[2018.11.01] Team Brian: A New Journey

[yuzurujenn]

NOTE: Chapter 1 up to Chapter 3.5 are the same from the book "Team Brian: 300-Point Legend." Please check the translation in 2017 thread.

 

 

Info: https://www.amazon.co.jp/チーム・ブライアン-新たな旅-ブライアン・オーサー/dp/4065123666/

https://ebookjapan.yahoo.co.jp/books/497167/

 

 

"I want to experience that overwhelming emotion again and again, the kind that makes my whole body tremble."

After Sochi, Brian Orser, the renowned coach, speaks about Yuzuru Hanyu’s journey up until PyeongChang, including the untold struggles and the path that led to Hanyu’s historic back-to-back victories in men’s singles at the PyeongChang Olympics. This new edition of the book, Team Brian: The 300-Point Legend, has been extensively revised to include these new developments. The author, who knows Hanyu’s journey best, delves into these moments and shares insights on how Evgenia Medvedeva and Jason Brown came to join the team, the new season for Yuzuru Hanyu and the rest of "Team Brian," and the dreams they all shared moving forward.

 

 

Table of Content:

Spoiler

Introduction

Chapter 1: The Road to PyeongChang – 2014-2015 Season

-There's plenty of time to evolve

-The free skate is Yuzuru's choice, but the short program is planned

-The value of the quadruple jump in the second half of the short program

-Yuzuru's worst night at the China Cup

-Deliberately imposing hard training after the injury

-Extreme tension in front of Spanish fans

-Yuzuru’s abdominal surgery

-Winning a world title changes Your life

-Team Brian community 

 

Chapter 2: Two Champions, Two Comrades – 2015-2016 Season

-The awareness of being a top skater

-Aggressive or calm? The quadruple Lutz

-Incorporating two quadruple jumps into the short program

-Important information that was helpful for the PyeongChang Olympics

-Drawing the moment of surpassing 300 points through one's own strength

-Yuzuru battling with himself

-The World Championships, the two skaters' plans

-Secrets to surpassing 300 points: GOE and PCS

-Towards Boston, Worsening Injury

-Yuzuru continues to face challenges
-The night in Boston illuminated by Sinatra

 

Chapter 3: Pre-Olympic Season – 2016-2017 Season

-Choosing music with the Olympics in mind
-Yuzuru's quadruple loop is firstly a form of injury rehabilitation
-A surprisingly low evaluation compared to last season
-Discussions and understanding
-Third time surpassing 300 points
-The Four Continents Championships to get a feel for the Pyeongchang Olympics venue
-Focusing on "rankings" at the World Championships

Chapter 4: PyeongChang Olympics – 2017-2018 Season

-Competing not as a challenger
-Performing the same program but with a more aggressive content
-I must not let Yuzuru’s frustration annoy me
-Bringing back more than just results from the Autumn Classic
-"Their game" and us
-The biggest crisis with Javier
-Yuzuru's serious injury
-A Grand Prix Final without the two champions
-Yuzuru appeared om crutches
-Visualizing jumps and spins in the head

-Return to Practice

-Still in rehabilitation on the day of Team Event competition
-The energy that only Yuzuru has
-The first step starts with compulsory figures
-The magma of the heart
-What Happened During the Official Practice the Day Before the Short Program

-It was a real miracle
-Yuzuru and Javier as I had always envisioned
-Yuzuru needed the Olympics
-The calm heart of Javier
-The two with teary eyes
-Olympic moment
-Yuzuru energetically preparing for the ice show
-Questions for Yuzuru

Chapter 5: Evgenia and Jason

-Meeting with Evgenia Medvedeva
-A period of patience for change
-Jason Brown's unexpected joining
-The significance of rule changes
-The challenges for athletes using the quadruple jump as their weapon
-The "plus 5" rule created by Yuzuru 
-Heading to Beijing, the start of a new team
-The athletes are the ones who helped me grow as a coach

 

Afterword by the Author

 

 

 

Up to Chapter 3, "Third Time Surpassing 300 Points," this book is a significantly revised and re-edited version of the book "Team Brian: The 300-point Legend" published in January 2017. Starting from the section "The Four Continents Championship to Feel the Venue of the Pyeongchang Olympics," the content is based on an interview with Coach Brian Orser conducted in July 2018 at the "Toronto Cricket, Skating & Curling Club." The interviewer was Mie Noguchi.

 

Although there were major rule changes starting in the 2018-2019 season, the rules and scores in this book are explained based on the regulations at the time.

[yuzurujenn]

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

 

 

Introduction

 

Spoiler

In life, there are partings, and there are encounters. The year leading up to the PyeongChang Olympics became, for me, a time of losing the person I loved most, while at the same time reaffirming the bonds I shared with the greatest of companions.

 

Ever since Yuzuru (Yuzuru Hanyu) became the first in the world to surpass 300 points in 2015, our Team Brian had become like adventurers traveling an uncharted sea in search of a new frontier. Following Yuzuru, his teammate Javier Fernández of Spain also surpassed 300 points. At that time, only two people on Earth had reached that cloud-high realm of 300. Led by those two, I kept steering our course toward a new horizon beyond the edge of sight. It truly felt like we were living through days that would go down in legend.

 

With less than a year remaining until the PyeongChang Olympics, the calendar had turned to March. The World Championships in the pre-Olympic year serve as a key preview of the coming battle for medals. The athletes approached this competition with fierce determination, and our training base, the Toronto Cricket, Skating & Curling Club, was filled with a powerful, surging energy.

 

I, too, raised my voice to encourage them. “Come on, more speed!” “That jump had great flow!” “Count all eight rotations properly on your spin!” And yet, there was a huge, gaping hole in my heart. My beloved father had passed away.

 

My father had long suffered from Alzheimer’s, and watching over his struggle had been deeply painful. Every Saturday, I would drive to the town north of Toronto where he lived to see him. I tried to spend as much time by his side as possible, staying with him over the weekend, and then early the following week, I would return to coaching my athletes at full energy. That had been my routine.

 

On March 3, 2017, a day I believed our memory-filled days would last forever, my hero passed away. I was left with deep grief and a multitude of emotions I still couldn’t fully process. There was no longer anyone to visit on weekends. I could no longer see his smile, nor hear his jokes… Weekends without my father no longer gave me strength; instead, the time that had been freed up was spent quietly grappling with my sorrow.

 

However, the World Junior Championships were in mid-March, and the World Championships were scheduled for the end of March. I could not let my personal circumstances dampen the athletes’ motivation or cause them worry. So when the new week began, I put on a smile and stood at the rink as if nothing had happened. Of course, this is how working adults live. I had no intention of voicing my weakness to anyone. I believed I hadn’t caused anyone concern.

