yuzurujenn Posted January 22, 2025 Posted January 22, 2025 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 arrived on crutches -Visualizing jumps and spins in his mind -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 Posted January 22, 2025 Author Posted January 22, 2025 *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 Posted April 5 Author Posted April 5 *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 Posted yesterday at 03:27 AM Author Posted yesterday at 03:27 AM *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 Posted 22 hours ago Author Posted 22 hours ago *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 arrived on crutches Spoiler No one truly knew how serious Yuzuru’s injury was. Immediately after the injury at the NHK Trophy, Yuzuru went to a hospital in Japan for an MRI, but he quickly returned to Toronto, where he would receive treatment. Once it became clear that the injury was quite serious, Yuzuru first changed his plan. His top priority became, above all, “recovery” and “following the doctors’ advice and patiently undergoing treatment.” He put thoughts of training and competition out of his mind for the time being. Yuzuru reframed the situation as something he needed to control himself. Instead of thinking, “A problem has arisen, what should I do?”, he saw it as “a challenge to overcome, a test in which he could demonstrate his abilities.” I feel the same way. When I deal with something, I don’t use the word “problem”; I use the word “challenge.” Just that alone makes you feel more positive and allows you to approach things with more confidence and strength. I have always told those around me that there are no “problems” in Team Brian—only “challenges.” Yuzuru’s challenge was to recover, focusing all his energy on healing his foot and figuring out how to do so. Understanding that task, he chose not to stay in Japan to rest, but instead returned to Toronto first to do everything he possibly could in preparation for the Olympics. According to Yuzuru’s report, it would take about six weeks before he could return to training. Only his ankle was injured; his knee was fine. He was using a stick (cane) to walk so as not to put weight on his foot. With that in mind, we decided to discuss his future schedule again, so I visited his apartment. My office had also been receiving a large amount of mail from Yuzuru’s fans. Concerned about his injury, they had sent many letters and gifts, which were covering the floor of my office, so I brought them with me when I went to see him. I was stunned when Yuzuru appeared in the apartment lobby, coming around the corner from the elevator. I hadn’t expected him to be using crutches. His email had mentioned a cane, so I thought he just needed a little support. But Yuzuru had his ankle immobilized, couldn’t walk on his own, and arrived on crutches. Seeing him like that, I involuntarily blurted out, “Oh my God… this is serious.” Yuzuru sat down in a chair in the lobby and, more calmly than I had expected, talked about what would come next. He spoke about how bad his ankle was, how long he would likely be unable to practice on the ice, and how he would continue doing whatever preparation he could, such as mental and strength training. However, I noticed that Yuzuru wasn’t his usual confident self. He seemed slightly frightened of something, or perhaps simply anxious. Even for Yuzuru, carrying the burden of winning the Olympics while having all his plans completely changed by injury, it was only natural that he would be more nervous 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 were ready so quickly that I was actually a little worried. In other words, Yuzuru, 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, during the public practice session in August, I watched him and was making mental notes. “He’s getting into shape so quickly. Yuzuru can reach this level in six weeks. On the other hand, that also means his peak comes quickly, so if he does two months of hard training before the Olympics, there’s a chance he might already be past his peak by the time of the competition. In that case, final adjustments for the Olympics can wait until January.” So I also told him: “You did shows in the spring, took some time off, then rebuilt your programs—and after that, boom, in just six weeks! 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, that still gives you six weeks. With your body, once you return to the rink and start training again, you’ll probably be ready in about five to six weeks, maybe even five weeks at most, so you’ll make it in time for the Olympics.” Yuzuru listened quietly to my words. He seemed to be taking the words “six weeks” to heart. 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. YYou’ve already done the necessary training and deposited it all in the bank.” I felt like Yuzuru smiled slightly. So I asked him again, “What is your goal?” He immediately replied, “To win the Olympics.” I said, “Okay, if that’s your dream, then the chances of achieving it are very high. I don’t know if you can break records. I don’t know if you can achieve a world-record score. But you can win.” Yuzuru looked back at me with a serious gaze. I met his gaze and spoke just as seriously. “Let’s focus solely on winning and figure out what you need to do to win. That means the quadruple Lutz might be out. No—actually, the quadruple Lutz is definitely out. Depending on how your ankle recovers, you might be able to do it. But even without the quadruple Lutz, you can win. You have the skating skills you’ve developed over the past six years, as well