[2017.02.01] Team Brian: 300 Points Legend

[yuzurujenn]

Info: https://www.amazon.co.jp/-/en/ブライアン・オーサー/dp/4062201186/

https://ebookjapan.yahoo.co.jp/books/270878/

 

 

The Reason Behind That Smile, The Truth Behind That Roar, The Behind-the-Scenes of That Fierce Battle. Moving Toward the future of another dimension! ! A Renowned Coach Tells the Story of Yuzuru Hanyu and Javier Fernández.

 

Table of content:

Spoiler

Introduction

 

Chapter 1: Starting the Journey Towards PyeongChang (2014-2015 Season)

1.1 Kim Yuna Was No Fluke
1.2 Evolving Without Turning Away from Pressure
1.3 Yuzuru, Growing as an Olympic Champion
1.4 The Value of Quadruple Jumps in the Latter Half of the Short Program
1.5 Javier Is Reborn!
1.6 A Program Perfect for Performing in His Home Country, Spain
1.7 Yuzuru's worst night at the Cup of China

1.8 The International Skating Union’s Response
1.9 Deliberately Assigning Hard Training After the Accident
1.10 Extremely Nervous in Front of Spanish Fans
1.11 Training Together on the Same Rink Reduces Invisible Pressure
1.12 A Hero's Return to the All Japan Championships, and Then Surgery
1.13 A Dead Heat between 1st and 2nd Place in the Short Program

1.14 Commentary - 2014–2015 Season

 

Chapter 2: The Secret of Our Strength
2.1 The Unusual Fatigue After a Great Season
2.2 Happiness in Team Brian
2.3 Each skater is the Main Character
2.4 Building a great community

2.5 A Goal Even More Wonderful Than Winning the World Championships

 

Chapter 3: Two World Champions, Two Comrades in Arms (2015-2016 Season)
3.1 Awareness of being a top skater
3.2 Yuzuru’s attention to detail
3.3 Taking pride in the culture of each country
3.4 Thinking of countermeasures rather than criticizing the judging system
3.5 Is the victory about the quad Lutz or quality?
3.6 Incorporating two quads in the short program
3.7 Managing Yuzuru's conditioning

3.8 Drawing historic moments to oneself through one’s own strength
3.9 Yuzuru battles against himself
3.10 The rink turns into a flamenco-dancing tavern
3.11 To compete against Yuzuru

3.12 Mistakes mean you can train hard
3.13 Javier also surpasses 300 points
3.14 A rink like it’s strewn with jewels
3.15 The trials continue for Yuzuru
3.16 "It’s Sinatra, Sinatra!"
3.17 "You have plenty of time to beat me"

3.18 Commentary

 

Chapter 4: The 300-Point ‘Milestone’
4.1 The secret to scoring over 300 points (1) GOE 
4.2 The secret to scoring over 300 points (2) PCS 
4.3 Both Yuzuru and Javier can still improve
4.4 The expected four-year plan
4.5 Gradually raising the bar for each other
4.6 The best moment is more important than the score

 

Chapter 5: The Pre-Olympic Season: 2016–2017
5.1 Does being the World Champion bring pressure or confidence?
5.2 Choosing music with the Olympics in mind
5.3 Yuzuru and Javier's 2-year programs

5.4 Yuzuru’s Quadruple Loop as Rehabilitation After Injury

5.5 Why insist on mastering the quad loop?

5.6 An unimaginable low score last season

5.7 Discussion and understanding

5.8 Third time surpassing 300 points

5.9 Yuzuru peaks quickly

5.10 Don’t be misled by the new era of quadruple jumps

5.11 Can we help promising skaters evolve properly?

5.12 Commentary

 

Chapter 6: The Olympics and Team Brian

6.1 There are tough days

6.2 10 skaters at the Olympics?

6.3 All 24 skaters in the free skate jumping quadruple jumps

6.4 Choosing music for the Olympics in South Korea

6.5 Bringing out your best when it counts

6.6 Life continues even after retiring from competition

6.7 We are ahead of our time

 

Final Chapter: A Dialogue Between Brian Orser & Javier Fernández

-"I knew that if I let him practice according to the plan, he would succeed"

-Plushenko’s words

-How to turn the cheers of the crowd into energy

-The meaning of surpassing 300 points

-The Value of an Olympic medal
-An Olympic Champion Encouraging Other Skaters on the Ice

 

Afterword by the author: Commentary by Yoshie Noguchi

 

 

This book is based on interviews with coach Brian Orser held at the Toronto Cricket Skating & Curling Club in May and October 2016, a conversation between coach Orser and skater Javier Fernandez held at the same venue in October, and other interviews held from time to time up until the 2016 NHK Trophy. The interviewer was Yoshie Noguchi.

[yuzurujenn]

*Machine translation, inaccuracies exist. Please do not reply in this thread.*

 

 

Introduction

 

Spoiler

The airplane carrying "Team Brian" is now ascending toward the vast sky. In the cockpit are two excellent pilots who will guide us to an unknown world no one has ever reached. They can fly this plane to any destination.

 

As you might guess, in the cockpit is 2014 Sochi Olympic champion Yuzuru Hanyu. The other pilot is Javier Fernández, who became the first Spanish world champion in 2015. In the 2015-2016 season, the two of them marked the first-ever 300-point performance, stepping into a new realm for men's figure skating singles.

 

Yuzuru, after becoming an Olympic champion, did not stop but continued to evolve, advancing both himself and the sport of figure skating. Javier, after a disappointing 4th place at the Sochi Olympics, underwent a transformation, becoming a great rival to Yuzuru and a pioneer in new territories for skating. By the end of the 2016 Grand Prix series, Yuzuru had surpassed 300 points three times, and Javier had done so twice.

 

No matter what era, no matter where you look in the world, no one other than these two has seen the view from these heights.

 

Brian Orser, that is, I, have entrusted the control stick to the two of them, letting them express their desires and receive their consultations, while I watch the course of the plane. The feeling is very comfortable, as outside the plane’s window stretches a spectacular view no one has ever seen before.

 

Our plane does not need to think about trying to imitate what another athlete is doing or surpassing a score set by another. The two of them aim for the goals they want to reach, and their trajectory will set a new standard in figure skating.

 

Without a doubt, the 2015-2016 season marked a historic turning point for men’s figure skating. Prior to that, the world’s highest score was 295.27 points, set by Patrick Chan (Canada) in 2013, and there had been no scores even close to 300, making it seem like the 300-point mark was an insurmountable wall. This stagnant situation was decisively broken by Yuzuru’s 322.40 points at the 2015 NHK Trophy and 330.43 points at the Grand Prix Final. Following that, Javier also surpassed 300 points at the 2016 European Championships and World Championships.

 

The incredible 300+ point scores set by these two will be engraved as a "milestone" in men’s figure skating in the first half of the 21st century. It is certain that in the years leading up to the 2018 Pyeongchang Olympics, and beyond, the 300-point mark will become the benchmark for being called an "elite" or "historic" skater.

 

At the same time, I understand deeply the aspirations and uncertainties that Yuzuru and Javier are feeling right now. Thirty years ago, I was one of those who carried the “milestone” of that era, embracing both the glory and stress with my whole body.

 

Let me tell you a bit of a story from the past. In the 1980s, the best technical move for men was the triple axel. Brian Boitano (USA) and I were in a fierce competition for the world’s number 1 and 2 spots, with the triple axel being our weapon. Especially since I was good at the axel, I was called “Mr. Triple Axel.” The media and fans would always ask me:

 

"Are you going to include the triple axel in this competition?" "How many triple axels will you do?" "How did you become able to land the triple axel?"

 

Though my performance wasn’t just about the triple axel, everyone focused only on that. It was my signature move, and the joy and exhilaration when it succeeded was incomparable to anything. But I also felt a sense of loneliness, as though I was only being evaluated for my triple axel. It was as if the move I loved but also hated had taken over me.

 

Skaters who bear milestones like that have to walk their skating careers while processing a feeling that no one knows and cannot explain. It's different from just being a world champion.

 

In the coming seasons, Yuzuru and Javier will face the same situation. Everyone will ask them:

 

"How can you surpass the world record of 330 points?" "When will you surpass 300 points again?" "You didn’t exceed 300 points this time, what was the reason?" "How do you feel when other skaters get 300 points?"

 

Achieving 300 points is not the goal of figure skating. However, the milestone of 300 points is so significant that it can sometimes overshadow everything else.

 

That’s why I want to guide Yuzuru and Javier toward the right goal. Because I am someone who has carried a milestone and experienced the struggles that come with it, I will not overlook the various changes that will happen to them. If I feel their control is a little off, I can go to the cockpit and help steer the plane. Ultimately, I want them to spread their wings freely and take them to the place they truly want to go.

 

In the previous work Team Brian, I talked about how I became a coach and how I helped athletes like Kim Yuna (South Korea), Yuzuru Hanyu, and Javier Fernández grow. I shared that the secret to their strength was being fortunate enough to have wonderful students, coaches, and staff, and how we built the best team together.

 

Two years have passed since then. Thanks to how much the two of them have grown, I now realize that the approach to teamwork I shared in Team Brian was indeed the right one.

 

Now, the two of them are standing in a new realm, and we, as coaches, are also moving toward new goals. As a coach, many people ask me, "How did you manage to get them to score 300 points?" or "How did you help your students win the World Championships and the Olympics?"

 

But, having worked with Javier for five years and Yuzuru for four, we didn’t always focus on winning or achieving the highest scores. We shared something more important—their lives as top athletes. The contours of that beauty showed themselves when we created a beautiful collaboration, and the milestone of 300 points was the result of that.

 

In other words, what I want to say is, just like in the previous work, 'Team Brian is a community.' Yes, we are a community, a small village, so to speak. It’s a small village within the town of Toronto, called the 'Toronto Cricket Skating & Curling Club.' There, life, work, and everything are all connected. This is the secret behind the '300 points.'

 

This book is not a guide on how to win in figure skating competitions. I want fans and people involved in skating to understand how deeply profound the world of skating is. And I want them to share the feelings and situations that Yuzuru and Javier are currently in.

 

Now, let me invite you all to the amazing community we’ve built, 'Team Brian.'

 

 

 

Commentary by Yoshie Noguchi

 

Spoiler

This book is based on interviews conducted with Coach Brian Orser at the Toronto Cricket Skating & Curling Club in Canada in May and October 2016, as well as a conversation held there in October between Coach Orser and skater Javier Fernández, along with additional interviews conducted at various times up through the 2016 NHK Trophy. The interviews were conducted by Yoshie Noguchi.

 

 

[yuzurujenn]

*Machine translation, inaccuracies exist. Please do not reply in this thread.*

 

 

Chapter 1
Starting the Journey Towards PyeongChang (2014-2015 Season)

 

 

 

1.1 Kim Yuna Was No Fluke

 

Spoiler

The biggest change I experienced right after Yuzuru Hanyu won the gold medal at the Sochi Olympics was that my credibility suddenly skyrocketed. While I was already recognized as one of the top coaches after leading Kim Yuna to the gold medal at the 2010 Vancouver Olympics, it wasn't yet absolute trust.

 

Yuzuru's victory meant that "Kim Yuna's win was not just a fluke." Four years after Yuna, a Team Brian athlete won another gold medal. The victories of Team Brian athletes were not just a matter of luck. Yuna's victory was not merely because of luck, and neither was Yuzuru's. Our strategy was in place, and the elements leading to success were properly organized, proving that this was the reason for their victories. At the same time, my coaching methods and the credibility of our team's work grew, and great value was created.

 

After Yuna’s victory in Vancouver, there was a period when requests for my coaching increased rapidly, but they were nothing compared to the flood of requests that came after the Sochi Olympics. People began looking at me with awe, as if I were a magician. They seemed to believe, “If I join Team Brian, I will win.”

But the reality was different. While our strategy and coaching style brought results, it took time. I believe that "four years" is the necessary time for a skater’s growth. In fact, it took four years for Yuna.

