” the videoboard in the arena read, “this is for you.”
MILAN — Alysa Liu wore a hollow smile on the ice. She had achieved a dream, skating at the Beijing Olympics at just 16, but in a mostly empty arena, few were there to see the moment.
Perhaps that was what Liu secretly wanted.
“It’s not that I didn’t want to be seen,” Liu said. “It’s just I had nothing to show.”
The 20-year-old now proudly presents Alysa Liu 2.0.
Four years after shocking the sport by retiring as a teenage phenom, the Oakland native could win two gold medals at the Milan-Cortina Olympics. She is a title contender in her individual event that begins Jan. 17 as the United States tries to end a 20-year Olympic medal drought in women’s singles figure skating, and she will skate Friday in the women’s short program of a team competition the United States is favored to win.
Armed with a new perspective from her two-year retirement, Liu now smiles genuinely on and off the ice, no matter if there’s a medal around her neck or not.
“I have so much I want to express and show, whether that’s through skating or just through my presence,” said Liu, who placed sixth in Beijing. “It’s exciting to think about that being seen.”
When she made her Olympic debut, Liu didn’t feel like her career belonged to her. Her father, Arthur, was a driving force in her skating career. In a sport where coaches and choreographers often call the shots for young athletes, Liu entered the Olympic stage with programs she didn’t like and clothes she didn’t pick. She was behind a mask and couldn’t express herself. She barely knew how to.
Skating had consumed her entire life. She felt “trapped and stuck” in the sport. So she left.
After retiring following the 2022 world championships — where she won a bronze medal — Liu got her driver’s license. She hiked to Mount Everest base camp with friends. She went shopping for not-skating clothes, played Fortnite until 4 a.m. with her siblings and enrolled at UCLA. She loved studying psychology.
“I found what I like and what I didn’t like,” said Liu, who took time off from UCLA to prepare for the Olympics but hopes to return before her friends graduate. “Really got to know myself, because [when] I had skating, I didn’t really know myself. I couldn’t know myself. I only ever did one thing.”
Alysa Liu practices in Milan on Thursday ahead of the Olympic team competition, which starts Friday.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
After a casual ski trip reminded her of the joys of skating, Liu made the decision to return to the sport that shaped, and nearly stole, her childhood. But she would only do it on her terms.
The choreography, the music and the costumes would all be her choice. She doesn’t compete to win. She skates to show her art, she said.
In the process, she’s winning more than ever.
She won the world championship in 2025, becoming the first U.S. woman to win the world title since 2006. She won the Grand Prix final in Japan in December, the last major international competition before the Milan-Cortina Games to announce herself as a potential Olympic champion.
The day before her last performance at the U.S. championships, the final competition that would decide her Olympic bid, Liu ran to a St. Louis salon to dye her hair to match a new skating dress. Unbothered by the pressure of the moment, she debuted a Lady Gaga free skate that brought fans to their feet and earned her a silver medal.
“When you are an Olympic athlete that has a chance in front of the world every four years, it literally is your life’s work that’s on the line,” NBC analyst and two-time Olympian Johnny Weir said. “And she has found a way to compartmentalize that and put it down. … I just think it’s so wonderfully healthy and brave and strong to be doing what she is, because it takes a lot of bravery to put down the pressure that the sport naturally has.”
Liu is just a natural talent in the sport, 2022 Olympian Mariah Bell said. Bell remembered during the Stars on Ice tour in 2022 when the skaters rolled into a new city, tired, groggy and sore from the long bus ride, Liu, dressed in a baggy hoodie and billowing sweatpants, could go on the ice and throw perfect jumps without warning. Bell stood in awe.
U.S. figure skater Alysa Liu practices on Thursday in Milan.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
After Liu’s short program at the U.S. championships last month set a national championship record, Bell was blown away for different reasons.
“She’s so sophisticated and mature and emotional,” Bell said. “When she was younger, she was incredible. But when you’re 13, you don’t skate the way that you do like how she did the short program [at the U.S. championships].”
Skating to Laufey’s “Promise,” a haunting piano ballad, Liu glided through a flawless short program that she said nearly moved her to tears. Fans showered her with stuffed animals.