 

But Yuzuru seemed to notice the change in me. That in itself was rare. He is usually intensely focused on himself during practice, so absorbed in the content of his training, physical condition, and technique that he doesn’t chat with other skaters or take breaks. Yet he would watch my expressions, trying to empathize. Having experienced the Great East Japan Earthquake, perhaps he is especially sensitive to death. In any case, on days when I felt down, his mood seemed to dip with mine, and he would quietly watch me from afar as I let out a sigh. This went on for many days.

 

At first, I thought perhaps I was imagining his sensitivity. I was feeling so low myself that the world looked different than usual. Besides, with the most important World Championships of the pre-Olympic season approaching, Yuzuru and Javier were entirely focused on the competition, and our conversations revolved almost exclusively around that event.

 

For Yuzuru, winning this World Championships and claiming the title of “champion in the year before the Olympics” was crucial. And he did so brilliantly. It was truly something to be proud of. Heading into the Olympics, there could have been no better scenario. Javier finished in fourth place, which was also within our plan. He had won the World Championships in both 2015 and 2016, and a third consecutive victory would have increased the pressure heading into the Olympics. Considering Javier’s tendency to be weighed down by pressure, it was actually better that he didn’t take the title that year, and fourth place was exactly the right result.

 

Both of them were selected for the exhibition gala reserved for top finishers. Normally, I would leave early and not watch the exhibition, but this time I stayed rinkside to watch their performances.

 

Yuzuru’s exhibition number was “Notte Stellata,” a vocal piece based on Saint-Saëns’ The Swan. The program, choreographed by David Wilson of Team Brian, included only a delayed Axel and a triple Axel. It was a mesmerizing program designed to showcase Yuzuru’s beautiful skating to the fullest. The piece depicts a dying swan taking flight once more, and Yuzuru had always skated it with the image of people in disaster-stricken areas regaining their strength. On this day, he performed the swan’s dance more tenderly and beautifully than ever before.

 

Then something astonishing happened. After finishing his performance and returning rinkside, Yuzuru said to me: “I skated thinking about your father.”

 

He had dedicated that performance as a tribute to my father. I was surprised that Yuzuru, usually so reserved, spoke clearly of mourning him. Through that program, he was telling me, “Stay strong.” I, who had not yet fully come to terms with my father’s passing, felt something shift profoundly within me at that very moment.

 

It was our sixth year as coach and student. I had always believed we understood each other and formed the strongest possible partnership, but this was the first time I truly felt that Yuzuru was standing beside me, supporting me.

 

The second Olympics I would experience with Yuzuru was now just ten months away. I resolved in my heart that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, I would move forward alongside him toward the Games. Of course, I could never have imagined the truly intense Olympic season that awaited us. Still, I vowed to support Yuzuru not only as his coach, but also as a friend and as a fellow human being.

 

 

 

[yuzurujenn]

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

 

 

Chapter 3: Pre-Olympic Season – 2016-2017 Season

 

 

3.6 The Four Continents Championships to get a feel for the Pyeongchang Olympics venue

 

Spoiler

For Yuzuru, there were two things he needed to accomplish in the season before the Olympics. One was to win the title at the World Championships the year before the Games. I’ll come back to why that mattered later. The other was to experience the rink at the Olympic venue during the test event held there, specifically the 2017 Four Continents Championships.

 

I myself had already visited the venue during the Korean National Championships, so I had a general sense of what it was like. For Javier, who couldn’t compete at Four Continents, the only thing I could do was pass along my advice. But as the saying goes, seeing is believing, so I wanted Yuzuru to experience the venue firsthand and use that for simulation ahead of the real event.

 

What mattered was getting a feel for the atmosphere in the stands, the sense of distance in the venue, and understanding the kind of environment Team Yuzuru would be dealing with at the PyeongChang Olympics. In Yuzuru’s case, he wouldn’t rely solely on the athletes’ village. He would also have a hotel secured, which would serve as a base for care, meals, and support from the Japanese team. That’s why it was important not just for Yuzuru, but for the whole support team as well, to see the town in advance and get a sense of things like how far the hotel was and what traffic conditions were like.

 

Yuzuru was already an Olympic champion from Sochi, and unquestionably among the very best in the world. That meant that, more than technical preparation, what mattered was mental and psychological readiness—how to deliver in the actual performance. He also does more image training than most athletes before competition. While many skaters think of “warming up” as stretching or light physical exercises, for Yuzuru, the key part of warming up is sharpening his focus and mentally rehearsing the competition. Therefore, it was necessary to check the path from the venue’s gates to the stadium, the layout of the corridors, the location of the locker rooms, which hallways led to the rink, where media interviews would take place, and also to look for suitable spots to warm up away from others.

 

In reality, the Gangneung Ice Arena venue was an excellent facility, and I personally had a very positive impression of it. I wanted Yuzuru to feel the same way: to leave thinking, “All right, I’m going to deliver a great performance here. I can almost hear the crowd already.” Bringing that feeling back with him was the main objective of this Four Continents Championships.

 

Of course, winning is always wonderful at any competition, but this was not a competition where that was necessary. And in a sense, things went according to plan: it was Nathan Chen, not Yuzuru, who won.

 

In fact, Yuzuru has never won the Four Continents Championships. It’s an interesting thing. He’s an Olympic champion, a world champion, and has broken world records multiple times, yet he hasn’t won this event. To me, this shows just how much focus Yuzuru has when it comes to delivering results at truly important competitions.

 

So the advice I gave him for this Four Continents Championships was simple: “Come away with a good impression of the Gangneung Ice Arena.” I didn’t say anything about winning or even about skating well. Yuzuru is an intelligent athlete, so he understood exactly what that meant.

 

The competition itself unfolded in a very interesting way.

 

In the short program, Nathan landed a quadruple Lutz and a quadruple flip to take first place, with Shoma in second. In the free skate, Nathan successfully executed five quadruple jumps and won the competition, scoring over 300 points for the first time in an ISU event. Until then, only Yuzuru and Javier had entered the “300-point world.” Now Nathan had arrived there too. The news that "Nathan landed five quadruple jumps in the free skate" became a new top story in the figure skating world, and the media covered it extensively.

 

But in truth, at this Four Continents Championships, it was Yuzuru’s score that spoke more clearly to "what figure skating really is." Despite a mistake in the short, he scored a solid 97.04 points. In the free skate, he successfully landed four quadruple jumps, scoring 206.67 points. His score was higher than Nathan's, who landed five quadruple jumps. Yuzuru placed third in the short and first in the free, finishing second overall. It was a result that showed how important not just the number of jumps, but their quality and the overall performance truly are.

