Alysa Liu's new reality: fame, fashion and the fast lane

Alysa Liu's new reality: fame, fashion and the fast lane

Phillip DiGuglielmo began to see the handwriting on the wall not long after murals of Alysa Liu went up in Oakland and suburban Los Angeles.

For two weeks after Liu won the Olympic women’s singles title Feb. 19 in Milan, she and DiGuglielmo, her coach, still planned on going to Prague later this month so she could defend her world title.

“I knew her training wouldn’t be optimal, but we’re used to that,” DiGuglielmo said by telephone. “But this was going to be far from optimal.”

He understood that it was time for Liu to optimize the things coming her way since she became a sensation at the Olympics.

“She is just exploding,” he said. “Even her agents are overwhelmed. You have to balance what is her opportunity to build her brand versus going to worlds.”

By last Friday, she and her team agreed it was best for Liu to withdraw from the World Championships.

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"She doesn't want to be famous. She wants to be Alysa."

"She doesn't want to be famous.  She wants to be Alysa."

Alysa Liu won two Olympic gold medals by doing things her way.

And, her coach says, Liu hopes to keep doing that once she leaves Italy on Sunday.

That’s why it’s probably a good thing that she has skating commitments to keep her busy for the next two months, including a trip to Prague to defend her world title in late March.

“No press tour right away, no nothing,” coach Phillip DiGuglielmo said Saturday via telephone from Milan, not long before Liu closed down the exhibition gala’s solo performances.

“We have to figure out how we are going to train (for worlds). We may have to ask the rink management (in Oakland, Calif.) to close the rink when she trains because of the attention she has gotten. “Dealing with that kind of attention is not what she wants now. She doesn’t want to be famous. She wants to be Alysa.”

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With four Olympic medals, Kaori Sakamoto didn't need gold to cement her legacy

With four Olympic medals, Kaori Sakamoto didn't need gold to cement her legacy

Kaori Sakamoto knew well before the scores were announced. She skated off the ice Thursday night at the Milano Ice Skating Arena with a glum expression on her face. She could sense that the one jump she couldn’t pull off in her free skate was going to keep her from the gold medal.

Alysa Liu, the soon-to-be champion, got up from the leader’s chair as soon as Sakamoto left the ice surface. Liu hugged Sakamoto tight and long. A tear worked its way slowly down Sakamoto’s right cheek. More tears would flow later from the most decorated women’s figure skater in Japanese history.

“I really wanted to skate perfectly here,” Sakamoto said via an interpreter. “Knowing that I couldn’t, and it was the difference for the gold, was painful. I couldn’t stop the tears.”

This was her third and last Winter Olympics. The second, four years ago, had also ended in tears so strong her body shook as she wept. Those tears looked like a mixture of happiness over winning what she calls “a miracle” bronze medal and relief over simply surviving the chaos surrounding the women’s singles event in Beijing.

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Alysa Liu is the champion who can't stop smiling

Alysa Liu is the champion who can't stop smiling

You write this screenplay for a biopic about a figure skater and take it to Hollywood.

You start with a kid whose immigrant father puts her on the ice at age 5. You skip ahead to show her as a 13-year-old beating adults to win national titles when she is too young to compete at even the junior level internationally. You get her to the 2022 Winter Olympics in Beijing when she is just 16.

You have her retire a few months later because she hates a sport that is no longer what she wants to do, hates that it has consumed her life.

You have a great section where she tosses her skates into a closet, where they stay while she hangs out with her friends and four siblings and starts college. Then you watch her take them out 18 months later, go to a rink and land a triple jump as if she never had been away. You see her convince her old coaches to take her back because she wants to compete again — on her terms, not someone else’s.

You make the kid who once saw her sport as a grim exercise to be endured turn into a young woman who can’t stop smiling as she skates and practices skating and, heck, maybe even as she sleeps.

And that’s not even the half of it (don’t forget the spies) before you get to the final scene.

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