Liu has always commanded attention in the sport. She was the youngest skater to perform a triple axel in international competition at 12, became the youngest U.S. champion at 13 and followed with another national title at 14. She was the first U.S. woman to complete a quad lutz in competition, doing so in the 2019 Junior Grand Prix in Lake Placid, N.Y.
Six years later, back in that same arena for Skate America in 2025, Liu told her coaches she didn’t remember her historic accomplishment.
“It feels like I’m watching or I got someone else’s memories,” said Liu, who had similar, disconnected, but overall positive memories of her Olympic experience in Beijing. “It feels like a totally different person, but we are definitely the same person.”
U.S. figure skater Alysa Liu practices in Milan on Thursday as she prepares for the team competition, which starts Friday.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
Exchange the delicate, ballerina-like skating dresses with bold, modern asymmetrical designs. Undo the tight, slicked back bun and bring in halo dyed hair, dark eyeliner and the piercing she did herself on the inside of her upper lip. With three horizontal stripes dyed into her hair, each layer represents a year of the new life Liu is finally happy to put on display.
“I want to be seen more because I like what I have going on,” Liu said. “I like what I’m doing.”
The seventh in an occasional seriesof profiles on Southern California athletes who have flourished in their post-playing careers.
Tai Babilonia’s life changed forever when she was asked to hold a boy’s hand.
At first she resisted.
“I didn’t want to,” she remembered. “He’s a yucky boy.”
But Mabel Fairbanks, Babilonia’s skating coach, wouldn’t take no for an answer, bribing the 8-year-old with stickers and a Barbie doll if she would just reach out and grab the hand of 10-year-old Randy Gardner.
It would be another 40 years before she let go.
By then Tai Babilonia and Randy Gardner had become one of the most decorated pairs in U.S. figure skating history, their individual names eventually melding into one.
“My last name is ‘and Randy,’” Babilonia said. “And I embrace it.”
U.S. pairs figure skating duo of Tai Babilonia and Randy Gardner in 1979.
(Tony Duffy / Getty Images)
As a pair “Tai and Randy” won five U.S. championships, medaled in three world championships and qualified for the Olympics twice, all before Babilonia’s 21st birthday. Their success also pushed open doors that had long been closed since Babilonia, Black on her mother’s side and part Filipino and Native American on her dad’s side, was the first U.S. skater from any of those ethnic groups to compete in the Olympics or win a world title.
Among those to follow her were Debi Thomas, a two-time U.S. champion and a bronze medalist at the 1988 Winter Olympics, and Elizabeth Punsalan, a two-time Olympian and five-time national champion in ice dancing.
At about the same time Babilonia and Gardner were moving from competitive skating and the Olympics to the Ice Capades, another young girl was just starting to pursue her own Olympic dreams. Tiffany Chin would go on to win a national championship, two Skate America titles and just miss a medal in the 1984 Winter Games, retiring before she was old enough to legally drink.
In that brief but brilliant career, Chin changed U.S. figure skating forever. She was the country’s first Asian American national champion and first Chinese American Winter Olympian, paving the way for Olympic medalists Kristi Yamaguchi, Nathan Chen, Michelle Kwan and siblings Alex and Maia Shibutani.
After retiring from skating, Babilonia, now 66, dabbled in coaching and sportswear design, became a motivational speaker, an activist and, most importantly, a grandmother. But the legacy Babilonia and Chin created will be on display in Italy this month when the U.S. fields one of the most eclectic Olympic figure skating teams ever, with 12 of the 16 athletes having immigrant parents.
Five of the six singles skaters — Alysa Liu, Isabeau Levito, Ilia Malinin, Maxim Naumov and Andrew Torgashev — are first-generation Americans while the other, women’s national champion Amber Glenn, identifies as pansexual. Pairs skaters Emily Chan, Spencer Howe and Ellie Kam and ice dancers Anthony Ponomarenko, Christina Carreira, Vadym Kolesnik and Emilea Zingas are also immigrants or first-generation Americans while Madison Chock, the reigning Olympic champion in ice dancing, has Hawaiian, Chinese, German, English, Irish, French and Dutch ancestry.