I felt that both Yuzuru and Javier were not yet at their true peak by the time of the Sochi Olympics. They were still in the "buildup" phase, where they would evolve significantly in the next two to three years. My role was to ensure that the strategy and coaching style for both athletes would bear fruit, and that was more important than producing results at the Sochi Olympics. Transforming a skater in just a year or two is difficult.

 

Therefore, requests asking me to make Yuzuru win in just two seasons or to achieve growth in 1–2 years never resonated with me. The more I was asked to work "magic," the more my resolve strengthened. I wanted to fulfill the long-term plans for both Javier and Yuzuru and show the world that their success was not by chance or magic, but by a strategic, 4–5 year educational process. Team Brian is a school. To me, coaching skaters is about that. When the Sochi Olympics ended, and the four-year journey towards PyeongChang began, that was my honest feeling.

 

 

1.2 Evolving Without Turning Away from the Pressure

 

Spoiler

Yuzuru Hanyu's life changed after winning the gold medal at the Sochi Olympics. He became a hero in Japan, and many fans and media started following him. On the other hand, Javier Fernández finished fourth. It was an amazing result, but it was still frustrating to fall just short of a medal. However, Javier went on to win back-to-back European Championships and became Spain's first top skater, garnering attention and admiration. The 2013–2014 season was a wonderful one for both, but it was also a season of burnout. Yet as soon as the 2014 World Championships ended, I said to Yuzuru and Javier, "Now, let’s start preparing for the next Olympics. We have four years."

Since they had just finished their season, they both looked at me with expressions that said, "There are still four years left. It’s so far away." However, in reality, two years after the Olympics is the "pre-Olympic season," and the preparation needs to start then. The Grand Prix series for the Olympic season starts in October 2017, and the Olympics are in February the following year—just four months apart. It passes in the blink of an eye. So, I said, “If you’re not careful, before you know it, it will be the Olympics!”

As an athlete, I know how quickly the next Olympics can come. After winning a silver medal at the 1984 Sarajevo Olympics, I immediately started preparing for the 1988 Calgary Olympics. For four years, I competed with my rival Brian Boitano for the world’s number one and two positions. I know from experience how quickly the next Olympics can arrive. As a coach, I also have eight years of experience targeting both the Vancouver and Sochi Olympics, so I always plan what needs to be done at each stage. I warned both of them, but I added, "Time may fly, but you have plenty of time to evolve."

If you make a proper plan, there’s a lot you can try. Even if you suffer injuries or setbacks, there is time to turn those experiences into valuable lessons for the Olympics. Any detour can become a valuable experience.

I already decided what my next steps would be for these two athletes. In their case, the most necessary preparation during the four years from Sochi to PyeongChang was not related to programs or jumps. It was to raise them into athletes who can take responsibility for preparing for the Olympics on their own. Much of this concerns mental training and psychological growth. This is because the Olympics are a competition with a completely different nature from the World Championships. If the goal is to win a medal at the World Championships, then one can simply improve one’s abilities through muscle training, jumps, skating, and so on. However, when it comes to the Olympics, that alone is not sufficient. Although the lineup of competitors is the same, a different kind of mental “preparation” is required than for the World Championships.

 

Preparation for an Olympic season begins with everyday life in Toronto. It is not sufficient to manage one’s mindset only after arriving at the Olympic host city. Once the Olympic season begins, you find yourself thinking about the Olympics every single day. The news, TV commercials, city billboards, everything becomes tied to the Olympics, and even a casual glance can suddenly trigger anxiety. That is why it cannot be the coach who provides mental care; the two of them must learn to control their mental state on their own.

 

So far, Javier has experienced the Olympics twice, and Yuzuru once, but next time they will be competing from a different position. Before Sochi, Javier was thinking, “If I can win a medal, that would be great,” while for Yuzuru, at his first Olympics, excitement outweighed pressure. But the PyeongChang Olympics were something the two of them would have to face continuously for four years. Expectations and pressure from those around them will continue to be placed on them for four full years. That is why, while remaining conscious of the Olympics, they needed tools to maintain a sense of normalcy and emotional balance.

 

Those tools include things like self-dialogue through meditation, or practices such as yoga that regulate breathing. Whatever the method, it was essential to help each of them establish what worked best for them personally, and to support them so they could live out their four years of training in a way that felt right to them.

 

Turning away while thinking, “Four years is still far off,” is the approach of an amateur. It may ease the pressure, but four years will pass without any real evolution. If someone is young, like Yuzuru before Sochi, it is possible to make a major breakthrough during a single Olympic season. However, top athletes who already hold world titles do not suddenly grow dramatically just before the Olympics.

 

What is needed is a plan. And mental preparation. Therefore, with an eye toward four years later, we created plans for the growth needed in each individual season. The specific details will remain top secret until the PyeongChang Olympics are over, but let me share a glimpse of the kinds of discussions the two of them had with us.

 

 

1.3 Yuzuru, Growing as an Olympic Champion

 

Spoiler

Yuzuru will now spend the next four years as an Olympic champion. Normally, that comes with tremendous pressure. There is also the question of how to maintain motivation over the next four years. Some skaters even choose to move to other coaches.

 

However, when we observed Yuzuru, we realized that in his case, such worries were completely unnecessary. Rather than losing motivation, he said he wanted “to grow more and more,” and his enthusiasm was overflowing. Most importantly, he said he wanted to remain at the Cricket Club—our team—and continue training there for the next four years. That made us very happy. At the time of the Sochi Olympics, we had spent only two years with Yuzuru, and we believed that the “true results” of Team Brian emerge in the fourth or fifth year. Once we understood that we should support not “four years as an Olympic champion,” but rather “four years to evolve further,” I myself was able to settle in and fully commit.

 

My plan for his “first year as an Olympic champion” was, above all, to “skate freely and well.” Yuzuru is a very strategic and competitive skater, so the two years since he came to me had been truly aggressive ones. Rather than continuing at the same pace for the next four years, he needed time to skate freely and to feel again that he “loves skating.”

 

In English, there is the expression “let the dust settle.” I wanted to give him some breathing space within his skating life. As a gold medalist, Yuzuru needed time to be released from tension and to look inward.

 

As part of that, we didn't say anything about the music he would use for his free skate in the 2014-2015 season, and instead let Yuzuru choose it himself. Even if the decision was slightly delayed, we decided to wait and give him the initiative. By summer, Yuzuru chose The Phantom of the Opera as his free program music.

 

On the other hand, we approached the short program in a planned manner. The four of us—myself, Tracy Wilson, choreographer Jeffrey Buttle, and Yuzuru—had a meeting to choose the music. We requested a piano piece, and Jeffrey suggested Chopin’s Ballade No. 1 in G minor. I had always liked Chopin’s Ballades, but when I listened to it again with the idea of using it for Yuzuru’s short program, I thought, “I’m not sure if Yuzu will like this.” It’s a somewhat risky piece to skate to. However, when I asked Yuzuru, he said, “I love it too,” and I thought, “Wow, that’s great.”

 

I knew that Yuzuru and Jeffrey worked well together, so I was able to entrust the choreography to him with confidence. When it comes to the work of a professional choreographer, there is no need for a coach to offer this or that opinion. I waited excitedly for it to be completed. Then, in early spring, Yuzuru skated the finished Ballade No. 1 for us. When I saw the movements that captured the delicate sounds, and the final step sequence, I was astonished. “So Yuzuru can perform with this level of delicacy. He’s grown to the point where he is capable of skating like this!”

 

This was exactly the kind of growth Yuzuru needed. I felt we had taken a good risk. It was a major leap from the Yuzuru of the past. Of course, once Yuzuru began skating the choreography, he apparently realized how difficult it was, and he said this:

 

“It’s just a solo piano piece and requires extremely delicate expression, so it’s very difficult for me. There’s no dramatic swell in the music that can cover up mistakes, so any mistake really stands out.”

 

Exactly. That's the intention. There's no room for mistakes in this program. It is a very risky piece. But it's a highly advanced program that only an Olympic champion can pull off.

 

At first, when he came to the club, even the short program 'Parisienne Walkways' felt quite risky and mature. It’s a difficult piece that requires a clear contrast between power and relaxation. Yet Yuzuru executed it very skillfully, and it suited him so well that I thought, in the long run, the Parisian Walkways style would probably suit him best. That is precisely why, in the season immediately following Sochi, it was necessary to deliberately choose something from the opposite end of the spectrum: a delicate classical piece for solo piano.

 

Because of its risk, if completed, it had the potential to enchant the audience. Yuzuru had already scored over 100 points with Parisienne Walkways, and I felt that with this Ballade No. 1, he had the potential to score 110 points. This program was like a golden egg, and my heart was bursting with excitement.

 

 

 

1.4 The Value of a Quad in the Second Half of the Short Program

 

Spoiler

While deciding on his programs, Yuzuru was also thinking about a new approach to quads. He said, “Being an Olympic champion doesn’t matter. I always want to evolve,” and decided to include a quad in the second half of his short program.

 

The quad in the second half was originally Yuzuru's idea. When a skater proposes something difficult, I welcome it as long as it’s realistic. Yuzuru’s proposal carried some risk, but I judged it to be feasible. "Adding a quad to the second half of the short program" is a stepping stone to "adding two quads to the short program" in the future. However, there was also a possibility that the risk could become reality. This happened at Yuzuru’s first Grand Prix event of the 2014 season, the Cup of China in November. Not only did Yuzuru under-rotate a quad, turning it into a triple, but he also made a mistake on the triple Lutz, and he started in second place. But that was fine. At this stage, attempting something new has meaning. First, make mistakes, analyze the causes, and eventually succeed.

 

In fact, it took even Yuzuru two seasons to attempt "a quadruple jump in the second half of the short program." This is largely a mental challenge; the physical aspect is relatively small. Here, it’s worth discussing why the short program can be mentally tougher than the free skate.

 

In the short program, there are three jumps, and the content is largely predetermined, so all top skaters have nearly the same level of difficulty in their jump layout: one quad, one triple Axel, and a triple combination. None of the three jumps can be missed; there is no safety net like “I missed one jump but can make up for it with the others.”

 

Try to imagine the real thing. You step onto a 60m × 30m rink alone, surrounded 360 degrees by a large audience, with judges lined up in front of you, watching as if to say, “We won’t miss any mistakes.” The moment you take your starting pose, the thought that comes to your mind is, “I cannot afford to make a mistake.” The emotions of the moment dominate you, and your body feels different from how it does in practice. The short program carries a completely different kind of pressure than the free skate; the tension, responsibility, and everything else is different. A strong mental state is essential.

 

That is why it is common to see competitions where a skater “makes mistakes in the short program but then skates the free program with a clear mind and performs well.” Physically, the free program is more demanding, but mentally, the short program is tougher. This also changes the significance of the quad in the second half. The short program is mentally difficult, while the free program is physically difficult.

 

So how should one approach the short program? Mentally, a skater needs a burning determination that can counteract nervous tension. Like a boxer entering the ring, the athlete walks down the hallway, passes through the arena gate, and steps onto the ice with a fighting spirit. Simply telling oneself to “stay calm and skate as usual” is often not enough; in the short program, nervousness often wins.

 

So for Yuzuru, a quad jump in the second half of the short program was a new mental challenge. It's natural that you can do it in practice but not in a real competition. Yuzuru himself felt each day, “I’m succeeding in practice, so I want to succeed in competition soon,” but even if it was not immediately achieved, we planned to watch without rushing. On the contrary, seeing Yuzuru sincerely confront the question, “How can I do this in competition?” and watching his mental strength grow in the process was a source of joy.

 

 

 

1.5 Javier Is Reborn!

 

Spoiler

On the other hand, let me tell you what happened with Javier after the Sochi Olympics. To be honest, after the Olympics, I was a little worried about him. He had placed fourth and was very disappointed. In the free skate at the Olympics, Javier jumped one more triple Salchow in the second half than allowed, so the rules counted them as zero points. Without that error, he might have won the bronze medal. The fact that he didn't make any mistakes with the jumps themselves makes the regret all the more intense.

 

Javier returned to Spain feeling down. I thought, “Will Javier retire from competitive skating?” “Will he not return to my team?” “Has he lost all motivation?”