as excellent jumps and choreography. So you can win. If your pride allows it, then we leave out the quadruple Lutz. That way, you can aim for your goal.” Then Yuzuru said, “I’ve already done it once.” So I said, “Ah yes, you have indeed done it once. You succeeded. OK. Check mark. Now let’s remove the quadruple Lutz from your to-do list.” Yuzuru looked quite relieved. Was it because he had gained the confidence that he could probably win, or because he felt reassured that he still had a chance of winning? In truth, he was probably feeling a complex mix of emotions. But I gave him two key messages: “six weeks to make it” and “no quadruple Lutz.” That was all I could do. In fact, that was all I needed to do. 4.10 Visualizing jumps and spins in his mind Spoiler Two weeks later, Tracy and I went to visit Yuzuru’s apartment together. To our surprise, Yuzuru had already started doing everything he possibly could for the Olympics. He was back to his usual confident and motivated self. According to Yuzuru, he had been doing a lot of “visualization,” which means practicing by watching videos and doing mental imagery training. He would repeatedly watch his past performances and then internalize those movements in his body. He had always done this kind of training extensively, so it was very effective in helping him maintain the feeling of his jumps. While diligently undergoing treatment, he also created and followed his own plans for off-ice training, focusing on all areas except the injured part of his body. One thing I must make clear here is that the treatment, recovery, and strategic plans for the Olympics were all created by Yuzuru, not me. Yuzuru created them himself, based on the advice of doctors and trainers. Overcoming the extremely difficult path to the Olympics was not my achievement. After his injury, Yuzuru made every possible plan and put them into action, determined to compete in the Olympics. Through this process of self-reflection, he grew stronger both physically and mentally. Seeing Yuzuru's positive attitude, we also became more optimistic and discussed our plan leading up to the Olympics. The earliest he could return to on-ice practice was December. Until then, he wanted to stay away from the Cricket Club and focus on the care and training he had decided on himself. Since I had left his treatment to his doctor and trainer, I naturally said “OK” to his plan. When I asked about the extent of the injury, he said it was concentrated in his right ankle. The fact that there was no pain in his knee was a small consolation. If his knee had also been injured, he likely would not have made it to the Olympics. November and December passed without Yuzuru. However, he kept in constant touch, updating me on the progress of his injury, what kind of training he was doing, and what the doctor was saying. He had even given up his beloved video games, and there was no idle time at all; he was truly doing visualization training 24/7. From the outside, he might have looked as if he were simply standing or sitting still, but in reality he was imagining jumps and spins in his mind, doing visualization training so his body would not forget them. Yuzuru spent those two months using his time very intelligently. Watching him grow into a more mature young man like this was very reassuring. Every time I opened an email from him, I felt like I was seeing a ray of hope for the Olympics.
yuzurujenn Posted 5 hours ago Author Posted 5 hours ago *Machine translation, inaccuracies exist. Please do not reply in this thread.* 4.11 Return to Practice Spoiler It was in the middle of December that Yuzuru appeared at the Cricket Club again. It happened to be during the December Spanish Championships, on a day when Javier was away. Yuzuru stepped onto the ice and tried skating slowly, but felt pain, and then didn’t return to rink practice for another two weeks. He must have felt impatient, but he followed the advice of his doctor and trainer and stopped practicing. In the first week of January 2018, he returned to the rink once more. He began by warming up and working through his step sequence. He was also able to do the usual spins. After that, he carefully attempted single jumps, then tried doubles as well. Little by little, he was making progress. He was especially cautious with jumps. Since every jump lands on the right foot, even the slightest awkward landing could injure his right ankle again. If the injury recurred at this stage, there would realistically be no making it to the Olympics. So he landed cautiously, as though trying not to detonate the hidden bomb inside his right ankle. Attempting triple or quadruple jumps was out of the question. Taking a slow and deliberate approach, Yuzuru seemed to be checking the movement of every single muscle in his body. He was meticulously examining how much muscle strength he had lost, how much he had managed to maintain, and what kinds of movement caused pain in his ankle. It was the kind of practice where he would test hundreds of movements, carefully taking note of each one. I had boldly declared that six weeks would be enough, but when I saw Yuzuru unable even to properly land double jumps, I imagined the grueling six weeks ahead and involuntarily shuddered. I remember saying to Tracy, “Ah… unbelievable. How is Yuzuru going to make his way through such a difficult road?” Watching Yuzuru practice like that, thoughts of winning or losing never even crossed my mind at the time. All I could sense was his determination to keep moving forward and his desire to make it to the Olympics. I wasn’t even thinking