 

The media tends to focus on the “number of quads.” True, if the outcome were decided solely by the number of quads, it would be easy to understand. As a result, Nathan became the leading favorite for Olympic gold. Javier, who only included two types of quadruple jumps, faded from the spotlight, and Yuzuru was cast as facing a formidable challenge from younger skaters.

 

For us, what mattered was sticking faithfully to the plan we had already made. The media got excited about “Nathan beating Yuzuru a year before the Olympics,” but to me, it wasn’t a concern at all. If anything, I watched calmly as attention focused on a slightly misplaced measure: the number of quadruple jumps.

 

 

3.7 Focusing on "rankings" at the World Championships

 

Spoiler

The most important competition of the 2016–2017 season was the World Championships in Helsinki. Not only was it the culmination of the season, but it was also the most important competition in the four years leading up to the Pyeongchang Olympics. This is because the results of the World Championships in the year before the Olympics have a major impact on an athlete’s mindset during the Olympic season, as well as on media perception and the judges’ impressions. For that reason, more than the performance or the score, the "ranking" was paramount.

 

Yuzuru had to win the World Championships for himself and for his pride. He had won the World Championships once in 2014, but in 2015 and 2016 he earned silver. By claiming the “world’s best” title once more before the Olympics, I wanted him to solidify the mental image that he can win the competitions that matter most.

 

I thought it would be better for Javier to aim for a bronze or something around that. Having won in both 2015 and 2016, a third consecutive victory would have made him the “undisputed three-time World Champion” heading into the Olympics. Everyone would then expect him to take gold, seeing it as a given. That kind of pressure would have been overwhelming. On top of that, as Spain’s first-ever medalist, he would also be carrying the weight of his entire country’s expectations.

 

I myself entered the Olympic season in 1987 as the reigning World Champion, the year before the Olympics. And it was the Calgary Olympics, held in my home country of Canada. For some reason, that season the Canadian team had no reigning World Champions in any other winter sport besides figure skating. There were no Canadian world champions in skiing or hockey that year. Being the only titleholder at a home Olympics, I was under intense scrutiny. Every newspaper, television program, and magazine featured my gold medal prediction as its top story, even surpassing ice hockey and skiing. The pressure was immense.

 

If a similar situation had occurred with Javier, he wouldn’t have been able to enjoy skating. That’s why I thought it would be better for him not to win gold at this World Championships.

 

The result: Yuzuru won, and Javier placed fourth. For us, it was exactly as planned, a perfect outcome.

 

This was, in a way, the “perfect storm” we could prepare for in the year before the Olympics. Let’s call it a carefully prepared chaos. It allowed us to set the perfect foreshadowing for the PyeongChang Olympics for both of them.

 

Of course, even though rankings mattered, it isn’t something we can control. Ultimately, in sports, athletes can only do their best.

 

In reality, there was nothing I needed to tell Yuzuru. He is always a young man who wants to win, and he is smart enough to understand which competitions must be won. Yuzuru wins at the competitions where victory is necessary. That is his ability, his spirit, and it's not something I taught or controlled. Winning when it matters most is his talent, his mentality, and that is what makes him special.

 

Nathan’s result at this competition reflected the current state of figure skating. In the free skate, he attempted six quadruple jumps, landing only two cleanly. Mistakes in both the short and free programs left him in sixth overall. This was a competition where young skaters fought with full courage and ambition to try various quads. It was admirable bravery. But in a major competition where rankings must be prioritized, jumps that are possible in other events suddenly become much more difficult. That pressure can only be understood by those competing under the same circumstances.

 

When I first landed a triple Axel in my career, the media and skating community talked almost exclusively about the jump. I succeeded in practice, and in smaller competitions. But at the World Championships or the Olympics, it became an entirely different jump. Today’s young skaters attempt not just one quad, but five or six. Nathan has mastered the high-level skills needed for quads, yet he could not fully demonstrate them at Worlds.

 

I could deeply empathize with Nathan’s mental state. It was something I had gone through over 30 years ago. At the same time, I had won Olympic gold alongside Yuna and Yuzuru. Over the past three decades, I’ve learned what figure skating is really all about.

 

This World Championship served as a chance to revisit the “art of competing” in figure skating. Competing with a program containing five quads at Worlds or the Olympics is incredibly demanding. The pressure is enormous. To succeed, mental preparation is even more crucial than technical skill. No matter how advanced a skater’s technique, if they don’t have the mental strength to deliver it on the day, the performance remains incomplete.

 

The fact that the focus was solely on the “number of quadruple jumps” made me, after 30 years of thinking about what figure skating truly is, honestly feel that public opinion had lost its way. Team Brian’s plan, however, remained unchanged.

 

The preparations for the PyeongChang Olympics were complete. Technique, results, media perception, rankings—everything. I felt a sense of relief, and at the same time, immense pride that my two students were on such a winning streak heading into the Olympic season. Normally, I would skip the exhibition and return home to oversee other skaters’ lessons. But at the Helsinki World Championships, I made the rare effort to watch both of their performances rinkside.

 

It was then that Yuzuru performed his "Notte Stellata" program beautifully and, after returning to the rinkside, told me, “I skated thinking about your father, Brian.” At the World Championships, everyone is completely focused on themselves. On top of that, this was an important competition for Yuzuru, one he had to win to prepare for the Olympic season. And yet, in the exhibition immediately after that intense event, he was thinking of my father, who had passed away just that March. I had tried to hide my grief in front of the skaters, but Yuzuru still noticed and cared about my feelings.

 

Yuzuru is a strong, young, and energetic athlete. But I realized he is also someone who can empathize with the delicate feelings of those who are grieving. Through his support, my impression of him changed profoundly. As a coach, I often only see his strength, but in reality, he possesses deep compassion and a sensitive nature, and that is exactly why he can perform so beautifully.

 

My father's death, the excitement of the upcoming Olympics, and Yuzuru’s affection—all these emotions mixed together, filling my heart with overwhelming feelings. Little did I know the trials that still lay ahead.

 

[yuzurujenn]

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

 

 

Chapter 4: PyeongChang Olympics – 2017-2018 Season

 

 

4.1 Competing not as a challenger

 

 

Spoiler

The off-season leading up to the PyeongChang Olympics felt completely different from both the off-seasons before the Vancouver Games eight years earlier with Yuna, and before the Sochi Games four years earlier with Yuzuru and Javier. Until now, it had always been a battle as a “challenger aiming for the Olympic gold medal,” competing in the presence of rivals. But this time, none of the usual assumptions or approaches applied. For me as a coach as well, it was a new kind of challenge.