 

But then, at the end of the summer of 2014, Javier returned to the cricket club, reborn. There’s an expression in English: “You have fire in your belly.” Javi was on fire. He carried a flame within him.

 

I was so happy to see him back in Toronto. He had left the events of the Olympics behind, and he was ready to move forward and fight.

 

Every year, I hold a two-week summer camp at a rink north of Toronto. That year, Javier arrived on time every day and practiced diligently with everyone. This was a major change. When he first came to Toronto in the 2011–2012 season, he would still be sleeping at home when practice started, and I had to pick him up in my car. He was a real handful. All the other coaches noticed this dramatic change and exclaimed, “Wow! Javier has been reborn!”

 

Since that summer, Javier has continued to surprise me at every turn. For example, in 2016, after participating in an ice show in North America, he was scheduled to return to Toronto for just two days before leaving for a show in Japan. He only had two days to obtain a Japanese visa. I called him and asked him about it.

 

“Did you get your visa?”

 

Knowing Javier, I assumed he hadn’t, and I was going to add, “You need to get it in these two days, or you won’t be able to go to Japan.” But Javier replied, “Yes, I have it. It’s already obtained.” I was like, "Wow!" Javier has become independent, not only in his training but also in his personal affairs. He's grown as a person and become a responsible young man. He's no longer skating just for himself, but with a sense of responsibility toward his coach, fans, and the Spanish skating federation. He's become adept at everything, from tedious procedures like visa applications to preparing his equipment and practice for competitions.

 

This was a very good sign that he was ready to fully aim for the next Olympics. Once he steps onto the ice for a competition, the only person in control is himself. In Sochi, Javier lost control under pressure, performed a different jump combination than in practice, and jumped extra Salchows. A "new Javier" with a sense of responsibility and planning would surely be able to avoid such a mistake. Seeing this transformed Javier, I realized, “At the next Olympics, he will be one of the leading figures.”

 

While I was happy with Javier’s attitude, I also thought realistically about him four years later—especially about his age. Javier is three and a half years older than Yuzuru. Their bodies are different. Yuzuru would be just 23 at the next Olympics, the ideal age. Javier would be 26, turning 27 shortly after the Olympics. This is somewhat older than the typical peak age for figure skaters, so he will need specific training, a specific diet, and specific rest. Rest will be especially important. If he stays up late every night playing PlayStation, as he has done until now, he won't be able to recover from fatigue. As an athlete ages, self-management becomes a major responsibility.

 

However, Javier had matured enough to understand this and put it into practice. Of course, I can’t take away his PlayStation, so I imagine he still plays it secretly. But as long as he manages his health, takes proper rest, and eats well, that’s all that matters.

 

 

 

1.6 A Program Perfect for Performing in His Home Country, Spain

 

Spoiler

After the Olympic season ended, this is how I thought about Javier’s program: “No matter how cheerful he acts with a smile, the disappointment of placing fourth in Sochi will remain in the back of his mind until he gets a chance to take revenge at the next Olympics. I want him to enjoy skating.” With that in mind, I quickly decided on "Black Betty" for the short program.

 

We had actually found this piece already during the Sochi season. Javier, thinking of skating to it in some ice show, played the music at the Cricket Club and skated to it with a rough choreography he had put together himself. Watching him skate naturally, improvising as he went, I thought, “This is a really good piece that suits Javier.” Every step had choreography, there was performance even in the transitions between jumps, and it made good use of Javier’s relaxed quality. It was a very good program.

 

Did you all notice the costume? Actually, it was one I had worn in an ice show when I was young. At first, I explained to Javier:

 

“The costume for 'Black Betty' has to be black. And it needs to be a bit edgy and casual.”

 

While explaining this, I suddenly realized: “I already have a shirt that perfectly matches this image.”

 

I immediately went home, dug through my pile of costumes, and pulled it out from the bottom. I had retired after the 1988 Calgary Olympics and become a professional skater in the ice show 'Stars on Ice.' This was a costume I had used in a show around 1994, but looking at it again, it was exactly the right image. I brought it back to the rink and showed it to Javier.

 

“I want you to get a shirt like this, but if the size fits, I’d like you to wear this one.”

 

So instead of making a new costume, Javier wore my hand-me-down. Since his arms are a bit thicker than mine were when I was young, we had to widen the sleeves. Because it had been used in a show, the collar had a large embroidery: “Brian Orser” so it wouldn’t get mixed up with other skaters’ costumes. Even though my name was on it, Javier wore it as is.

 

By the way, for Javier, we plan not just the programs but also his costumes. His family and the Spanish skating federation are in Spain and completely uninvolved in practice or strategy. Other skaters often incorporate opinions from parents or the federation, but in Javier’s case, we make strategy decisions based solely on him and our ideas.

 

For the free skating program, the music choice was more strategic. Since the short program "Black Betty" was decided first, I wanted to select a contrasting piece. I always try to choose contrasting music for short and free programs.

 

The 2014–2015 Grand Prix Final was scheduled to be held in Barcelona, Spain, for the first time. It was a country not familiar with figure skating, so it would be Javier’s first major international competition in front of home fans. I wanted him to receive plenty of support from local fans in Barcelona, so I chose Rossini’s opera "The Barber of Seville." Seville is a city in Spain, and the musical style suited him perfectly. Javier enjoys skating as if performing a character. Imagining him happily skating "The Barber of Seville" and being cheered by the local audience, I was convinced that this was the best choice.

 

[yuzurujenn]

*Machine translation, inaccuracies exist. Please do not reply in this thread.*

 

 

1.7 Yuzuru's worst night at the Cup of China

 

Spoiler

Before we knew it, the start of the season was approaching. Yuzuru had to cancel his Finlandia Trophy entry in October due to back pain, and instead decided to start his season at the Cup of China, a Grand Prix series event. Yuzuru felt guilty about canceling Finlandia. Many members of the media and fans had planned to travel there, and the Finnish organizers were also very much looking forward to it. He felt a strong sense of responsibility, thinking, “I disappointed everyone, so I have to skate well at the Cup of China.”

 

By the time of the Cup of China, his back pain had recovered, and he arrived in Shanghai in excellent physical condition. However, his skating was not in good form, and Yuzuru’s sense of responsibility only grew stronger. Normally, there is no way an athlete can peak at the first competition of the season, but because of his sense of responsibility toward the fans, he was becoming somewhat anxious. Once official practices began, apart from Yuzuru’s own anxiety, there were repeated near-miss moments in which skaters almost collided with one another. This was happening not only during the six-minute warm-up immediately before competition, but already during practice sessions the day before. So I told Yuzuru and another one of my students, Nam Nguyen (Canada), to be careful, as there were skaters around them who were not paying attention to their surroundings.

 

“Skaters who usually practice alone while monopolizing the rink can’t see other skaters’ paths or movements. We have to be more careful.”

 

Of course, no skaters would deliberately collide with others. They are simply not accustomed to practicing while being aware of others around them and concentrating on their own elements at the same time.

 

In the short program, Yuzuru was unable to land the quad jump in the second half, which had been one of his challenges. As I mentioned earlier, there was no need for it to succeed at the first competition, but Yuzuru reset his mindset and went into the next day determined, thinking, “At least in the free skate, I’ll land the quad in the second half.” And then, that moment came. Yuzuru was accelerating in preparation for a jump, and China’s top skater, Yan Han, was also skating at high speed. Neither of them had time to slow down, and the instant they turned their heads, they collided head-on.

 

As for the accident itself, it can only be described as unfortunate. There's no point in saying who was at fault. When two skaters moving at such high speed collide, it cannot end as a simple fall. Yuzuru did not get up from the ice; he just lay there motionless.

 

I was seized by an overwhelming urge to rush over immediately to see if Yuzuru was okay. However, under International Skating Union (ISU) regulations, the procedures and responses for a situation like that were unclear. The only rule that was firmly established was that during the six-minute warm-up, neither coaches nor any staff were allowed to enter the rink. So no matter how desperately I wanted to run to Yuzuru’s side in my own shoes, it was not permitted. Yet the event organizers did not suspend the six-minute warm-up, nor did they immediately send in medical staff. I yelled out loud, "We need medical staff!" "Call medical staff, we need a doctor!" over and over again.

 

Only after several minutes had passed did Chinese medical staff finally enter the rink. But looking back now, I believe they were not properly qualified medical personnel. They suddenly lifted Yuzuru’s upper body while he was lying on the ice, unable to move. That is something that should never be done. It is common knowledge among people involved in skating that you must not move the head after a fall or injury. Medical staff at international competitions should have a certain level of qualification. What if he had injured his neck? What if he had suffered a concussion? Carelessly raising his head could result in permanent brain damage, or put him at serious risk of collapsing again. The correct course of action would be to first ask, "Are you OK?" and then, after the person gets up, to carefully confirm whether they truly are all right. Yet they suddenly grabbed Yuzuru and hauled him up, and at that moment I shouted, “Oh my God! What on earth are they doing?!”

 

Fortunately, Yuzuru had not hit his head, so even when his upper body was abruptly lifted, he did not lose consciousness and was able to make it back to the side of the rink with the support of a staff member. However, this was simply a blessing in disguise, and does not mean that the staff’s handling of the situation was appropriate.

 

The confusion continued. Appalled by the actions of the Chinese medical staff, I called out to see if any other medical personnel were available. I knew that there was a Canadian physiotherapist and a female doctor from the U.S. team present at the venue, so I immediately had the U.S. team doctor come over. The female doctor calmly examined Yuzuru to determine whether he had suffered a concussion. In most cases, a concussion is quickly noticeable: the person may feel nauseated, dizzy, or be unable to perform simple calculations. After being questioned and examined by the doctor, Yuzuru’s consciousness became clear. Although he was shocked by the sudden incident, his responses were steady, his mind showed no signs of confusion, and he answered in English. When I looked into Yuzuru’s eyes, he was properly looking at me, and our gaze was aligned.

 

It became clear that the blood on his head was from a cut to the side of his head, not from hitting his head on the ice. In fact, the greatest pain was in his leg. He had struck his left thigh. Since the legs contain large muscles that support the body, an injury there can suddenly drain strength and worsen overall condition. That is why Yuzuru was so exhausted. The U.S. doctor quickly asked him questions and examined him, covering all of these points within just a few minutes. She ultimately gave the following opinion:

 

“It does not appear to be a concussion.”

 

However, she understood her role and did not comment on whether he should compete. That decision is left to the skater and the coach.

 

What mattered most to me was Yuzuru’s physical and mental condition. That's far more important than whether he makes it to the Grand Prix Final. That was why I repeatedly told Yuzuru, “Don’t push yourself. Withdrawing isn’t a big deal. You don’t need to be a hero here.” But to my surprise, Yuzuru had already decided in his heart that he would compete no matter what condition he was in. His resolve did not waver, and I decided to accept his decision.

 

His performance was, in a sense, very dramatic. However, that doesn't mean it was a great performance. Not only did he have an injured leg, he was still in a state of shock. Yuzuru fell five times, but he got up each time and continued his performance.

 

That collision seemed to have shaken the other skaters as well. Yan, the skater he collided with, was also injured and performed terribly, and even the eventual winner, Maxim Kovtun (Russia), could not be said to have skated well. It was a terrible night for everyone.

 

By skating through to the very end through sheer willpower, Yuzuru finished second. He kept his chances of advancing to the Grand Prix Final alive. Overcome with emotion, Yuzuru was in tears. I would have liked to praise him by saying, “What a foolish but lovable son,” but I was too worried about his condition to feel completely happy. He hadn't yet undergone a detailed examination.

 

Yuzuru immediately returned to Japan for a detailed examination and treatment. The results confirmed that there was no abnormality in his brain, and that his injury was a bruise to the leg and not something that would affect his skating career. When Yuzuru reported this to me, I was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

 

 

 

1.8 The International Skating Union’s Response

 

Spoiler

As a coach, it was the first time I found myself in a situation where an athlete collapsed in a collision accident, and moreover, the medical staff provided by the competition organizers could not respond properly, leaving the decision of whether to compete up to the athlete and me. The doctor from the U.S. team handled the situation, but no one had the right to stop the athlete from competing of his own volition.