At a time when diversity, equity and inclusion programs are being dismantled, immigrants are being attacked and diversity is labeled a weakness, America’s Olympic figure skaters have come to mirror the country at large.
“It’s wonderful and so important,” said Babilonia. “Especially now.”
Nearly 60 years after Babilonia and Gardner skated together for the first time, the decision to pair them seems inspired, even providential.
It was neither. Fairbanks, Babilonia learned later, simply needed a couple to skate in a club show at the Culver City Ice Arena.
“We just happened to be similar in height. And I guess we were cute,” Babilonia said last month during a lengthy interview at the Colonial Revival-style mansion in the West Adams District that houses the LA84 Foundation.
Gardner was already an excellent skater, as strong and athletic as he was outgoing and friendly; Babilonia was shy and far less steady on the ice. But that wasn’t the only thing that made their pairing unusual.
Gardner was white and Babilonia was Black. And in 1968, asking them to hold hands in public was scandalous, even in Culver City. However, Fairbanks, a legendary coach who had spent much of her life pushing back against convention, didn’t see color. She focused only on talent.
Randy Gardner and Tai Babilonia roller skating together in May 1979.
(Tony Duffy / Getty Images)
“Mabel was the coach who taught all races, Hispanic, Black, mixed, Jewish,” Babilonia said. “Mabel broke down that wall.”
Fairbanks, who was Black and Seminole, was born in the Deep South at a time when ice rinks were segregated. Even after moving to New York, where she bought a pair of skates for $1 at a pawn shop, then taught herself how to use them, she skated mostly in nightclub shows, where she was limited to jumps and moves that wouldn’t show up the white skaters.
She soon moved to Los Angeles, touring internationally with the Ice Capades and Ice Follies, before becoming a coach and mentoring hundreds of young skaters, including Olympic medalists Scott Hamilton, Yamaguchi and Thomas.
“If it weren’t for Mabel Fairbanks, you wouldn’t have any color in the predominantly white skating world,” said Babilonia, who is shopping a biopic of Fairbanks, who died in 2001.
“People don’t really know her. She’s like a hidden figure.”
Yet three years after Fairbanks made Tai and Randy a pair, they left her for John Nicks, who was coaching at the Paramount Iceland.
“He took our skating to a whole different level. And it happened really quick,” said Babilonia, who still calls her former coach Mr. Nicks. “That’s when we started winning and improving and just really became a great pair of skaters.”
Two years later Babilonia and Gardner won the U.S. junior nationals and three years after that they won the first of five national championships, qualifying for the 1976 Winter Olympics in Austria, where they finished fifth. Gardner wasn’t old enough to vote and Babilonia didn’t have a driver’s license. But together they were holding their own against the best pairs skaters in the world.
“Such an incredible year,” Babilonia said. “We won our first U.S. title, became Olympians, I got my learner’s permit and had a crush on Peter Frampton.”
But they were just getting started. Gardner and Babilonia wouldn’t lose in the U.S. championships for the rest of the decade. And 11 months before the next Olympics, they won their first world championship, then celebrated by skating for the queen of England at Wembley Stadium.
Tai Babilonia and Randy Gardner compete at the World Figure Skating Championships in Tokyo in March 1977.
(Tony Duffy / Getty Images)
With the Winter Games coming back to the U.S. at Lake Placid, the Americans were favored to keep the Soviet Union off the top step of the medal platform for the first time since 1960, the last time the Olympics were held in the U.S.
Only they never made it to the ice.
Nicks had moved his skaters from Paramount to the Ice Capades Chalet, a buff-colored concrete-block building in Santa Monica, five blocks from the Pacific Ocean. During a training session there, Gardner inflamed a groin injury that had plagued him for months.
It got worse when they got to Lake Placid and Gardner had a Xylocaine injection, but the anesthetic was too strong and it only made things worse; the pain was gone, but now Gardner couldn’t feel his leg at all. They pulled out of the competition moments before it was supposed to begin.
The next morning, with the skaters, their parents and their coach perched on the stage at a high school auditorium for a hastily arranged news conference, hundreds of reporters tried to get a shattered Babilonia to turn on her partner. She didn’t take the bait.