 

There was no doubt that the PyeongChang Olympics would center on Yuzuru and Javier as the central figures. Over the past four years, the World Champion title had been won twice by Yuzuru and twice by Javier. No matter how much younger skaters were rising, these two were still the ones who drew the spotlight as the main characters. The media was hyping up the rise of younger talent as news, but considering their experience and consistency, I was convinced that only Yuzuru and Javier truly had a realistic chance of winning in PyeongChang.

 

So how would these two World Champions approach the PyeongChang Olympics? The first key point was program selection. Because they are completely different in personality, the process of choosing their programs was naturally different as well.

 

First, regarding Yuzuru’s competitive music: at the end of the previous season, I had already decided that I would leave the music selection entirely up to him. This was because, at the moment we began discussing the Olympic season, Yuzuru said to me:

 

“Brian never goes against what I decide, and he always trusts me and my choices. He never doubts my decisions. That’s why I want to think for myself and decide how I’m going to compete.”

 

In fact, over the six years we worked together, Yuzuru had made most of the decisions regarding music selection, costumes, and even what kind of jumps he wanted to perform. I always accepted that, because that was simply his way of doing things. He is not the type who responds well to being told what to do. He wants to work hard on what he has chosen himself.

 

It’s like when a parent tells a child “you should study,” and it has the opposite effect. There is no need to say to Yuzuru, “use this music” or “do this jump.” What matters is quietly offering advice when his direction seems off, and helping create an environment where his efforts are properly recognized by those around him. The most important thing is to support him from the background. If I could provide the mental support for Yuzuru as he devoted himself wholeheartedly to his work, that would be enough.

 

 

4.2 Performing the same program but with a more aggressive content

 

Spoiler

First, for the short program, Yuzuru was thinking of going back to Chopin’s “Ballade No. 1,” which he had used two seasons earlier. In an Olympic season under intense pressure, it is standard practice to reuse the short program you are most confident in. Even at the Sochi Olympics four years earlier, he had performed the same short program as the previous season, “Parisienne Walkways,” and went on to break the world record. It was a program in which he could reliably deliver his best. This time as well, no one objected to using Chopin again.

 

For the free skate, Yuzuru had already made up his mind to bring back “SEIMEI,” which he had used two seasons prior. It is a program themed around Japanese aesthetics, representing Yuzuru’s unique worldview. Both Yuzuru and I had long felt that there was no better program.

 

In other words, there were no new programs. There was a possibility that this would spark mixed opinions. Some people might even criticize it, saying that the world champion was playing it safe. However, I fully trusted Yuzuru’s decision. There was no way he was choosing these music pieces with a “defensive” mindset. For Yuzuru, these two were simply the strongest weapons, programs that gave him the greatest chance of victory and the confidence to skate aggressively.

 

What mattered most was making sure the media and the fans understood that this was the correct choice. We had to clearly communicate to others outside ourselves that our decision was not wrong.

 

If this had been Javier, I would have objected. If Javier had said, “I want to use past programs for both short and free,” I would have said, “Hold on, what do you mean by that? Are you slacking off?” and we would have discussed it seriously. With Javier, we were deeply involved in selecting program music and costumes, and in shaping the overall direction. He is someone who gets bored easily, so freshness is what fuels his motivation.

 

But Yuzuru is the type who deeply studies a single thing and refines it endlessly. Even if he skates to the same music for years, he never gets bored, and he can continue evolving it. He is not someone who loses interest just because the short and free use the same music.

 

He fully understands both what he is doing and how others perceive him. When Yuzuru makes a decision, it is always carefully thought through. That’s why I thought repeating the two programs was a very smart choice.

 

Through six years of working with him, I had also learned when to speak and when to step back. What I learned most clearly was that when he makes his own decisions, he is capable of producing explosive performances.

 

For that reason, the timing of the announcements was carefully decided by Yuzuru himself. The short program was announced at the ice show in May, and the free skate was announced at the public practice session in August.

 

The important moment was the public practice in August. In reality, even though it was the same music, the content was completely different from two years earlier. Back then, he had set a world record with two types of quadruple jumps, but since then Yuzuru had added the quadruple loop and was also attempting the quadruple Lutz. He was even considering increasing the total number of jumping passes beyond three. When the types of jumps change, the entry and approach trajectories also change, which means the choreography has to change as well. Even the breathing rhythm, the skater’s mindset, and the emotional emphasis within the program all shift dramatically. So it wasn’t enough to simply announce, “we are using the same music for the Olympic season.” We had to create the impression that, “the Olympic season programs are going to be this aggressively constructed.”

 

Yuzuru trained extremely hard for that public practice. That one skate would shape how the media viewed his whole season. To give the impression that he had improved since two years earlier and was entering the season with momentum, he needed to be landing those jumps successfully already by August.

 

In the actual public practice, Yuzuru delivered an outstanding performance. The Japanese media did not criticize the decision to reuse the music at all. On the contrary, the introduction of the quadruple lutz for the Olympic season became the headline. The narrative shifted toward: “His jump content is now on par with the younger skaters. Therefore, with his superior skating and performance quality, Yuzuru has the advantage.”

 

 

4.3 I must not become frustrated by Yuzuru’s frustration

 

Spoiler

However, I had one concern. The quadruple lutz.

 

I kept thinking back to the previous season. The process of Yuzuru mastering the quadruple loop and finally landing it had been anything but simple. As younger skaters around the world began attempting new quadruple jumps, Yuzuru became determined to land the quad loop as well. But it was a difficult jump that no one in the world had yet successfully landed in competition. Although he eventually learned to execute the quad loop itself, it is not something as simple as successfully landing loop, salchow, and toe loop quads all within a program. Because of repeated mistakes in practice, Yuzuru was often visibly frustrated on the ice. Unable to perform as he intended, he would show a very tense expression during training, to the point where no one could even approach him. It was easy to imagine that once he began training the quadruple lutz, he would fall into exactly the same state.

 

In other words, my concern about the quadruple lutz was that Yuzuru would become consumed by anxiety and fear. Ideally, he should be balancing practice of other quadruple jumps, steps, and the program as a whole, but once he starts working on the Lutz, it becomes as if nothing else in the world exists except that one jump. His extreme level of focus was my only real worry.

 

Yuzuru is extremely competitive. So when he sees Nathan or Shoma jumping quad lutzes or quad flips, he wants to try them too. That strong ambition is precisely what makes him so strong, so it is not a bad thing in itself. As an athlete, being competitive is an advantage.

 

However, from a coach’s calm perspective, if the goal is to become world champion or Olympic champion, it is actually wiser to compete with only two types of quads: the toe loop and the salchow. This is clear if you consider the rules. When you take into account jump success rate, quality, and the overall completeness of the performance, competing with just two types of jumps is the more reliable path to victory. That is why I was quite nervous about going into the Olympic season with a new element like the quadruple lutz.