 

After that kind of accident, the International Skating Union (ISU) repeatedly discussed how to respond to such situations. The proposal I conveyed to the ISU was that “coaches or athletes should not be entrusted with the decision to compete or withdraw.” A neutral party should make the decision with the athlete’s safety in mind. If there had been any serious brain damage at that time and his participation in the competition had caused any permanent damage, I would have taken full responsibility for it. In fact, after the medical examination, when Yuzuru expressed his intention to compete and was allowed to participate in the six-minute practice, I said the following to the Japanese team:

 

“Even though the six-minute practice is resuming and Yuzuru is back on the ice, that does not necessarily mean he will compete. During that six-minute practice, we need to carefully watch Yuzuru’s skating and determine whether he is truly okay. He is not participating in the six-minute practice as a warm-up for the competition; rather, we are using it to assess his health and make the final decision.”

 

However, the fans greeted Yuzuru with thunderous applause, and cheers filled the arena. Everyone was swept up in the heroic narrative of him competing despite the bandage on his head. After a six-minute practice like that, there was no way Yuzuru could have said, “Actually, it still hurts, so I won’t compete.” The atmosphere in the arena was truly overwhelming. That is why I made a suggestion to the ISU: “In situations like that, I think someone else, a medical staff or team personnel, should make the decision about whether an athlete can compete. What is needed is a person who can say, ‘You cannot compete.’ In the event of an accident, the decision should not be left to the coach or the athlete.” This is not only important for coaches but ultimately for the safety and well-being of the athletes themselves.

 

At the meeting following the 2014–2015 season, the ISU changed its communication (rules) regarding medical staff. Or rather, they had no choice but to change them. Under the new rules, major international competitions must always have a medical supervisor, and that supervisor has the authority to assess injuries or accidents and, if deemed dangerous, to say, “You cannot compete.” International competitions require such universal standards. The ISU came to understand that international standards protecting athletes’ lives are necessary, rather than allowing each country to set its own standards.

 

 

 

1.9 Deliberately Assigning Hard Training After the Accident

 

Spoiler

After the Cup of China, once I confirmed that Yuzuru was safe, I decided to consider that incident behind us. My next concern, however, was that there were only three weeks between the Cup of China and the NHK Trophy.

 

More worrying than his leg injury was the potential psychological aftereffect from the shock of the accident. He would likely feel fear if other skaters approached him during practice. That is only natural for a human being. He needed a time lag to calm his mind and move past the incident. But in Japan, news about the accident, medical critiques of his decision to skate, and updates on Yuzuru’s condition continued almost daily. While receiving treatment in Japan, he could not avoid hearing such reports, and he felt responsible for the commotion they caused. Far from recovering mentally, he felt responsible for having made the decision to compete.

 

When I arrived in Osaka for the NHK Trophy and met Yuzuru for the first time in about two weeks, he seemed fine, but he wasn't in the best condition. Even so, he naturally intended to compete, and was even aiming for the Grand Prix Final. Having placed second at the Cup of China, if he placed second or third at the NHK Trophy, he could still qualify for the Final. However, I advised Yuzuru and the Japanese team as follows:

"Even if you earn the right to compete in the Grand Prix Final, it would be better for you to decline, rest, and prepare for the All Japan Championships and the World Championships." To me, there seemed to be no other option.

 

Indeed, Yuzuru’s performance was far from his usual standard. He made many mistakes and finished fourth overall. At first, it seemed his chance to advance to the Final had vanished. Usually, a combination of second at the Cup of China and fourth at the NHK Trophy would make qualification unlikely, but this year, by a twist of the numbers, he secured the last, sixth qualifying spot. It was a stroke of luck.

 

Knowing Yuzuru, of course he wouldn't decline. He was determined to give his all. Considering the travel burden of returning to Toronto to train in the week leading up to the Final in Barcelona, we decided he would train alone in Japan. I would have loved to stay in Japan with him, but I had other students in Toronto, so I had to return. Therefore, I created an original training program and gave it to Yuzuru.

 

After the NHK Trophy, I worked on the training plan while taking the Shinkansen from Osaka to Tokyo. In Tokyo, I held a press event for the publication of the previous book in this series, "Team Brian." I answered media questions, explained the misunderstanding surrounding Yuzuru's injury, and spoke about his future training plans. It must have been very difficult, both physically and mentally, for Yuzuru to face the media under those circumstances. By taking on the media responsibilities myself, I was able to reduce Yuzuru’s burden, so the press conference had meaningful value.

 

Let’s get back to the topic of his training program. The NHK Trophy ended on November 30, and there were only eight days before the travel dates for the Grand Prix Final (December 11–14). I had prepared a detailed training schedule for those eight days. Here’s what it looked like.

 

The core of each day’s training consisted of free program practice. He would skate to The Phantom of the Opera, performing all jumps and spins exactly as in competition—what is commonly called a “run-through”—and repeat this sequence twice, followed immediately by three consecutive spin exercises. That formed the daily training routine. On Mondays, in addition to this, he would do two run-throughs of the short program, Chopin’s Ballade No. 1. On Tuesdays, the first session was a warm-up to the free program music without jumps, followed by a full run-through in the second session… and so on. It was a pretty tough training program. Yuzuru welcomed it enthusiastically. When he reported back to me in Toronto, he said with a smile, “I'm practicing according to the program, but it’s really hard.”

 

Why did I assign such intense training to Yuzuru after the accident? The goal was to improve his overall condition.

 

Before the NHK Trophy, Yuzuru’s leg had largely recovered. In fact, the rest he had taken after the Cup of China had caused a drop in conditioning due to lack of training, which threw off his rhythm. The mistakes at NHK were not due to the injury but to dulled physical awareness from insufficient practice. To restore his condition, he needed cardiovascular training to improve his endurance. Therefore, the program I gave him was not meant to refine technical skills, but to strengthen his cardio and awaken a body that had been resting. Rather than focusing on technical corrections mentally, the idea was to push his body with hard training to regain form.

 

The program worked well to stimulate Yuzuru’s condition. When I reunited with him in Barcelona on December 10, he was in excellent shape. As a coach, part of me still wanted to advise him to skip the Final and focus on resting for the World Championships, but in front of a highly motivated Yuzuru, I put aside those cautious thoughts. Seeing him rise to peak condition through this demanding program, I felt impressed and determined to support him fully.

 

In the end, his performance at the Grand Prix Final was outstanding. He landed quadruple jumps in both the short and free programs and achieved back-to-back victories. He must have been pushed to his physical and mental limits. Even so, I felt a deep respect for Yuzuru, who had brought his condition to this level. Even I, the coach who had designed the training program, was amazed by his performance. It was almost unbelievable.

 

That night at the Final became an unforgettable, wonderful night. Of course, the story of Javier, which I will recount next, also added to it.

 

 

 

1.10 Extremely nervous in front of Spanish fans

 

Spoiler

While Yuzuru was having a dramatic season, Javier was also going through an important season. For me, what mattered was supporting both of them in a balanced way, so that each could shine as the protagonist in their own story. Yuzuru’s injury was a major event, but that didn’t mean I could neglect Javier. It’s just like parenting.

 

For Javier, this was the season following his fourth-place finish at the Olympics. Moreover, the Grand Prix Final was being held in his home country, so finishing in the top six of the Grand Prix series and advancing to the final was his "duty to accomplish."

 

Javier started the season with great enthusiasm and placed second at Skate Canada. Takahito Mura delivered a very strong performance and won, so it was a decent start. After that, Yuzuru’s accident occurred at the Cup of China. Since his teammate was injured, Javier felt very sympathetic. Moreover, because Yuzuru did not return to Toronto, Javier’s training environment changed unexpectedly. He tried to concentrate seriously on his own training. He then won the Rostelecom Cup and secured his place in the Grand Prix Final.

 

The Grand Prix Final being held in his home country was a first for Javier in his skating career. For skaters from Japan, Canada, the United States, China, France, and Russia, the Grand Prix series is held annually in their own country. Figure skating is a very major sport in these countries, with many knowledgeable fans. Skaters from these six countries have the annual opportunity to “perform while feeling extreme pressure from high expectations, yet draw strength from the support of the crowd.”

 

However, Javier had no experience competing in an international event in his home country. Spain had never hosted a major international figure skating competition, and very few fans there had ever seen figure skating live. I talked with Javier about this: “Competing in your home country is completely different from other competitions.” That said, the mental state of competing in your home country is something you can't really understand until you experience it. We could only watch and see how Javier would handle the pressure and what his mental state would be during the actual performance.

 

In the end, his short program was terrible. Nervousness led to a disastrous performance. He fell on a quadruple Salchow and made mistakes on other jumps as well, placing fifth out of six. He became very discouraged. Seeing him disappoint his home fans left him disappointed in himself. Javier, who is usually cheerful and attentive to everyone, becomes unapproachable and difficult to talk to when he’s down. The emotional contrast is extreme.

 

Fortunately, there was a day off between the short program on December 12 and the free program on the 14th. I thought this would give him time to reset his mindset. So I said to him:

 

“Javier, this is a perfect opportunity. With this break, you can reset your mindset. And you shouldn’t pass up the chance to use the energy of the crowd. They’ve come all the way to the arena to cheer for you. The fans of your home country are focusing all their attention on you… This is your first time experiencing this, but other skaters go through the same thing every year. You’re just experiencing it for the first time. This is difficult for anyone, so there’s no need to get overly nervous.”

 

After I told him this, Javier finally started to think about the free program. Of course, his fifth-place standing in the short program hadn’t changed, but there was no choice but to move forward. He had to experience failure and then experience success next.

 

Two days later, Javier had changed. He had completely switched his mindset. His motivation had shifted entirely, and the thoughts of “I have to win a medal because it’s my home country. At least I have to place third” had completely disappeared. He wasn’t concerned with his ranking at all. He was only thinking, “I want to skate well in the free program.” When he focused on himself like that, he was usually able to perform well. Javier was excited before the performance, successfully landed his quadruple jumps, and was able to show his strength in front of the fans. By the time Yuzuru, the last skater, was about to perform, Javier had astonishingly pulled into first place overall. He had redeemed himself.

 

Even more admirable, Javier cheered for Yuzuru, the last skater. He was truly happy and praised Yuzuru for overcoming the accident and showing his strength. What's so endearing about Javier is that even though he was waiting in the lead, he didn't think, "I want to win because it's my home country."

 

In the end, Yuzuru won the gold, and Javier took the silver. The result delighted the Spanish fans, and Javier looked visibly relieved. I was really happy to see Javier's mental growth in his first home-country competition. Yuzuru, too, was pleased with Javier’s performance, having climbed up from fifth place in the short program. Yuzuru understood well how difficult it is to skate in front of your home fans. Both of them demonstrated true sportsmanship, and as their coach, it was a moment I could be truly proud of.

 

The 2014 Grand Prix Final was the first competition in which my students held both the world No. 1 and No. 2 positions. From then until the 2016 World Championships, Yuzuru and Javier consistently claimed first and second place. I believe the key reason they maintained such remarkable results was their mutual respect and fair sportsmanship.

 

That night was truly unforgettable. It was a night when I felt almost like a father, witnessing the growth of two young men’s hearts.

 

 

 

1.11 Training Together on the Same Rink Reduces Invisible Pressure

 

Spoiler

Let me talk a little about competitions held in one’s home country. For skaters, home-country competitions are like a gateway to success, a training ground where one’s character is tested.

 

I myself have had many experiences with “home competitions.” I competed many times at Skate Canada, which corresponds to today’s Grand Prix series, and in 1984 I competed at the World Championships held in Ottawa. Canada’s national championships were also major events, much like today’s Japanese National Championships. And the most wonderful event of all was surely the 1988 Calgary Olympics.

 

Can you imagine what it would be like if Yuzuru were to compete in an Olympics held in Japan? How enormous the expectations of the fans would be, how much the media would make a fuss, and how endlessly predictions about his placement would be reported. Just imagining it is scary, isn’t it?

