Homeward Bound

It may have ended with a whimper and not a bang. But as Michelle Kwan fought back the inevitable tears that followed her decision to withdraw from the Torino Olympics, they were tears of sadness, but not of self-pity. Kwan had made it clear earlier that she understood that this was, after all, just sport and that the problems of one little person don't amount to a hill of beans when compared to what people endure in this world.

Still, in less than 24 hours, her Olympic dream, her third Olympic venture, had been turned topsy-turvy. After celebrating Opening Ceremonies on Friday night, she took the ice Saturday morning for her first practice session feeling stiff and uncomfortable. When she came out of her second jump attempt, a triple flip, she said, “I knew I had done something.” Gamely, she tried another jump, but fell--and, with it, sensed something even bigger crashing. Her only hope was that with some therapy, the stiffness would go away. But by evening, it had worsened and she was in considerable pain, unable even to sleep. Kwan called the team doctor who visited her in the Olympic village at 2:15 a.m. and quickly diagnosed a groin injury that pretty much doomed her chances to compete.

Kwan says withdrawing was one of the toughest decision she ever had to make, but she didn't hesitate. “I know it's the right one,” she said. “I respect the Olympics too much to compete if I don't feel I can be at my best.” Things then happened in rapid succession. A call was placed to the home of Emily Hughes, alerting the Olympic alternate that her presence would be required in Torino. By 7:30 a.m. the U.S. team had made a formal application for a replacement for Kwan and it is no small measure of the international respect for her that, by 11 a.m., a famously slow bureaucracy had already approved the substitution.

Despite the disappointment for Kwan, truly for everyone who loves skating, the withdrawal was a vindication of the original decision--after Kwan was injured and unable to compete at the national championships--to grant her a medical waiver and place her on the team. She more than honored her public commitment to relinquish the spot if she wasn't 100 percent and able to deliver her best performance. She did so with such rapidity that Hughes, who was still in training back home on Long Island for next month's world championships in Calgary, will be able to arrive here in Italy well before the competition begins on Feb. 21.

Hughes, 17, the younger sister of Sarah Hughes, the 2002 Olympic champion, won the bronze medal at the 2006 nationals. She is a strong, energetic skater with a radiant personality, but is, at best, a distant long shot to duplicate her sister's Olympic upset. Sasha Cohen, the reigning American champion, remains the country's best hope to extend America's streak of women's figure skating golds to three in a row. Cohen said she was “shocked” by Kwan's decision, but didn't feel it would affect her in any fashion. That may be wishful thinking. Cohen may be the U.S. champ, but Kwan is figure skating's reigning queen. As such, she took the lion's share of the at-tention that will now gravitate to the 21-year-old Californian. Cohen has appeared susceptible to pressure in the past and the pressure on her has just been ratcheted up.

Kwan said she didn't want to be a distraction from the competition in Torino and would head home to Los Angeles to mend. Her competitive career is likely over--and over without the crowning achievement of an Olympic gold medal. “It's not all about the gold,” she said gamely. “It's about sport. I have no regrets. I tried my best and if I didn't win the gold, it's OK. I had a great career.” There's no doubt about that. And there should be no doubt that, after nine U.S. championships five world titles and two Olympic medals, her legacy as one of the greatest skaters ever to grace the ice is intact.

But truthfully, that is the least of it. Seldom has an athlete's sorrow been felt as acutely by those who have covered her career, indeed by pretty much everyone who has shared it up close or from afar. U.S. Olympic Committee chairman Peter Ueberroth made a remarkable introduction before Kwan took the stage to share her painful decision. “Michelle Kwan means more to the United States Olympic Committee than maybe any athlete that has ever performed [for it],” he said.

That covers a lot of terrain, a lot of legendary athletes. But Kwan is truly special, beloved because she has proved time and again to be sport's ultimate class act. And that is a legacy that trumps such transitory matters as the color of the Olympic medals she has won