 

The quad loop he worked on the previous season was relatively smooth to learn, partly because he already had a strong triple loop. But the Lutz was not so easy. In fact, there were many days when he simply could not land it, and he grew increasingly frustrated. Watching him train like that even made me feel irritated myself.

 

To be honest, I did not want to see him practicing while so visibly frustrated. I wanted to ease that frustration, to solve it somehow. As a coach, and also as a friend, I wished he could enjoy skating a little more.

 

As days went on with both of us feeling increasingly strained, I realized, “At this rate, I’m just repeating last year.” The fact that I “don’t like seeing him frustrated” is my own issue; for Yuzuru, “being in a state of struggle is acceptable.” That is something I learned over the six years I worked with him.

 

Yuzuru is the type who only moves forward by going through that kind of struggle. He takes on difficult challenges, becomes self-critical, feels disappointed in himself, feels anxious thinking about his rivals, yet trains with intense concentration. Day after day, he experiences setbacks and wonders, “Why am I even doing this?” He feels frustration, yet never leaves the rink midway. He keeps working. He jumps, and jumps, and keeps jumping. The reason he has continued to grow without limits is precisely because he has always trained in this way. He didn’t become stronger by smiling through easy practice. So if the challenge makes him frustrated, then even those days of frustration are part of the process he accepts.

 

The quadruple Lutz was the impulse he needed to move forward at that time. It drove him, and he practiced it obsessively.

 

This is a completely different approach from Javier’s. Javier only practices the quad loop on days when he is in very good form. When he lands it in practice, he feels that he is a highly capable skater, becomes very happy, and gains confidence. But on days when he is not in good condition, he does not practice it. He does not try to put himself in the kind of difficult situation that Yuzuru does. He is happy with his excellent toe loop and salchow, and he becomes stronger by staying happy and enjoying his programs every day. Happiness is his source of power. So if Javier was in a slump, I would tell him, “It's pointless to push yourself so hard on bad days, so go home and get some fresh air” Most skaters need this kind of calm advice from a coach.

 

But Yuzuru was different from any other skater. I tried to understand him. Honestly, as a coach, it is difficult to simply “leave a struggling skater alone,” but I considered this his challenge and forced myself to hold back. In the end, the only way for him to reach happiness was to solve it himself.

 

What I learned most over those six years was how to deal with Yuzuru in situations like this. I must not get frustrated by his frustration. I had to let him experience the process of frustration, worry, reflection, and resolution himself. That’s just how Yuzuru is. As a coach, it was painful to simply stand there and watch him struggle without stepping in. But I held back, believing that this was exactly what would make him stronger.

 

In fact, when I was competing myself, I was very similar to Yuzuru. When I thought about the triple axel, my mind would become completely consumed by it. On days when things weren’t going well, I would be overwhelmed by fear, and I practiced the triple axel day after day. Those difficult days in training eventually became confidence, and helped me perform well in competitions. When I succeeded, I felt a great sense of accomplishment. That said, during the off-season I made sure to rest properly, go out with friends, and switch off. In that sense, Yuzuru is even more singularly focused on skating than I ever was. Because of that, I felt I could understand him and wanted to quietly watch over him, but at the same time I also felt he might be focusing a bit too much on the lutz. Honestly, I had mixed feelings about it. Deep down, I was really worried.

 

 

4.4 Bringing back more than just results from the Autumn Classic

 

Spoiler

The first competition of the Olympic season was the Autumn Classic in Montreal (September 20–23). It was not yet part of the Grand Prix series. The main purpose of entering such an early-season event in late September was to ensure solid summer training.

 

Since the Olympics take place in mid-February, peak condition must come about a month and a half earlier than at the usual World Championships. This means training hard during the summer, building that training into their bodies, and starting the season early. Rather than treating it as a simple “test competition,” the focus was on having a clear purpose for summer preparation. Yuzuru, Javier, and all the skaters at the Cricket Club trained with great intensity for this September competition.

 

For the Grand Prix series, Yuzuru's first competition was the Moscow event in late October, and Javier's was the Cup of China in early November. When the first competitions are that far away, it's easy to become complacent around August, thinking "it's okay if I'm not perfectly ready yet." But with a September competition, it becomes necessary to bring things close to a finished form during the summer.

 

What mattered most was not the result of the Autumn Classic, but the training leading up to it. Both Yuzuru and Javier are highly accomplished skaters, so there were no competitions in the first half of the Olympic season that they absolutely needed to win. Rather, what was important was to properly establish their fundamental training during the summer. If that base is solid, then during the season they can think of various strategies and apply them more flexibly.

 

Both skaters went through rigorous training to compete at the Autumn Classic. And although expectations for the competition were not focused on results, they both came away with more than just results.

 

First of all, Yuzuru slightly injured his knee the week before the Autumn Classic. He had been relentlessly working on the quadruple Lutz even in the latter half of August, and had also been repeatedly practicing the quadruple loop, hoping to land it successfully at the Autumn Classic. Since the loop takes off from the right foot, and the Lutz is also executed using the right toe pick, both place strain on the right ankle and knee. Yuzuru knew very well that the Autumn Classic was not a competition where placement was paramount, so he wisely adjusted his strategy. For the short program, he chose to forgo both the Lutz and the loop, opting instead for a clean, perfect performance.

 

This later became very important reference material. Yuzuru went on to break the world record in his very first competition of the season with a program containing only two quadruple jumps. With neither the loop nor the lutz included, it was exactly the same jump layout as two years earlier. And yet he still achieved a world record. That showed how much his skating and performance quality had matured.

 

It can also be said that the judges gave high scores because they were not looking at Chopin’s “Ballade No. 1” with the feeling that “this is the same as two years ago,” but rather with the sense that “this is a masterpiece program.” This reinforced the confidence that “my decision in choosing this music was not wrong,” and also served as a statement that “the reigning champion can still compete effectively with just two types of quadruple jumps.”

 

On the other hand, Javier won the competition with his new short program, “Chaplin Medley,” and his free skate, “Man of La Mancha.” This victory gave him a strong sense that the programs were being well received, and he gained confidence as a result. When presenting new programs, it is natural to be concerned about how they will be received. With positive reactions from the judges and a win, Javier was able to gain confidence and start his Olympic season in a good frame of mind.

 

 

4.5 “Their game” and us

 

Spoiler

Heading into the start of the Grand Prix Series, Yuzuru became even more intent on practicing the quadruple Lutz. He was determined to land the quadruple Lutz at the Moscow Grand Prix, the first event of the series. That strong resolve seemed to radiate from his whole body.