 

When I competed in the Calgary Olympics, it was absolute chaos. Brian Boitano of the United States and I were clearly the two dominant skaters of that era, and since we shared the same first name, the rivalry was highlighted as the “Battle of the Brians.” Boitano won the 1986 World Championships, I won in 1987, and the gold medal at the 1988 Olympics was expected to be a showdown between the two Brians.

 

Once the Olympic season began, the rivalry intensified even further. Early in the season, at Skate Canada in 1987, I placed first and Boitano second. One month before the Olympics, we each won the national championships.

 

At the time, I was 26 years old. I was already mentally mature and prepared to handle pressure effectively. However, competing in an Olympics held in one’s own country is truly grueling. For an entire year, I felt pressure in my daily life. Media attention increased dramatically, and there was hardly any time to relax. There were even days when I felt I might not only fail to contend for gold, but might not even manage second place.

 

In the end, I won the silver medal, but I successfully landed a triple Axel in the free program and skated well. At the very least, I did not fall below bronze and betray the expectations of the nation.

 

But now, nearly 30 years later, as I watched Javier and Yuzuru, I came to a new realization. Perhaps if I had trained together with Boitano under the same coach, I might have been able to approach competitions in a better mental state. When rivals train separately, out of sight of one another, the imagination runs wild. On days when I felt off, I would convince myself that Boitano must be skating brilliantly. But if, like these two today, we had trained together as close friends pushing each other forward, daily practice might have been far more positive. I would have liked to be friends with Boitano as well.

 

I came to this realization after watching Javier’s performance at the Grand Prix Final. The arena in Barcelona was built so that the distance between fans and skaters was extremely close. On top of that, there was the Latin temperament of the Spanish crowd, with thunderous cheers filling the venue. Under extreme pressure, Javier’s short program fell apart, but in the free program he transformed the cheers into strength and delivered his best performance. To overcome the pressure of a home competition so effectively, he must have had a model to follow. Yuzuru is accustomed to competing in Japan and always performs well there. If Yuzuru can do it while training beside me, then I can too… That kind of mental switch seemed to occur for Javier.

 

The rivalry between the two mirrors the dynamic between Boitano and myself in 1988. What is different, however, is that both of them are members of Team Brian, respect each other deeply, and absorb only each other’s strengths. It is impossible to measure how effective this is in reducing “invisible pressure.”

 

That Grand Prix Final became the event that inspired many Spaniards to fall in love with skating. Afterward, fans from Spain began traveling to support Javier at competitions in Canada, the United States, and France. Even when competitions were not held in his home country, Javier learned how to turn the expectations of his compatriots in the stands into strength. It won’t be long before young Spanish skaters begin to emerge, inspired by Javier. Figure skating in Spain is about to change. All it takes to change sports is one hero. South Korea is a good example. Figure skating is now one of the most popular sports in South Korea, and they successfully bid to host the PyeongChang Olympics. That boom was created by one heroine: Kim Yuna.

 

In Japan’s case, the country has consistently produced excellent skaters over the years. The generations have been connected through Emi Watanabe, Midori Ito, Yuka Sato, and Shizuka Arakawa, and among the men as well there have been nothing but big stars such as Takeshi Honda and Daisuke Takahashi. For Japanese skaters, it is a good thing that there are many predecessors who have already experienced the pressure of competing in events held in their own country.

 

Having overcome the trial of a home competition, Javier underwent a major mental transformation. “If I can skate well in my own country, then everything else will probably be easier,” he thought.

 

After the Grand Prix Final, Javier suddenly developed a strong sense of responsibility. After competing in the Spanish National Championships at the end of the year, he spent the New Year with his family to recharge, and then in January 2015, he won his third consecutive European Championship. Supported by his fans, he then set his sights on the 2015 World Championships.

 

[yuzurujenn]

*Machine translation, inaccuracies exist. Please do not reply in this thread.*

 

 

1.12 A Hero's Return to the All-Japan Championships, and Then Surgery

 

Spoiler

Yuzuru won his second consecutive title at the All-Japan Championships, solidifying his position as the top skater. However, at the same time, a serious physical issue was brewing. Throughout the competition, Yuzuru was suffering from inflammation in his abdominal area. He insisted that he would not withdraw from the event, but no one except himself could know how much pain he was in. Given that this was Yuzuru, who had competed even after the accident at the Cup of China, he would surely have chosen to compete no matter how painful it was. Even so, in both the short program and the free skate, he delivered performances that fully lived up to the fans’ expectations. They were such good performances that no one around him realized he was enduring abdominal pain. While I admired Yuzuru’s fighting spirit, I was also worried about his body.

 

On the morning after the free skate at the All-Japan Championships, Yuzuru canceled his exhibition and went to the hospital. After undergoing detailed examinations, he was diagnosed with an underlying condition and it was decided that he would undergo surgery. Misfortune struck one after another. Why, on earth, did so many hardships have to befall Yuzuru? There were continued events that were beyond my ability to support or prevent. It seems the condition was called a urachal remnant disorder. After the surgery, Yuzuru showed me photos of the affected area and explained it to me, so I looked it up on the internet to understand it. The urachus, which is supposed to degenerate after birth, remained in Yuzuru’s abdomen. While some people leave it untreated even into adulthood, in Yuzuru’s case it became infected with bacteria and caused inflammation.

 

The surgery was quite extensive. Since it was an open abdominal operation, an incision was made in his abdominal muscles. For an athlete, undergoing open abdominal surgery in the middle of the season is fatal. Cutting the fascia of the abdominal muscles reduces strength, and for a while after surgery, he wouldn’t even be able to engage his abdominal muscles. On top of that, the surgery required a two-week hospital stay and a month of rest, meaning he would need complete rest until late February. Honestly, I thought, “It would be better to let him take the rest of the season off.” Forcing himself and risking a severe injury would be detrimental to his future.

 

But knowing Yuzuru, I knew he wanted to compete in the World Championships Therefore, so as not to disrupt his motivation by telling him to take a break, I decided to wait for Yuzuru to contact me first.

 

After being discharged from the hospital, Yuzuru began with light self-training in Japan. Since his muscle strength had declined following the surgery, I kept in close contact with him via email, carefully checking his condition and feeling my way toward a new training plan. Every day, we exchanged emails, and I would ask about his condition that day and then decide the next day’s practice This process was repeated over and over. Fortunately, he provided detailed reports on his physical recovery, the progress after surgery, and his training, so I gradually began to look forward to the World Championships in Shanghai.

 

Ideally, I would have liked him to train in Toronto even for a short period, but since the temperature in Toronto was below freezing and Yuzuru also had a mild sprain, we chose to err on the side of caution and have him continue training in Japan until the end of March. As a result, the place where I was finally able to reunite with Yuzuru was Shanghai, the host city of the World Championships. I was relieved to see that he looked unchanged. Despite having only about a month of proper training after surgery, his skating, jumps and everything else had been brought to a level where he could compete for victory at the World Championships. It was truly impressive.

 

My only concern was that it was the same venue where the collision accident at the Cup of China had occurred. Borrowing an English expression, it was a situation where he “had some demons to deal with.” The same hotel, the same bus, the same venue. Several media outlets also asked, “It’s the same venue, does he have any trauma? Any fear?” But Yuzuru was remarkable. He answered confidently, “It’s a completely different competition, so it doesn’t matter. I’m not worried about it at all.”

 

When we actually arrived at the venue, I realized my worries were unnecessary. The World Championships had their own unique tension and aura, and it was a completely different competition from the Cup of China. The energy enveloping the arena was entirely different. That lifted Yuzuru’s condition even further, and his practices went well. Depending on the first day’s practice, I had been prepared to offer advice to help dispel trauma or fear, but that too was needless concern on my part. Perhaps because I felt relieved, I could also tell that Yuzuru felt reassured upon reuniting with his Toronto coaches and teammates. At last, all the members of Team Brian were together again.

 

Meanwhile, Javier had been training with us in Toronto since January. Javier is the type who works best when he has teammates around to joke around with and be inspired by. An environment where he was aiming for the World Championships alone seemed a bit lonely for him.

 

Perhaps to forget that loneliness, for the three months from January, Javier did not say a single word about Yuzuru. Japanese people and officials coming in and out of the rink were talking about Yuzuru, and he got information from the internet, but Javier himself never spoke about Yuzuru. He also avoided talking about rivals and focused solely on himself. This was good concentration. That is why I did not give Javier reports like, “This is Yuzuru’s situation.” It wasn’t that they were on bad terms; it was a healthy relationship.

 

For Javier, those three months were not so much about growth as they were about hiding his loneliness deep in his heart and concentrating only on the tasks right in front of him. If Javier had been a bit more aggressive, he might have tried to take advantage of Yuzuru’s weakened state and aim to win the World Championships. But Javier is humble, and being close to Yuzuru, he clearly understood that Yuzuru was in a class of his own. That’s why, while practicing without Yuzuru, we never set “winning the World Championships” as our goal. If, just because Yuzuru was not there, I had tried to make only Javier win, I would have lost the trust of both of them.

 

 

 

1.13 A Dead Heat Between 1st and 2nd After the Short Program

 

Spoiler

At last, the World Championships themselves began. In the short program, although Yuzuru made a few small mistakes, he took first place with 95.20 points, while Javier scored 92.74 points. The decision for the 2015 World Champion had been brought to a battle between my two students.

 

In the free skate, Yuzuru made mistakes on three jumps. Javier had prepared one more quadruple jump in his free program, so it became clear that the outcome had been placed in Javier’s hands. However, I am the coach of both skaters. The psychology of trying to make one of them win invites disaster, and I had never thought that way to begin with. After seating Yuzuru in the Kiss & Cry, I immediately went over to Javier and gave him the same advice I always do. I made no comment on Yuzuru's performance. It would have been the same even if their skating order had been reversed. That is fair sportsmanship, and it is the attitude required of a coach.

 

Yuzuru’s score was 175.88 points, which was not his best score. In the free skate, Denis Ten (Kazakhstan), who had already finished skating earlier, was in the lead for the free skate. Since Yuzuru was leading in the overall standings, attention in the arena focused on the question: “Who will win—the Javier who is yet to skate, or Yuzuru, who is currently in first?” However, in the back of my mind, Denis’s performance lingered in my memory, and I felt he carried strong momentum. A coach’s job at the World Championships is not only to support their own students, but also to monitor the development of rivals and scoring trends. While athletes focus on themselves, coaches must survey the entire competition. That is why I instinctively felt that Denis needed to be watched closely.

 

After training under a Russian coach and learning the Russian style, Denis moved to work with the renowned American coach Frank Carroll. The foundation of Denis’s skating now reflects Carroll’s signature American style, characterized by highly refined, beautifully pointed landings and clean lines through the back. I kept in mind that this kind of performance was highly praised, intending to use it as a reference for coaching next season.

 

Let’s return to Javier. Javier went out onto the ice without knowing anything about Yuzuru’s performance, and aside from falling on a quadruple Salchow, he put together his program fairly well overall. A coach can roughly tell the score without waiting for it to be announced. I calculated it in my head and thought that, in total score, Javier would be the champion. When Yuzuru won the Sochi Olympics, Patrick Chan was still to skate afterward, so the outcome was undecided and we couldn’t celebrate together in the Kiss & Cry. But this time, Javier was about to become a World Champion for the first time. I was excited, thinking about what kind of congratulatory words I should say to him.

 

However, Javier’s mind was filled with the fact that he had made several mistakes, and he was convinced that he had lost to Yuzuru. Then his free-skate score of 181.16 points was displayed, and the scoreboard showed “2nd place.” This meant “second place in the free skate,” since Denis had placed first in the free. But Javier thought, “Yuzuru is first overall, and I’m second,” so he didn’t show much reaction. That’s when I said, “No, no, wait a moment.” Then the big screen displayed the final result: “Total 273.90 points, 1st place.”

 

Javier realized that he had won, but he was surprised and confused. Watching his reaction right next to him was a bit amusing. It was an honest response.

