"BUT WHERE ARE you really from?"

It's late September at the U.S. Olympic media summit in Park City, Utah, and Kim is explaining what it's like to be an "American girlie girl" with an East Asian face. "People ask where I'm from, and I say 'Los Angeles,'" Kim says. "Then they ask again. 'Well, my parents are from Korea.'"

Kim's heritage has never been such a focus of discussion, but she's never been under such a microscope. To her, this journey is about becoming the world's best snowboarder. But because her first Olympics are in Korea, she's asked questions that, at 17, she hasn't asked herself.

How do you identify with Korean culture? What does competing in Korea mean to your family? What does it mean to you?

She responds honestly in the moment, so in countless interviews over the next few months, her answers will vary. Sometimes she's aware that the person asking wants her to be a model Korean-American, while other interviewers fish for hints of an über-American upbringing. Sometimes her answers are measured, other times loose and off-the-cuff. She doesn't yet understand that some people are waiting for her to misstep. For now, she is engaging, entertaining and completely unguarded.

"Shaun White? He's so funny," she says. "Some people think whatever about him, but I don't listen to what anyone says about someone until I get to know them. No one gets to do that for me."

Without pause, she talks about her "average" SAT score, her "ridiculously smart" puppy, Reese, the difficulties of dating and what competing in Korea will mean to her.

"I have this different opportunity because I'm Korean-American, but I'm riding for the States," she says. "At first I was confused on how that would be accepted. But now I'm starting to understand that I can represent both countries."

Chloe is a natural in the spotlight, but its heat can be overwhelming. She'd arrived in Utah the night before from training in Switzerland. After lunch, her pep wears off, but she faces a full afternoon of interviews and photo shoots. At one, a photographer asks her to jump in the air with her snowboard.

"No," she says and smiles for a photo, both feet firmly on the ground.

"I felt bad," Chloe says later. "I hate it when I get grumpy. But I can only be high-energy for so long."

CHLOE WAS BORN on Easter Sunday in 2000. When Boran tells the story, she says how cute Chloe was and how quickly it all happened. But Jong is a storyteller; he recounts the day as an explanation for a girl born into a family without athletes in a city without snow, who by 14 was one of the most influential women in her sport.

To mark the 2,000th anniversary of the birth of Christ, the Holy Door of St. Peter's Basilica, which is traditionally sealed shut, remained open all year to allow pilgrims a special path into the presence of God. "The day Chloe was born, the door to heaven was open," Jong says.

Chloe was 4 the first time Jong brought her to Mountain High, a small resort two hours northeast of their home. Boran and his older daughters weren't interested in snowboarding, so he brought Chloe. She had an instant knack for sliding on snow. "Since she started, she was good," Boran says. "We don't know where it comes from."

At 5, Chloe started hitting small jumps and rails on the tiny board Jong had bought for $25 on eBay. After each fall, she pushed herself up and tried again. Jong knew his daughter might not love snowboarding if it hurt, so he cut up yoga mats and stuffed the pieces into Chloe's bibbed snowboard pants. "I didn't know they sold special pads for that," he says. When Jong heard that waxed boards went faster, he melted candles onto the bottom of her snowboard. The next year, Chloe joined Team Mountain High, mostly to save money. "Normally lessons are $100," Jong says. "But they only charged $450 for the whole season if you were on the team."

At the end of her first season, Chloe was invited to compete at USASA Nationals at Lake Tahoe, California. "We didn't make hotel reservations or plan anything," Boran says. "When we got to Tahoe, there were no rooms, so we slept in the car. We weren't prepared. But Chloe got three bronze medals."

The next year, Chloe caught the attention of Mammoth Mountain snowboard coach Ben Wisner. "Chloe had a good stance, skills and amplitude," Wisner says. "I asked her mom if she'd ever considered putting her in a program. I didn't hear from them for a couple of years."

SWITZERLAND WAS JONG'S idea. His sister, Sunhwa, still lived in Geneva, so he sent 8-year-old Chloe to live with her and learn French. "People think Chloe moved to Switzerland for snowboarding, but we are not athletes," Jong says. "Her education was important. Sometimes I hear people say education is the backup plan. They have it backwards. Education is the life plan."

Chloe's two years in Europe made her curious and compassionate, and prepared her for life in the public eye. "I was the only Asian in my school, so that made me an easy target," she says. To deal with the bullies, she studied even harder and learned to speak their language. "When I became fluent in French, they'd call me 'Chinese,' I'd say something sassy back and then they'd be nice to me," she says. "Plus, I got mega cute when I got to fourth grade, and all the boys loved me."

In third grade, Chloe joined the Swiss snowboard team, becoming teammates with future Olympians Pat Burgener and Iouri Podladtchikov, the 2014 halfpipe gold medalist. "I had just turned 14 and Chloe was 8 or 9," Burgener says. "She wore this slalom racing helmet-and she was doing McTwists. We were like, 'Wow, she is the future.'"

“I have this different opportunity because I'm Korean-American, but I'm riding for the States. ... I'm starting to understand that I can represent both countries.” Chloe Kim

That summer, Jong flew in for a visit and took Chloe to ride at Snowpark Zermatt, where several teams were training. A snowboarder landing advanced tricks caught his eye. "For a regular person, she was really good," he says. "But her coach told me she placed 10th in Torino. I couldn't believe it. I knew Chloe could get to her level in two years. I flew home and told my wife, 'I can bring Chloe to the Olympics.'"

With Boran's support, Jong quit his job and poured his energy into coaching Chloe. "As an immigrant, I could put my proud Korean last name in the American history books," Jong says. He didn't share his ambition with Chloe right away. "I just knew he was home a lot more," she says. "I didn't know he'd planned my whole life."

When Chloe returned home from Geneva, she joined the Mammoth snowboard team, which meant five-hour drives each way. Friday mornings around 2 a.m., Jong carried Chloe from bed, tucked her into the backseat and drove through the night. "I was in the lift line at Mammoth, and this little girl in a blue helmet with a pink face mask asked to ride the chair with me," says five-time Olympian Kelly Clark. "Then I started seeing her at the halfpipe. The sheer amount of days I would see her out there, regardless of weather, spoke volumes."

A year later, the International Olympic Committee announced that the 2018 Winter Games -- the first for which Chloe would be eligible -- would be held in South Korea, reaffirming Jong's belief in his daughter's destiny. "It was my dream first," he says. "I was a strict father. I really pushed her too much."

Chloe didn't always want to make the long drive to Mammoth. As she began working on more elite tricks like 900s and inverted spins, she didn't need Jong as much. "We probably fought the most when I was 14," Chloe says. "I was a living nightmare. I wanted to hang out with my friends, but I had to do 65 assignments instead."

But that's also when the Olympics became her dream. Her tricks had become so dangerous, they were worth risking only if she was doing them for herself. "You're the athlete," she says. "If you go down, you get hurt."