 

A year earlier, when Yuzuru said he wanted to add the quadruple loop, we had a long discussion about it. I felt that, when considering the performance as a total package, the quadruple loop wasn’t necessary, while Yuzuru insisted that, for him, the quadruple loop was also part of the performance itself. In the end, we both came to understand that Yuzuru needed a new source of motivation, and we added it as a new weapon.

 

The same was true for the quadruple Lutz. Even though it was an Olympic season, I understood and supported Yuzuru’s desire to attempt it in competition. While including the quadruple Lutz lowered the chances of delivering a perfect performance, I believed it was a challenge Yuzuru needed.

 

At the Moscow competition in October, Yuzuru attempted both the quadruple loop and the quadruple toe loop in the short program, but made mistakes on both jumps. It seemed that when the quadruple loop was included, the overall flow and timing of the program still did not quite fit naturally into place. Even if he could land it in practice, it was still at a stage where the program as a whole needed more time to come together.

 

But Yuzuru’s true goal was not the short program. All of his focus was centered on one thing: including the quadruple Lutz in the free skate for the first time. Even though he was unable to land the quadruple Lutz cleanly in either the official free skate practice or the six-minute warm-up, I was not worried at all.

 

From my own experience as a skater, I know that success or failure in the six-minute warm-up means nothing. As the name “six-minute warm-up” suggests, it is simply a warm-up, just to loosen the body. There are many skaters who perform brilliantly in the warm-up and then struggle in the actual program, and just as many who do poorly in warm-up but deliver excellent performances when it counts.

 

In Yuzuru’s case in particular, there was no need to read too much into the six-minute warm-up. If it goes well, his performance usually goes well too; and even if it goes poorly, he is still fully capable of resetting and delivering a great skate. Going back to the World Championships in Helsinki that he won in late March, his six-minute warm-up before the free skate was not very good. On top of that, he was skating first in the final group. Yet he turned things around in just 30 seconds. Yuzuru understands the importance of the moment when it truly matters, and when he has to deliver results, he is able to raise his level accordingly.

 

At the Moscow competition, Yuzuru was so excited about the opportunity to attempt the quadruple lutz in the free skate that he couldn’t land it cleanly in the six-minute warm-up. It wasn’t that he was in poor condition or feeling discouraged. I could see he was brimming with confidence, so I didn’t worry or offer any unnecessary advice; I simply told him, “Yuzuru, you can do it.”

 

The opening quadruple Lutz in the actual program was truly excellent. A light, effortless jump, exactly the kind of jump that is so characteristic of Yuzuru. The moment he landed it, I jumped up and shouted, “Yes!” And as the program continued, I wasn’t just happy about the success itself, but I also felt the weight of what that success meant.

 

There had been days when I wondered whether it was really necessary to go through such grueling training. But no amount of reassurance from me would have made a difference. The only way for him to be released was to successfully land the quadruple Lutz in competition. I therefore understood that the success of this jump would become a major turning point. The more I thought about the struggles Yuzuru had been going through, the more I realized how valuable this success was, and how much it would lead to what came next. This success was the moment when a mind that had been cornered and shut in was finally set free.

 

Of course, it must also have strongly caught the attention of Nathan, Shoma, and the other skaters. They likely thought, “So Yuzuru is going to jump the Lutz.” That, in turn, would have had a significant impact on each of their strategies for winning the PyeongChang Olympics.

 

They were trying to beat Yuzuru in “their game.” “Their game” refers to a system in which multiple quadruple jumps such as the quadruple lutz and quadruple flip are included in a program, and in which “the skater who jumps more quads wins.” Yuzuru was not part of it. But suddenly, Yuzuru said, “I can do a quadruple lutz too.” The other skaters naturally became anxious. Yuzuru had entered a game he was not supposed to be part of.

 

As expected, Yuzuru is an athlete who grows through difficult challenges. He constantly raises the bar for himself and then overcomes it. He had announced in advance that he would attempt the Lutz, and then he actually did it in Moscow. People around the world were watching that moment unfold. For Yuzuru himself, it must have been such an exhilarating experience that it made him forget even the arduous days of training.

 

At both the Autumn Classic and the Moscow Grand Prix event, Yuzuru finished in second place. If this had been during the Olympic season four years earlier, or even just two years ago, he would have likely felt anxious or frustrated. But as he has grown older, he has come to view things in a more mature way. What mattered most was winning the major event: the Olympics.

 

Originally, Yuzuru was the type who wanted to win every competition and always be in first place for his fans. However, both of these events are preparation for the Olympics. He may have to finish second at the Autumn Classic. He may have to finish second in Moscow. And that is all in order to win first place at the Olympics. Yuzuru understood that.

 

Now was not the time for him to unleash his full power. To jump higher, you first have to crouch down. Both Yuzuru and I deeply understood that importance as we left Moscow.

 

[yuzurujenn]

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

 

 

4.6  The biggest crisis with Javier 

 

Spoiler

In an Olympic season, all kinds of unexpected things tend to happen. I knew that from many years of experience, but I never imagined it would become a season with so many trials.

 

It happened when I was accompanying Cha Jun-hwan (South Korea) to Skate Canada (October 27–29), the competition following Moscow. After the first day of practice, I suddenly felt unwell at night and went by taxi to an emergency hospital. After an examination, it turned out that I had a tumor in my gallbladder and needed emergency surgery.

 

It was a very difficult situation. Junhwan still had his competition, and the following week I was supposed to go to China for Javier’s first major event of the season. After that, there was the NHK Trophy in Japan, and then the Grand Prix Final. It was an Olympic season, so I could not afford not to accompany the skaters.

 

I did not fully understand how serious gallbladder removal surgery was. In fact, I felt that the Cup of China and the NHK Trophy were more important. I told the doctor:

 

“I need to have surgery, but I'm going to China on Monday next week.”

 

The doctor said, “There is absolutely no way you can go to China.” I felt very sorry toward him, but I still said:

 

“Doctor, I hope you understand that this is an Olympic season. It’s a very important season. So I absolutely must be at the venues for those two skaters, no matter what.”

 

The doctor replied:

 

“No, Brian, you will be admitted to the hospital. Your gallbladder has to be removed. You have a severe infection, and there are many gallstones.”

 

But all I could think about was the Olympics.

 

“Doctor, I’m sorry, but I really have to go to China, and then to Japan. No matter what.”

 

When I insisted again, the doctor said, “I’m sorry, Brian, but so do we.” His tone became stronger, and I finally calmed down. My body had gallstones, my gallbladder was inflamed, and the infection was beginning to spread throughout my body. If it spread further and worsened, it could become life-threatening. If I ignored it and went to China, and the bacterial infection spread throughout my body, I could have lost my life.