 

While I felt proud of Javier, Yuzuru crossed my mind at the same time. After overcoming such a difficult season, he had missed victory by the narrowest margin. It must have been frustrating. That’s why I had to be careful about how I behaved. I couldn’t jump up and shout with joy. If it were misunderstood that I was celebrating only Javier’s victory, it would hurt Yuzuru. So after stepping away from the TV cameras, I said this to Javier:

 

“Now your life has changed forever. You are a World Champion. It’s an eternal honor. No one can ever take that title away from you. Winning a world title changes your life.”

 

It was the moment when four years of effort for Javier and me finally paid off. In reality, winning a World Championship or Olympic title truly does change your life. You earn more money, and at the same time you take on greater responsibility. That’s why athletes need to be wise. Javier was ready for that. He understood that this victory was not just his own joy, but something important for his fans and for the Spanish skating community. As Spain’s first World Champion, his name was written into a page of Spanish history.

 

At the press conference, both Yuzuru and Javier were exemplary athletes. They looked at each other and talked amicably. Javier is a likable man, loved by everyone. Yuzuru is a respected athlete whose achievements inspire people. The feelings people have toward these two athletes are different kinds of admiration.

 

At this World Championships, Nam also did well, finishing fifth, so my students placed first, second, and fifth. It was truly wonderful. After the competition, I returned to the hotel and walked through the lobby with a bit of pride swelling in my chest. I’m sure those around me could see it. I first went to the Canadian team to express my appreciation to the Canadian skaters and staff who had competed at Worlds. Even if your own students win gold and silver, it is important in this world to first show proper respect to those who have supported you. After that, I went to the room where the Spanish officials had gathered and toasted with Javier and the others with champagne. It was a very warm, relaxed night.

 

I took a slightly different approach with Yuzuru. Javier is the type for whom a cheerful toast is enough to make everything okay, but Yuzuru needed words that made sense logically in order to move forward. Just before leaving the venue, I spoke to Yuzuru: “It’s been an incredibly turbulent year. So many things happened this year. I’m proud of you for getting through this unbelievable season.”

 

In my mind, collisions, injuries, surgery… so many things flashed by like a revolving lantern. How hard this season truly was is something only Yuzuru himself can understand. I couldn’t say, “I know how you feel.” The only thing I could say was this:

 

“Now, let’s reset and move forward.”

 

 

 

1.14 Commentary - 2014–2015 Season

 

Spoiler

In this season, Team Brian began a new four-year cycle aimed at the PyeongChang Olympics. The top two students were Hanyu, the Sochi Olympic champion, and Javier Fernández, who had narrowly finished fourth. For their coach, Brian Orser, the 2014 off-season was a critical test of his skills: he had to decide what goals to set for these two skaters, whose results had sharply diverged, and how to rebuild the team. The month after the Olympics, Fernández won a bronze medal at the World Championships held in Saitama, which made him acutely aware that he had been within reach of an Olympic medal.

 

“It proved that the effort I put in for the Olympics wasn’t wasted, and I realized I could aim for a medal. I want to become a skater who can go to the PyeongChang Olympics and declare, ‘I’m aiming for a medal.’”

 

For Fernández, who was not the type to publicly declare goals, this was almost certainly his first “Olympic medal declaration.”

 

On the other hand, Hanyu was not satisfied with the status of being an Olympic champion.

 

“Just because I became an Olympic champion doesn’t mean my feelings toward skating have changed. My desire to ‘work hard and grow’ will continue.”

 

After declaring that, he set the challenge of “including a quadruple jump in the second half of the program” as one step toward further evolution.

 

However, once the 2014–2015 season began, trials on an entirely different level struck Hanyu one after another. At the Cup of China, he collided with Han Yan during the six-minute warm-up for the free skate and was injured. In addition to a bruised thigh, he suffered cuts to his head and chin that caused bleeding. Even so, he chose to compete, skated through to the end, and finished second. But this was not something that could be dismissed as mere grit. The bleeding from the side of his head gave the impression that “he competed despite having a concussion,” which sparked a public outcry and became a social issue. It was an event that made everyone realize just how much influence Hanyu’s status as an Olympic champion and his popularity had on society.

 

Furthermore, at the end of the year, Hanyu was hospitalized due to abdominal pain from a urachal remnant condition and underwent open abdominal surgery. January became a period of complete rest. Unable to return to Toronto, he trained independently in Japan while staying in contact with Orser by email, aiming to defend his World Championship title.

 

As for Fernández, he had become, as if transformed, a young man who trained diligently. While he remained cheerful and approachable with everyone and continued to be the team’s mood-maker, he had begun to feel a different kind of pressure and the joy that comes with success. Moreover, the Grand Prix Final was held in Spain for the first time, and he felt the responsibility of being Spain’s only top skater.

 

“Figure skating is still not a popular sport in Spain. For most people, this will be their first time seeing it live. That’s why I want to perform in a way that makes everyone in Spain love figure skating.”

 

With that resolve, Fernández placed fifth in the short program after succumbing to the pressure, but in the free skate, he channeled his hometown pride into strength, placed second, and won the silver medal. Gaining confidence, he went on to win the European Championships for the third consecutive year. At the World Championships, he successfully landed one quadruple jump in the short program and two in the free skate, claiming his first World Championship title.

 

“I truly thought Yuzuru would win. This is Spain’s first-ever World Championship gold medal. It was a dream, but just a dream. However, since I started training alongside Yuzuru, I’ve been inspired by him, and both my mindset and training intensity have changed. I want to say thank you to my coaches who supported me, and to Yuzuru.”

 

At the press conference, Fernández became emotional and his eyes filled with tears. Then Hanyu, the silver medalist sitting beside him, said:

 

“Until now, whenever I won at competitions we skated together in, Javier would always say, ‘Congratulations, I’m proud of you, Yuzuru.’ This time our positions were reversed. I’m competitive, so I’m frustrated and want to win next time. But at the same time, it made me realize how happy it is to see a teammate win."

 

Not only are they rivals, but because they are also teammates, they are able to become stronger. What pushed the two strongest skaters to evolve even further was the unity of Team Brian.

 

[yuzurujenn]

*Machine translation, inaccuracies exist. Please do not reply in this thread.*

 

 

Chapter 2
The Secret of Our Strength
 

 

2.1 The Unusual Fatigue After a Great Season

 

Spoiler

Javier had grown into a first-time world champion, and Yuzuru demonstrated the perseverance to overcome a difficult season. The 2014–2015 season was full of major achievements, but, to be honest, what I truly felt was, “I am really exhausted.” The results left by the two of them were “all good in the end,” but rather than a feeling of exhilaration, I felt a kind of unsatisfied fatigue.

 

Even if Yuzuru’s injuries and illness were unavoidable, as a coach I wondered if I could have offered better support… Because I focused so much on Yuzuru and Javier, were there areas in which guidance for the other skaters fell short…? Even though it was the season after the Olympics, when I should have felt some leeway, I felt more exhausted than in the Sochi season.

 

After the 2015 World Championships ended and the skaters dispersed to ice shows and vacations around the world, I reflected on the year alone. What exactly was this unusual fatigue…? The first thing I realized was the “number of skaters” That is, the “size of Team Brian.”

 

Immediately after the 2014 Sochi Olympics, requests poured in from many skaters and coaches as if to say, “If you go to Team Brian, they’ll work their magic on you.” Many coaches wanted to work there, and many skaters called or emailed hoping to become students. After the Sochi Olympics, Team Brian must have been one of the most popular destinations in the world. However, there was only one rink, and if the number of skaters became too large, it would be dangerous to practice in a crowded space. If too many coaches joined, the sense of unity toward a common goal would diminish.

 

To be honest, I am not good at saying “no.” It's really hard to turn down requests from young people who are trying to improve their skating careers. I found it difficult to say “no.” I added a few skaters within what I considered an appropriate range.

 

In my team, I do not teach everyone alone. Twenty-five coaches work together as one to train all the skaters. There are specialized coaches for spins, jumps, skating, and artistry, and there are coaches skilled at teaching the basics to children. I consider each skater’s entire season schedule and the direction of their instruction and give individual lessons at key points. So even if a few skaters were added, I thought it was possible to maintain the quality of instruction. In fact, some of the newly added students blossomed beautifully, so I do not regret increasing the number. I take great joy in the support my team was able to provide.

 

For example, the prodigy Stephan Gogolev, born in December 2004. He is a Russian-Canadian and everyone calls him the “Little Plushenko.” He is ambitious and does what is necessary for his own evolution, much like Evgeni Plushenko (Russia).

 

Cha Junhwan, a promising new skater from South Korea, also joined the team. I already knew from Yuna’s case how devoted Korean parents are, and Jun-hwan’s parents also gave their full support. Born in October 2001, at only 13 years old during the 2014–2015 season, he stood on the podium at the Korean National Championships and emerged as a potential ace for the 2018 PyeongChang Olympics.

 

As of the summer of 2014, both Stephan and Junhwan were bundles of talent that had yet to fully blossom. Depending on how they were nurtured, the results could have been disappointing, but in just one year, both showed remarkable growth. Many of the skaters added after Sochi developed in this way, which shows that Team Brian was doing a good job. However, to execute a true evolution plan taking four or five years, more thorough guidance is required.

 

I've spent the past year keeping a close eye on all the skaters. Facing children with such extraordinary talent, my feeling of fatigue outweighed excitement. I realized that the team could not accommodate more skaters.

 

Generally speaking, the head of an organization, such as a CEO, wants to grow the organization bigger and bigger. If I were running a skating school, the more students came, the more profitable it would be, so growing would seem like a good thing.

 

But I'm not a business owner. What is important to me is carefully nurturing an appropriate number of skaters. Ideally, I would teach one skater for 30 minutes, then Tracy Wilson would teach skating skills for 30 minutes, then Paige Aistrop would teach spins for 30 minutes, and so on. In this way, one of the multiple coaches is always keeping an eye on each athlete. If there aren’t enough coaches and the athletes are left to mostly train on their own, it’s pointless. Each athlete has different strengths and weaknesses; some thrive when praised, while others respond better to strict guidance. Having a diverse team of coaches who rotate in and out to support each other is what makes Team Brian unique.

 

This is a common scenario at other rinks. Once a top skater emerges, word spreads, and new skaters from around the world flock to the team. This can make it difficult for coaches to provide adequate guidance, and the original top skaters may end up leaving. There are also teams that think if they just bring in a lot of skaters, some talented ones are bound to be among them. Both of these are situations my team wants to avoid.

 

Team Brian also needed early countermeasures. To reassess the size of the team, I decided, “From now on, I will refuse any requests.” As expected, starting the day after the 2015 World Championships, new coaching requests arrived. I found myself repeatedly turning down offers, something I'd never done before in my life. My priority was to protect the members of Team Brian. Every time a phone call or email came in, I swallowed my feelings and turned them down.

 

“I’m sorry, but could you please contact us again after the next Olympics? I wish you the best of luck.”

 

And I added this:

 

“Team Brian is just the right size right now. If we increase the number of skaters any further, the quality of coaching will decline.”

 

Among the applicants were golden prospects and international medalists. But there was no choice. Each time I pressed ‘send’ on a rejection email, my determination to protect all the athletes on Team Brian and to carry out my four-year plan for them only grew stronger.

 

 

 

2.2 Happiness in Team Brian

 

Spoiler

By spring 2015, I realized I was already 54 years old. If I were in my 30s or 40s, I might devote all my time to work. But I also need balance. In life, balance is necessary in everything.

 

When I first started coaching Yuna, I was only 44. I was still performing in ice shows, still able to dance myself, and full of energy to build my coaching career. It felt like just yesterday I was in that position, but now I was 54. I’m no longer at the age where I can sacrifice sleep and work long hours without consequence. In terms of physical ability, even now I could push myself to stand and coach from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m., seven days a week, surviving on sandwiches from the rink café for breakfast and lunch. But it became clear that I needed to take a serious look at my own life.