“She totally had my back,” Gardner said. “There was so much camaraderie and trust and love between the two of us. She understood that it was a major injury and it was devastating. It changed the path of our career.”
“I’m not going to say it ruined it,” he added. “It just changed the path.”
Two months after leaving Lake Placid in sorrow, Gardner and Babilonia, who had gone from “Tai and Randy” to the “Heartbreak Kids,” turned pro, signing a three-year contract with the Ice Capades that included endorsement deals.
They never skated in the Olympics again. And while the money was good, the pace was punishing, with eight shows a week on a 30-week tour.
“You’re performing every night, weekends two shows a day,” Babilonia said. “If you don’t pace yourself, which I didn’t, it will rock your world in a negative way.
“You can’t do all the tricks you did as a teenager every night.”
Tai Babilonia and Randy Gardner skating in 1979, the same year they won the pairs world championship.
(Tony Duffy / Getty Images)
Babilonia had never truly dealt with the emotional pain of the Olympic withdrawal. Now she was also dealing with the strain and fatigue of the ice show schedule as well as an identity crisis.
“Randy figured out how to put Tai and Randy in a box and leave them there and go on with his life,” Babilonia said. “I didn’t know how to separate them from me.”
So she sought answers in amphetamines, heavy drinking and a number of brief but high-profile romances before hitting rock bottom just before her 29th birthday, when she tried to kill herself with an overdose of sleeping pills. Her recovery started seven months later with an emotional first-person account of her fall in People magazine.
“I did it because I knew I had to,” Babilonia, still fit and youthful, said of a confession in which she blamed no one but herself. “I had to stop what I was doing and this was part of my recovery process. I couldn’t say yes quick enough.
“Something inside of me said, ‘This is your moment. Get it out. It may help some people,’” she continued. “And it did.”
The magazine cover story was followed 19 months later by the prime-time NBC movie “On Thin Ice,” which went over much of the same territory, with Babilonia and Gardner playing themselves in many of the skating scenes.
“It took me a while to watch the whole thing. Some scenes were hard,” said Babilonia, who speaks in a confident, careful cadence. “It was just part of my recovery process.”
She’s been sober 17 years and her relationship with Gardner, who came out as gay in 2006 — also in People magazine — has lasted longer than her marriage. Along the way, Babilonia matured from the shy withdrawn child who refused to hold a boy’s hand into a bold, strong and confident woman.
“She’s totally mature. She is worldly. And she’s an advocate for equality in sports, people of color and all that,” said Gardner, 68, whose home in Manhattan Beach is about 10 miles from the Culver City ice rink where he and Babilonia learned to skate once stood.
The former teammates still meet at least once a month and talk on the phone frequently, although they haven’t been on the ice together since Gardner underwent surgery on his back a year ago.
Flames from a olympic torch passes in front of Tai Babilonia at LA84 Foundation in January.
(Ronaldo Bolanos / Los Angeles Times)
When she stopped skating Babilonia tried coaching, but that didn’t work because she didn’t know how to teach the moves she had so easily mastered. Instead, she launched a clothing line, became a motivational speaker, volunteered with various groups promoting diversity on and off the ice, co-hosted a TV interview show taped in Santa Barbara and, for the last nine years, has co-hosted a holiday skate party for kids from the Union Rescue Mission. She also continues to skate in charity events.
All that in addition to her work with Atoy Wilson, a former U.S. novice champion, on the Mabel Fairbanks biopic, tentatively titled “Black Ice: The Mabel Fairbanks Story.”
“I want to try everything,” she said. “I want to experience everything.”
But her real job, she quickly adds, is being a grandmother to Ryett, her son’s 2-year-old boy in Arizona.
“I love being a grandmother,” she said. “Absolutely love it.”
She is also a prolific presence on social media, where most of her posts are either trenchant comments on the politics of today or black-and-white photos from back in the day, when she and Gardner — Tai and Randy — were winning medals and opening doors, helping to change U.S. figure skating forever.
“I appreciate what we did more as I get older,” Babilonia said. “We were pretty good and we made our mark. We worked hard. We became two-time Olympians. We met the queen of England.