 

So I first consulted Tracy Wilson. She is my coaching partner and manages everything at the Cricket Club. Since she had also come to Skate Canada, I needed to discuss what to do about the upcoming competitions.

 

Tracy said, “Those two will need you later this season. Not in China or at NHK, but at the Olympics. So let’s treat this now and get you healed. Then everything, including training, will go well. You’ll be fine.” She was right.

 

So I decided not to go to China or Japan. I would not be present at either competition. I underwent surgery, and I spoke directly with both Javier and Yuzuru. They both understood. “What matters most is the Olympics.” The three of us moved forward into the November competitions with that understanding.

 

But strangely enough, at those two competitions where I was absent, Javier had a disastrous result, and Yuzuru suffered a serious injury.

 

Javier competed at the Cup of China in Beijing from November 3–5. I had been discharged from the hospital and was watching from home via live internet broadcast while recovering. While watching the six-minute warm-up of the short program, I saw Javier appear on screen trying to jump a quadruple toe loop, but another skater got in his way and he gave up. A little later, he appeared again, trying to go for a quadruple salchow, but again there was another skater right there and he couldn’t jump it, so he skated away from the spot. He circled the rink, came back to attempt the salchow again, but another skater happened to arrive at that moment, and he couldn’t do it. And in this way, the six-minute warm-up came to an end.

 

I lay in bed at home, muttering, “What the hell?” clenching my fist and swinging it through the air again and again. I felt a sense of emptiness as I compared Javier, who hadn’t been able to warm up at all, with myself, just sitting in bed. Javier became anxious, made many mistakes in both the short and free programs, and finished sixth with a score more than 60 points lower than his personal best.

 

I tried to get in touch with Javier by email, but received no reply. I tried to speak with him directly, but he wasn’t receptive. It was a very sensitive Olympic season, and Javier had closed himself off. After the Cup of China, he didn’t return to Toronto and instead went back to Spain. The next competition was in France, so training would have had to be adjusted to the time difference, but there was no communication between us. I was very worried, but I was also recovering and couldn’t rush to Spain. The biggest crisis in seven years between Javier and me had arrived.

 

 

 

4.7  Yuzuru's serious injury

 

Spoiler

If only I had been there… I know I shouldn’t use the word “if,” but I can’t express how much I regretted not being able to be with Yuzuru during the NHK Trophy, which began on November 10.

 

It had been only ten days since my gallbladder removal surgery, and I was still unable to travel to Japan. Yuzuru understood this well, and his jump coach, Ghislain Briand, traveled to Japan with him. Ghislain is a very skilled coach and works with many skaters at the Cricket Club. His advice is especially effective when adjustments to technique are needed, or when learning new jumps, because he is extremely thorough and research-oriented. Yuzuru also deeply resonated with Ghislain’s approach to jump technique, and if anyone was to accompany him, it had to be Ghislain.

 

When Yuzuru arrived in Japan, he had a cold, a fever, and was feeling unwell. I heard that he had missed the unofficial practice. Then, at the official practice the day before the short program, the tragedy occurred. Yuzuru always puts all his energy into competitions in Japan. Despite feeling unwell, I think he was putting pressure on himself to somehow land the quadruple Lutz in front of the Japanese fans.

 

Yuzuru was extremely tired. I was told that both his quadruple toe loop and quadruple Salchow were not going well. If I had been there, I would certainly have said, “Let’s just focus on tomorrow’s short program,” and not let him push through practice. I might have had him do very few jumps, simply run through the program lightly, or even told him to leave the rink early. Especially when traveling back to Japan from Canada, jet lag can be severe, and there is nothing to be gained from forcing a hard practice. What matters is the actual competition; there is no need to be attempting the quadruple Lutz in practice.

 

However, without me there, it may have been as if some kind of restraint inside Yuzuru had been released. Even though he was unwell, not in good form, and the actual competition was still a day away, he still tried to go for the quadruple Lutz.

 

No one is to blame. He was surrounded by Japanese fans, under media attention, in an Olympic season, and he had recently succeeded with the quadruple Lutz, which gave him confidence. Perhaps, because I was hospitalized, he was trying even harder to deliver results to reassure me.

 

All these circumstances came together, and as he attempted the quadruple Lutz, he landed at a strange angle, twisted his ankle, and fell. After practice ended, I received a message from a contact in Japan saying, “Yuzuru has injured his ankle, and it looks quite serious.” That was how I learned about it, and I immediately searched for footage online. Since it was an official practice session and not a competition, it wasn’t televised in Canada.

 

I gasped when I saw the video I found online. It was clear at a glance that this was a serious injury. I was in bed in Toronto and could do nothing. It was obvious from the start that this wasn’t an injury he could compete with, so there was no need to cause confusion by calling to discuss whether he should withdraw.

 

Regarding the initial treatment of his injury, a doctor and trainer were with him, so there was no need for me to interfere. I didn’t reach out to pry for information until he had undergone examinations at a hospital in Japan and reported back to me. I could imagine he was going through a great deal of emotional shock, but panicking would not change anything. So I decided to simply watch over Yuzuru's actions.

 

It was a complicated feeling. In one Olympic season, I had undergone gallbladder surgery, Javier had finished sixth, and Yuzuru had suffered a major injury. It was a terrible two weeks—an unimaginable series of setbacks.

 

I had complicated feelings. In an Olympic season, I underwent gallbladder removal surgery, Javier finished sixth, and Yuzuru suffered a serious injury. It was a terrible two weeks. An unforeseen series of disasters. But that doesn’t mean it was the end of the world. When things have gone this badly, the only way left is up. It is an Olympic season, so ups and downs are to be expected. I kept telling myself that the key to making a strong run toward the Olympics was my own mindset as a coach.

 

 

 

4.8  A Grand Prix Final without the two champions

 

Spoiler

The week after the NHK Trophy, I left for Grenoble to attend the French Grand Prix, where Javier was competing. Javier had been training in Spain, so we were supposed to meet there. Yuzuru returned to Toronto immediately after his hospital examinations, just as I was leaving.

 

At the French Cup, Javier regained his usual form and won the competition. Even so, with a sixth place and a first place in the Grand Prix Series, it was not possible for him to qualify for the Final. In the end, however, I told Tracy and Javier that this was an interesting turn of events for an Olympic season, and that it was, if anything, a fortunate outcome. In fact, Javier had originally intended to withdraw from the Grand Prix Final.

 

Before the Olympics in February, Javier still had the Spanish Championships in December and the European Championships in January ahead of him. As Spain’s only top skater, he had to compete. Withdrawing simply because it was an Olympic season would have caused problems with the Spanish Skating Federation. The European Championships were crucial for him, as he was aiming for a remarkable sixth consecutive title after a three-year gap, so he could not afford to take it lightly.