 

Looking back on the year, I realized I hadn’t taken proper rest after the Olympics. After the 2014 World Championships, I took about two weeks off and visited the town in northern Toronto where my alma mater is located. I told myself, “It’s been a long time since I had a vacation, so I want to relax,” and tried to keep phone calls to a minimum. But in reality, I was constantly simulating when each athlete would resume training, arranging choreography for the next season, and imagining the competitive landscape for the next season. Even on vacation, my mind was restless.

 

By mid-April, we began preparations for the new four-year cycle. Once practice began, lessons continued every morning, starting at 8 a.m. Top skaters like Yuzuru and the others had time off, but the elementary and middle school kids, inspired by the Olympics, came to practice every day. I had no chance to rest. I continued on through the spring of 2015, skipping even a summer vacation. It was only natural that I felt exhausted.

 

After winning the Olympics with Yuna and Yuzuru, I realized I had unconsciously become fixated on the goal of “victory.” However, in the 2014–2015 season, Javier and Yuzuru won gold and silver at the World Championships, achieving results beyond what I could have hoped for. This allowed me to shift my focus to something more important than victory: returning to the fundamental question, “Are the members of Team Brian happy right now?”

 

What is happiness in Team Brian? I think it is balance. Practice is tough, and there are times of anxiety, tears, and setbacks. But it's important for the skaters to overcome these challenges, evolve, achieve results in competitions, and rediscover their love for skating. I want them to feel, “It’s tough, but I’m happy to have found skating.”

 

For that, it’s not enough for me to simply teach techniques. I must create a creative and inspiring practice environment, and instill passion and motivation. That is my coaching. If I were to come to the rink saying, “I’m so tired, I haven’t slept at all, I haven't had a break since this morning, I’m exhausted,” everyone would lose motivation. I must always radiate good energy to stimulate the skaters. My coach when I was young, Doug Leigh, was like this too. He always played music loudly and energetically, so the skaters would get fired up no matter what.

 

Now that we’re ramping up for the PyeongChang Olympics, it would be a problem if I were tired. A coach who can’t manage themselves can’t properly manage their athletes. When you’re mentally drained, good ideas don’t come, and even small setbacks feel discouraging. But when I’m full of energy, any problem feels like a challenge I can take on, thinking, "Bring it on. I’ll handle this!"

 

I realized at 54 that I needed to find balance and manage myself. For the 2015–2016 season, I changed my rest pattern. Previously, I had weekends off, driving back on Fridays after lessons to visit my father in northern Toronto. My father is elderly, so he looks forward to spending time with me. But on Friday nights, the suburban roads were heavily congested, leaving me exhausted upon arrival. So, I scheduled lessons on Saturdays, taking Sundays and Mondays off. This worked very well. Visiting my father became truly enjoyable, a time to unwind both mentally and physically. As a result, I spent fewer weekends at my Toronto home.

 

When I take a vacation in Toronto, I end up sitting at a desk with a computer and before I know it, I’m doing research on the internet. I think about program music and practice plans, simulate which competitions to enter my skaters in, and even check the names of rival skaters and the judges for the season. When I'm at home, I end up immersed in work.

 

While staying at my father’s house, I physically detached myself from skating, walking by the lake or boating. I don’t talk about skating with family or old friends, instead spending time on conversations about relatives or other casual topics. Except for emergencies, I didn’t respond to work emails. I find that this allows me to head to practice on Tuesdays feeling energized. Even though there was a time when completely disconnecting from skating made me uneasy, at 54, I now see that taking time to recharge is actually an effective way to build energy.

 

Having rested, I fully focus on the students when I’m at the rink. During free time, I would consult with as many athletes, coaches, and parents as possible. I didn’t mind missing lunch. Even if I stepped out for 2–3 minutes to grab coffee, someone would already come to consult, and I could always welcome them saying, “Good to see you. Tell me anything.”

 

Vacations work the same way. If you take time off, you must rest not only your body but also your mind. We in skating often feel that if we travel without our skates, that counts as a vacation. But if you spend it thinking about skating, it’s not a real vacation. After the 2015 World Championships in Shanghai, I planned a family vacation. I invited my sister and a friend to the championships, then visited tourist spots in China, including the Great Wall. It was the best trip.

 

 

 

2.3 Each Skater is the Main Character

 

Spoiler

This happened after I changed how I spent my time off and some time had passed. I was finally able to look at my own heart objectively.

 

One of the causes of fatigue in the 2014–2015 season was a number of special circumstances surrounding Yuzuru. A coach is like a parent and naturally wants their athletes to be healthy and happy. However, I could do nothing about Yuzuru’s difficulties and felt stressed. Watching Yuzuru fight alone, I too probably felt lonely. But the one having the hardest time is Yuzuru, so I couldn’t tell anyone, “The coach is having a hard time too.”

 

However, once my mental fatigue was gone and I became more positive, I was finally able to acknowledge the part of myself that had been suppressing the suffering. I was able to accept those days and digest them into the past. The same was true for all my other worries. At first, I was worried about how to motivate Javier, who had become a world champion for the first time, but I reconsidered and thought it would be fine just to watch over him. I also started to come up with many practice ideas for other skaters. I realized that a rested mind becomes positive more easily than a tired one.

 

Once I finally organized my feelings, I realized how much I had tried in the 2014–2015 season to make only Yuzuru and Javier win. Of course, with a team of 25 coaches working together, it wasn’t that the guidance for other skaters was lacking, and I personally also held individual lessons at least once a week. However, much of my attention and interest was concentrated only on the top two. This was a frightening situation. I once again began to make plans, with the happiness of all my students at heart.

 

For athletes in their prime stage of growth, the off-season is a crucial time to build up explosive power. Rather than experimenting with various psychological tactics in competition, it is more important to improve one’s actual ability through practice. That is why, during this off-season, I devoted myself wholeheartedly to taking care of the younger skaters.

 

By April–May, some skaters still hadn’t decided on their programs. Starting with those who take longer to memorize choreography and skate it through, I called them one by one and held meetings about music selection with choreographers and their parents.

 

I also carried out maintenance on everyone’s skating boots. The durability of boots varies by skater. Some, like Yuna, change them frequently every two months, while others, like Javier, wear them through the whole season to break them in. In any case, the off-season is the time to replace boots. However, new boots can cause various problems. It's normal for the shoes to rub against the feet and cause inflammation. Some skaters develop technical issues because the blade and boot connection is bad. At times, the type of boot itself must be changed to match a skater’s growth.

 

I have to determine whether a skater’s sense of “discomfort” is due to an injury, the boots, or the blades. If it’s due to equipment, I drive the skater to the skate shop, explain to the craftsman, and have them make the necessary adjustments.

 

I was also involved in costume selection. If left to the skater or parents, they will make a costume they want to wear. A costume should not be a dress to make you look cute, but a battle outfit that hides a strategy. If you think, “This is a fast-paced program, so I want a costume that makes movements look crisp,” then costumes with large frills that make movements look soft are no good. Purposeful design is important.

 

Next is the annual schedule. Starting with the local competition in Toronto in the summer, skaters test their abilities through many small competitions. Keeping track of everything is a lot of work, and some skaters would even forget to register unless I kept an eye on them.

 

International competitions begin in August with the Junior Grand Prix and in October with the Senior Grand Prix. Once entries for international competitions are completed, I check which judges will attend which events. Because it is not possible to actively exchange information with judges during the competition period, I make a point of asking them in advance about rule revisions and scoring changes. In addition, as usual, I invite a qualified technical official to the rink to conduct tests, such as determining what level a spin position will receive.

 

I provide all of this support to all skaters, regardless of their level. I did not only provide intensive care to top skaters like Yuzuru and Javier. I treated each skater as the main character. I meticulously take care of them as if I were their mother, planning their skating careers.

 

In the summer, top skaters return all at once after vacations and shows. With more skaters present, I consider how to manage the daily sessions. I keep in mind what each skater in the same session is working on and watch them carefully. Even when teaching Javier, I keep an eye on Yuzuru, Elizabet Tursynbaeva (Kazakhstan), Stephan Gogolev, and Cha Jun-hwan. If Stephan becomes obsessed with practicing a quadruple Salchow and starts falling badly, I call him over and say:

 

“If you fall like that, you’ll get injured. Stop for today and just skate lightly.”

 

If Elizabet skips steps she finds difficult, I call her over again:

 

“Redo from the steps and jump within that flow.”

 

In this way, I give each skater sufficient attention. It is important that every skater feels, “I am always being taken care of by Brian.”

 

 

 

2.4 Building a great community

 

Spoiler

I was able to establish a clear direction for the care of skaters other than Yuzuru and Javier during the off-season. Next came the time to seriously consider how to evolve Yuzuru and Javier up to the PyeongChang Olympics.

 

The 2014 world champion was Yuzuru, and the 2015 world champion was Javier. In the next Olympics, both of them would not be challengers, but the ones being chased. It would be a difficult battle. Yuna also experienced being a world champion before facing the 2010 Vancouver Olympics, but she overcame immense pressure. I still remember the words Yuna spoke immediately after finishing her free skate at the Olympics:

 

“I wasn’t nervous at all. It was just like any other practice session at the Cricket Club.”

 

It shows just how wonderful the usual practice environment at the Cricket Club was for Yuna. The moment she stepped outside the club building, she would be surrounded by media and fans. Those four years carried immense pressure on her alone, but as long as she was inside the club, Yuna felt safe. She even felt the familiar, warm, and supportive training environment when she went to the Vancouver venue.

 

This was an important hint. What had led Yuna to victory? The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it wasn’t clever strategies or techniques, but the overall environment of the Cricket Club. That reminded me of a keyword. When Tracy and I first took on coaching at this club, what we decided was “to build a community.”

 

I was born in a small town in northern Toronto. Tracy is also from a small town. In small towns, everyone helps each other. When someone achieves something wonderful, everyone celebrates as if it were their own accomplishment. They help each other and share joy. In the same way, Tracy and I thought to make the Cricket Club not just a practice rink, but a community like a village. Because Toronto is a big city where neighbors often don’t know each other, we felt the Cricket Club should become a community.

 

The Cricket Club offers not only athletes’ classes but also adult classes. These are people who skate for their health or simply for the joy and purpose it brings to their lives. Their session times are two hours, at either 9:30 a.m. or 11:30 a.m. on weekdays—golden hours that had never been changed in the club’s more than 50-year history. Housewives and retirees enjoy lunch in the lounge after practice while watching the elite skaters’ sessions that start in the afternoon. During the athletes’ breaks, they offer words of encouragement like “Good luck in your next competition” and gently correct any poorly behaved younger skaters. For young skaters, who usually have little interaction with adults, it is a place to learn how to speak respectfully to seniors.

 

During the Sochi Olympics and the 2016 World Championships, they made banners and decorated the rink walls. Handmade banners saying “Good Luck Yuzu” or “Good Luck Javi.” Some even raised funds for skaters who did not have sufficient resources, covering costs for costumes and choreography. It was truly wonderful.

 

The ice maintenance staff is also an essential part of the community. He has been working at the Cricket Club for about 30 years. He takes tremendous pride in the ice he maintains and carefully ensures that skaters can practice safely and effectively. After resurfacing the ice with the Zamboni, he fills in the holes made by jumps manually, one by one, every hour. Before a skater goes to a competition, he wishes them “Good luck.”

 

During major competitions like the World Championships, everyone gathers together to watch the games on the big TV in the lounge, including skaters who are not competing, adult class members, and club staff. Before being “Team Japan” or “Team Spain,” we are all part of a community called “Team Cricket.” Within this community, top athletes don’t mistakenly think they’re superior just because they skate better. People of all ages help one another, show respect, and share wonderful experiences together. I became convinced that this community was what supported Yuna at the Olympics and the secret to our strength.

 

 

 

2.5 A Goal Even More Wonderful Than Winning the World Championships

 

Spoiler

Why did “community” give Yuna the strength to repel the pressure at the Olympics? Will it similarly become mental strength for Yuzuru and Javier? For other skaters? For other coaches?

 

Exactly ten years after I became head coach of the Cricket Club and vowed to build a community, I decided it was time to reconsider the significance of community. So, I held a meeting to reaffirm this goal for myself and my coaches. One afternoon in early spring 2015, I wrote the following on the whiteboard:

 

“What is a community?”

