Four years earlier, after finishing sixth at the Beijing Winter Olympics, she walked away from figure skating. Burnt out and exhausted by a training regime that stripped away her joy, and by diets that limited her autonomy, she did what elite athletes are not expected to do at their peak. She quit – at the age of just 16.

That decision is what gives her gold medal its weight. Not just the win by itself, but the fact that it came after refusal.

Raised in Oakland, California, Liu first stepped on to the ice at five. Once Liu’s father recognised her potential, he reportedly spent up to $1m nurturing her talent. By 13, she had become the youngest US national champion, landing three triple axels and establishing herself as a prodigy destined to dominate the sport.

 

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Figure skating, however, has long hidden pressure behind elegance. At the 2022 Winter Olympics, that facade cracked. Russian skater and silver medallist Alexandra Trusova, 17, broke down in tears, screaming “I hate this sport”, while her team mate and gold medallist Anna Scherbakova, also 17, stood beside her, pensively clutching her signature bear mascot, devoid of all the glamour that a gold medal brings.

Set against the backdrop of a doping scandal that engulfed the Russian team, the moment exposed the emotional cost behind the performance.

Liu’s response to the system was not to endure it but to leave. She spent her time off attending university, obtaining her driver’s licence and hiking to Everest base camp.

Nonetheless, two years after quitting and not stepping foot on the ice she found herself missing it while on a ski trip with friends. Following her decision to return to the ice – on her own terms only – she began skating intensely again in the summer of 2024.

This time around, she was in charge of everything: her routines, music, outfits and training. In March 2025, she won gold at the World Figure Skating Championships in Boston. In October, she won second place at the US National Championships, earning a spot on Team USA for the 2026 Winter Olympics.

An example for us all

In a culture that glorifies endurance at all cost, Liu’s exit read as rebellion. This script extends far beyond elite sports. I live in Hong Kong, and grind culture shapes our daily lives.

Many here still live by the mantra “no hard work, no success”. Students move from school to tutoring centres to bootcamps, while parents add fuel to the fire by measuring self-worth in productivity.

Rest is framed as laziness, and stepping back is a weakness. Like athletes, young people are taught to internalise pressure rather than challenge it.

Liu was not alone in stepping away. Tennis player Naomi Osaka and gymnast Katelyn Ohashi have both distanced themselves from elite sport to reclaim a sense of self.

Osaka’s withdrawal from the 2021 French Open, citing anxiety and depression, revealed how uneasy we remain with prioritising well-being over performance. Ohashi’s move from elite to collegiate gymnastics similarly reflects a shift from obligation to enjoyment.

Her experience suggests that even the greatest achievements lose their meaning if they come at too high a personal cost.

In cities like mine, where students are expected to study through exhaustion and feel guilty for resting, Liu’s trajectory offers an alternative.

But it also raises an uncomfortable question: would we celebrate her decision in the same way if it had not ended in gold?

We must learn to see walking away not as a weakness, but as a necessary part of success. Liu’s story invites us to ask whether success counts at the expense of happiness – and her answer is a resounding no.