 

In other words, if he had qualified for the Grand Prix Final in December, it would have meant four consecutive major events: the Grand Prix Final, the Spanish Championships, the European Championships, and the Olympics. Considering Javier’s personality, that was an extremely demanding schedule. In order to perform well at the Olympics, he would have had to give up at least one of them. If he were to take a break, it would have been the Grand Prix Final.

 

Of course, if he had qualified for the Final and then withdrawn simply because there were too many competitions, it would likely have caused issues with the International Skating Union (ISU) and sponsors. Just as we were struggling with how to manage the season schedule, he failed to qualify for the Final. So Javier’s sixth place at the Cup of China turned out to be a fortunate outcome.

 

Yuzuru’s plan changed significantly. Originally, he was supposed to win the NHK Trophy, win the Grand Prix Final, and win the Japanese Championships. Then he would skip the Four Continents Championships and head straight to the Olympics. However, all those plans have been scrapped. I also ended up not going to the Grand Prix Final. It felt strange, having two of the world’s top skaters under my wing and yet not going to the Grand Prix Final.

 

However, for both of them, it became a time to reflect on their own feelings. Since they had already established themselves as world champions, there was no need to prove anything in the first half of the season. Whatever happened, they remained the leading contenders for Olympic gold and silver, and nothing changed the fact that they were the most important skaters.

 

Four years earlier, it would have been different. Throughout the season, Yuzuru was chasing Patrick Chan, hanging on to him, and eventually overtaking him. If he had been a younger skater without established results, then an injury in the first half of the season alone might have meant he would no longer be seen as an important contender. But now, neither Yuzuru nor Javier needed to worry about how others viewed them.

 

 

 

4.9  Yuzuru appeared on crutches

 

Spoiler

No one knew the full truth of how serious Yuzuru’s injury really was. Immediately after the injury at the NHK Trophy, he underwent an MRI at a hospital in Japan, but he returned to Toronto right away, and it was decided that his treatment would continue there.

 

Once it became clear that the injury was quite serious, Yuzuru first changed his plan. His top priority became, above all, “recovering,” and “following the doctors’ advice and focusing patiently on rehabilitation.” He set aside thoughts of training and competitions for the time being.

 

Yuzuru reframed the situation as something he needed to control himself. In other words, instead of “a problem has occurred, what should I do?”, he saw it as “a challenge has been given to me—something I must overcome and an opportunity to use my abilities.” I am the same in this respect: when dealing with something, I never use the word “problem,” only “challenge.” Simply changing the word makes the mind more positive and allows you to approach things more strongly.

 

I have always told those around Team Brian that there are no “problems” in our group. What we have are “challenges.” Yuzuru’s challenge was to recover—to focus entirely on how he could heal his foot. Understanding this, he chose not to stay in Japan to rest, but instead returned to Toronto first, determined to do everything possible in preparation for the Olympics.

 

From Yuzuru’s report, it was said that it would take about six weeks before he could return to training. Only his ankle was injured, not his knee. He was walking with a stick (cane) to avoid putting weight on his foot. With that, we decided to first discuss his future schedule again, and I visited his apartment. My office had also been flooded with mail from fans—letters and gifts expressing concern about his injury—filling the floor, so I brought them along as well.

 

While waiting in the lobby of his apartment, I was stunned when I saw him come around the corner of the elevator. I had not expected him to be using crutches. In his message, he had written “stick,” so I assumed he only needed a little support. But Yuzuru appeared with his ankle immobilized, unable to walk on his own, using crutches.

 

Seeing him like that, I couldn’t help but say, “Oh no… this is serious.” He sat down on a chair in the lobby and, more calmly than I expected, began to explain the situation. He talked about how badly the ankle was injured, how long he would be off the ice, and how he would continue with mental training and strength conditioning—everything he could do on his own.

 

But I noticed something different about him. He wasn’t his usual, strongly self-assured self. There was a hint of hesitation, even anxiety. Even for Yuzuru, carrying the mission of winning Olympic gold, having all his plans suddenly changed by injury would naturally make him more sensitive than usual.

 

So I said to him:

 

“You trained so much this summer, and in August you did that public practice session for the media. At that point, you were already ready for the Olympics, weren’t you? You trained from July into early August, and in just six weeks you were ready. You reached that level so quickly that I was actually a little worried. That means you can be fully prepared in six weeks. You got to the point where you could skate your program with music and land all your quads in just six weeks.”

 

In fact, when I watched that public practice session in August, I made a mental note. “He’s getting into shape very quickly—he can reach this level in six weeks. On the other hand, that also means his peak comes quickly, so if he does very hard training for two months before the Olympics, he might already be past his peak by the time of the competition. In that case, final preparation for the Olympics can wait until January.”

 

So I also told him:

 

“You did shows in the spring, took some rest, then rebuilt your programs and reached that level again in just six weeks—boom! That performance at the public practice was incredible. So right now it’s only November, and there are still three months until the Olympics. Even if you get back on the ice in January, you still have six weeks. With your body, once you return to training, you probably only need five or six weeks—maybe even five at most—to be ready for the Olympics.”

 

Yuzuru listened quietly, as if carving the number “six weeks” into his mind. So I continued:

 

“It was really good that you did such hard training in the summer, because that training is like money in the bank. You’ve already done it—you’ve deposited it.”

 

I felt he smiled slightly.

 

Then I asked him again, “What is your goal?” Without hesitation, he replied, “To win the Olympics.” I said, “Alright. If that’s your dream, then the chances of making it happen are very high. I don’t know if you can break records or set a world best, but you can win.”

 

Yuzuru looked at me with a serious gaze. I met his eyes and said:

 

“Let’s focus only on winning, and identify what we need to do to achieve that. If that’s the case, the quadruple lutz may not be necessary. In fact, it probably won’t be. Depending on how your ankle recovers, you might be able to do it—but even without the quadruple lutz, you can still win. You have six years of skating skills built with me, and excellent jumps and choreography. So you can win. If your pride allows it, then we leave out the quadruple lutz. That way, we aim directly for your goal.”

 

Then Yuzuru said, “But I have already done it once.” So I replied, “Yes, you have. You succeeded. OK, check mark. Let’s remove the quadruple lutz from your to-do list.”

 

He seemed visibly relieved—whether it was the confidence that he could still win, or simply reassurance that victory was still possible. In truth, his feelings were surely complex. But I had given him two key messages: “six weeks is enough,” and “no quadruple lutz.” That was all I could do. In fact, that was exactly what I needed to do.

 

 

 

4.10  Visualizing jumps and spins in the head

 

Spoiler