“What is the role of a coach in a community?”

 

Various words came out from each coach.

 

“Support, happiness, manners, kindness, awareness, common sense, tolerance, trust, safety, productivity, growth, patience, communication, understanding...”

 

There was no wrong answer. In fact, there isn’t really a “correct” answer. I wanted all the coaches to think about the meaning of community, understand each other, and feel that they themselves are an important member of this community. For all of us, it was a wonderful mental exercise. Later, a friend's mother embroidered these words into a quilt, making a large blanket. She was battling cancer, yet she made this quilt while fighting the illness. That blanket is still displayed in the coaches’ room.

 

Why am I so particular about things outside of skating practice? The true purpose of teaching skating is not simply to make students win competitions. Moreover, not everyone can become a top-level athlete, nor will everyone necessarily have a career related to skating in the future. As coaches, we tend to forget this, because our lives are so centered around skating, but our students have the right to choose whether they're happy with skating as their only focus. That is why Tracy and I want the lives of our skaters to be rich and fulfilling even after they leave this rink.

 

If they practice only to win, they come to expect support from coaches and parents as a given, becoming self-centered, relying on others for everything, and growing into people who cannot appreciate those around them. But if they grow within a community, they learn to appreciate support, respect each other—the skaters, coaches, and staff—and this benefits them when they enter society. I want them to be able to greet elders properly, show respect, grow as individuals, and take responsibility for themselves. This is something I realized once again.

 

“That’s right. Team Brian is a community.”

 

Perhaps too much had happened—Yuzuru’s injuries and illnesses, the two of them winning the World Championships, the growing number of skaters and the small daily incidents that came with it… Before I knew it, I was struggling with something I had always been confident in: team organization. Then I remembered that these worries weren’t necessary. All I had to do was return to the "original intention" that Tracy and I had pledged back in 2006.

 

Our community, “Cricket Village,” functions well. Therefore, when skaters are here, they can focus on practice with peace of mind. Top skaters like Yuzuru, Javier, or Yuna are simply skaters here. They can be themselves, and if they have a bad day and perform poorly, it won’t spread on social media. Even if they get injured, it won’t leak outside. Why? Because this is a community.

 

The important thing is to create a comfortable place where everyone can perform to their full potential. By allowing skaters and coaches to grow in this environment, we can go beyond mere wins and losses and create a major trend of "breaking new ground in figure skating." I'm sure Team Brian can do that.

 

Thinking that way filled me with energy. Yuzuru and Javier could now aim for something even more wonderful than first or second place at the World Championships. A sense of excitement and anticipation spread through me. The new season was already right around the corner.

 

[yuzurujenn]

*Machine translation, inaccuracies exist. Please do not reply in this thread.*

 

 

Chapter 3
Two World Champions, Two Comrades in Arms (2015-2016 Season)

 

 

3.1 Awareness of being a top skater

 

Spoiler

Summer 2015. Yuzuru, Javier, and I began working on the new season filled with plenty of energy and ideas. We were ready to evolve. Every day felt so fresh that I almost found myself saying it out loud.

 

In late June 2015, because Yuzuru and Javier were appearing in “Fantasy on Ice” held in Kanazawa, I flew to Japan. Having become a world champion and suddenly in high demand, Javier’s life had completely changed. He traveled around the world, from Japan to China to Spain, without any clear plans for the new season. If we procrastinated, the new season would arrive in no time. We needed to discuss the direction of the season early and finish choreographing the programs. However, in Kanazawa, Javier said this:

 

“I'll start working on my free program after my August vacation.”

 

So I replied like this:

 

“Javier, you want to enjoy your vacation too, right? If a big task like the free program is still left undone, you won’t be able to enjoy your time off. If you finish it and record it on video before you leave, you'll be able to relax, forget about everything, and refresh your mind.”

 

This was also something I myself had felt from reflecting on the 2014–2015 season. During the off-season vacation, you must forget about skating and relax one hundred percent from the heart. Simply resting the body alone is not enough to build the motivation needed to fight hard for a full year as a world-class skater. Javier seemed convinced by my explanation, and he followed my advice and immediately began working on his program.

 

Javier's August vacation was less than a month away, and his schedule was packed with shows in Spain. Therefore, we decided to finish the choreography while he was in Spain. The short program, “Malagueña,” was entrusted to Antonio Najarro, a flamenco dancer and talented figure skating choreographer. Since Javier, a Spaniard, would be skating flamenco, we wanted to create something of authentic quality that even Spaniards would find convincing. David Wilson, who usually creates the free program, traveled from Toronto to Spain to choreograph the free program. It was the theme song from the film "Guys and Dolls,' passionately sung by Frank Sinatra. I will talk in detail later about the strategy behind choosing this Sinatra piece.

 

After that, in August, we held a summer camp for children in Madrid, Spain. This event was our first attempt of its kind. Thanks to Javier’s success, interest in skating had been gradually rising in Spain. I coached the first week, Tracy coached the second week, and Javier participated for two weeks as a demonstrator.

 

It was a really fun event. For eight hours every day, Javier demonstrated and worked hard for the local children. The children ranged widely in level and age, from those jumping single Axels to those practicing triple jumps. But all of them were thrilled by the skating experience, their eyes shining. During these two weeks, Javier was a truly excellent teacher, taking good care of the children and giving precise instructions. Even after teaching eight hours every day for two weeks, his motivation never dropped. Javier showed an even stronger side of himself as a hard worker than usual.

 

There was something that made me even happier. During the camp, whenever he had even a moment of free time, Javier would work on his new programs. Even though it wasn’t competition or official practice, he treated each part of choreography carefully and seriously, skating with energy. He was overflowing with the desire of “I can’t wait to practice more.” At that moment, I clearly realized it: “Javi has truly become a top skater.”

 

In just about three months since the World Championships, Javier had changed completely. Perhaps the constant praise he received as a champion made him re-evaluate his position. Perhaps the pure passion and intense gazes of the children he met at the camp gave rise to a new sense of responsibility. When Kim Yuna became world champion, and when Yuzuru became Olympic champion in Sochi, there were also moments like this when I felt, “Ah, they’ve reached the summit.” As a coach, it's these moments of personal growth that make me happy, even more so than the victory itself.

 

When someone becomes a champion, they go in one of two directions. They either feel satisfied with their World Championship result, or they use that experience as a springboard to aim even higher. I wondered silently, “Which path will Javier take?” without voicing my opinion. Javier clearly chose the latter. He trained rigorously with the goal of the next Olympics and was filled with the desire to win. Even the way he walked had changed; there was a new sense of calm about him. He had grown into someone who possessed the distinctive sense of responsibility and confidence that only those who stand at the very top of the world can truly understand.

 

After the children’s camp in Spain ended, we then held a training camp for my skaters in a town north of Toronto. Javier trained hard at this camp as well, and with the satisfaction of having given it everything he had, he went on vacation. He spent two weeks traveling along the southern coast of Spain with his family. They traveled in a camper van, set up tents to sleep, and fully immersed themselves in nature. Completely forgetting about skating and refreshing both mind and body, he returned to Toronto in late August, just as planned, overflowing with energy.

 

 

 

3.2 Yuzuru’s attention to detail

 

Spoiler

In the 2014–2015 season, in addition to holding the title of Sochi Olympic champion, Yuzuru became a superstar who had overcome hardship. How he would grow in the following season—both as a person and as an athlete—came with great responsibility. When creating new programs, it was essential to choose music that would cause the magma Yuzuru had been storing up inside him to erupt. What kind of music would draw out Yuzuru’s new talents and allow him to grow with excitement…?

 

I first consulted with the choreographer Shae-Lynn Bourne. She is a woman with wonderful inspiration who also choreographed the previous season’s The Phantom of the Opera. Moreover, in Yuzuru’s case, we already knew that he had excellent compatibility with both short-program choreographer Jeffrey Buttle and Shae-Lynn. In fact, working with anyone other than these two would probably be difficult.

Yuzuru has his own unique timing for jump entries and takeoff preparation, and he places great importance on the timing that feels comfortable to him. Even for a quadruple jump out of steps, he has a clearly established ideal regarding the speed of the steps and the angle of the curve. A choreographer must be able to share and understand this kind of “attention to detail” that only a top athlete possesses.

 

Some choreographers are artistically inclined types who prioritize their own inspiration over the skater’s movements. It is true that in some cases this results in an artistically refined final work. However, in Yuzuru’s case, he values his own sensibility, so he needs to skate in a way that allows him to breathe naturally and ride his emotions on the music. In that sense, Shae-Lynn understands Yuzuru’s movements, and Yuzuru understands the movements Shae-Lynn experiments with, which is why a 최고의 collaboration is born.

 

During the 2015 off-season, the pieces that Shae-Lynn and I initially picked as candidates for the free program all had tempos that didn’t quite fit the timing of Yuzuru’s quadruple toe loop. The sequence of actions—“entering the approach, turning, bending the knees, planting the toe pick, and taking off”—has its own breathing and tempo unique to Yuzuru. If the pitch of the music doesn’t match Yuzuru’s heartbeat, the jump becomes difficult. Conversely, if the tempo matches, Yuzuru can naturally jump a quad while humming along to the music, and to the audience it appears as if the jump and the music are completely unified. Most skaters don’t think this deeply when choosing music. Yuzuru is a skater who is particular down to the smallest details.

 

Then Yuzuru came up with the idea of “SEIMEI” and sent it to us. Being offered a Japanese piece—one that hadn’t been among our options—was something I found very pleasing. From the moment I heard the music, I immediately liked it. Yuzuru and Shae-Lynn choreographed at the Cricket Club, and I would occasionally glance sideways at the program as it gradually took shape. Every time I caught sight of it, I got chills.

 

“This is definitely going to be… a masterpiece.”

 

There was a worldview there that Yuzuru had never shown before. It wasn’t dramatic, passion-driven dancing. It was a new world that conveyed stillness and solemnity while subtly exuding immeasurable strength. Clearly, the program was filled with movement ideas unlike anything he had done before, yet Yuzuru skillfully absorbed them into his own skating.

 

Moreover, this music was perfectly suited to Yuzuru that season. He had overcome injury and illness, and his motivation was exploding—not only to improve his jump technique, but also to develop his skating and expression. It was precisely the kind of music that should be challenged at such a time.

 

To put it more bluntly, from a general standpoint it was an extremely difficult piece. There is little in the way of a clear melody; the rhythm of percussion forms the core. With famous, dramatic music, even if there are mistakes, the music can support the performance—but with this piece, no such help can be expected. Therefore, one can only wait for the moment when Yuzuru himself becomes the music. In other words, this is what it means: for an excellent skater, the skating itself becomes music. Do you understand? Just by skating, music can be felt emanating from their entire body. Conversely, for a skater with poor skating skills, the result is disastrous. Both the music and the program feel tedious, and weak technique stands out.

 

In any case, even if it caused suffering at first, it was the kind of program that would eventually become a masterpiece, so I felt it suited Yuzuru perfectly.

 

While the free program was being created, it was decided that the short program—Chopin’s Ballade No. 1—would be carried over from the previous season. That was because Yuzuru had never once delivered a performance he was fully satisfied with. The previous season was filled with various hardships, so it couldn’t be helped that he hadn’t been able to perform it perfectly. I was absolutely determined to see Yuzuru skate this great program to perfection. Surely everyone in the world felt the same. It was a program capable of scoring 110 points if skated cleanly. He needed to continue skating it for another year and make that miracle happen.

 

The short-program choreographer, Jeffrey Buttle, retired after becoming world champion in 2008, but he still appears in shows, so he can skate Ballade No. 1 himself and demonstrate it. Yuzuru studies the worldview Jeffrey presents right in front of him, clearly distinguishing it as “Jeffrey’s performance,” and then goes on to establish his own style. Yuzuru doesn’t memorize choreography intellectually; instead, he absorbs movements—raising the right arm, stepping onto the left foot—through feeling and atmosphere. It seemed that he and Jeffrey, who create choreography by moving together, were truly well matched. That said, the difficulty of the jumps was increased.