about whether he would recover enough to compete again. We weren’t even at that stage yet. The question was whether Yuzuru could persevere through such a daunting rehabilitation process without losing heart. It was a battle of mental strength. I think the environment around Yuzuru must also have been difficult for him. Javier had begun training in excellent form. With the European Championships ahead, he was in peak physical condition and training hard. Naturally, he was landing quad jumps day after day. For Yuzuru, those must have been painful, frustrating days. He too wanted to jump quads and train to his limits, just like Javier. As a coach, I was in a difficult position as well. I had to keep Javier training according to the plan. Supporting him, encouraging him, and helping him maintain his motivation was my job as his coach. At the same time, I had to closely observe Yuzuru. Yuzuru was in rehabilitation and had set his own plan, but seeing Javier made him anxious, and he wanted to train beyond his plan and start jumping more. But he had to stick to the limits. It was important to keep a close eye on Yuzuru and properly acknowledge his successes at this stage, so that if I looked away for even a moment, he wouldn’t suddenly attempt a quad jump. Yuzuru skated only one session a day. He could not take on any more strain than that. Instead, each day he had a clear understanding of what he needed to do and approached his practice with full concentration. Whether it was a day to try the triple Axel or to work on a specific part of his program, he always understood the challenges he needed to complete and had a solid plan in mind. It was difficult for me. I couldn’t tell how much pain he was in. I didn’t know whether Yuzuru finished each practice session without pain. He would say “OK,” but only he knew how “OK” that really was. So even the content of his on-ice practice was decided by Yuzuru in consultation with his doctor and trainer. I couldn’t decide the intensity myself, such as how many jumps to do or how many program run-throughs, because it might have worsened the injury. I felt powerless. I was standing back and letting Yuzuru do what he needed to do. Of course, there was no point in complaining. I supported him according to the plan he had decided on. We were always by Yuzuru’s side. 4.12 Still in rehabilitation on the day of Team Event competition Spoiler In January 2018, Javier Fernández had won his sixth consecutive European Championships and was heading into the Olympics in strong form. Gabrielle Daleman (Canada) was also in excellent condition, having won the Canadian Championships and going into the Olympics as Canada’s top skater. Junhwan was also spending his days in excitement ahead of the Olympics in his home country. The Cricket Club was brimming with wonderful energy. Yuzuru wanted to throw himself into that energy and become part of its flow, but he couldn’t. Even in late January, he still had not reached the stage where he could practice quadruple jumps. So the more energy there was around him, the harsher it was for Yuzuru. For the other skaters as well, it was not easy. The Yuzuru who usually led everyone in the team and served as a model was not able to land quads, which naturally made things a little difficult. It is when the driven Yuzuru and the cheerful Javier compete with each other that the usual synergy of the Cricket Club emerges. But that is the Olympics. In a battle that comes once every four years, it is not only about ability, but also about the ups and downs and dramas of life. So each athlete has to think about themselves. Javier thinks about Javier, Gabrielle about Gabrielle, Junhwan about Junhwan. And of course, Yuzuru about Yuzuru. Everyone was fighting desperately. With just two weeks to go until the Olympic men’s singles competition, Yuzuru began practicing the triple Axel. He then regained his jumps one after another, including the quadruple toe loop and the quadruple Salchow. What was most remarkable was not that he “somehow managed to land them again after a long time,” but that he landed high-quality quadruple jumps, as if he had been practicing them every day. It was the result of his patience and a slow, steady rehabilitation process. Yuzuru recovered slowly but surely, and improved significantly in the four weeks since returning to the ice. For all of us, it was like seeing a single ray of light. However, every day was still a “challenge.” It did not feel at all like we were two weeks away from a competition. While his condition had improved considerably, he was still not at his best. Every day, every minute, was precious to us. In February, I spoke with Yuzuru again about the team event. Of course, from our point of view there was no option for him to compete, but we needed to confirm the peaking process. The team event was February 9–12, and the men’s singles were February 16–17. Four years earlier, he had used the team event as a chance to experience the Olympic atmosphere and prepare. But this time, we needed every minute of preparation we could get. Whether he would make it in time for February 16 was truly a close call. “Yuzuru, you need time. Even the days of the team event are still time for you to continue your rehabilitation. Of course, you won’t compete in the team event, and while everyone is competing there, you’ll stay in Toronto and continue your rehab as usual. We’ll leave for the Olympics after that.” Yuzuru felt the same way. He had only just started practicing quadruple jumps. He had not even begun practicing jumps to music yet. He could not go to the Olympics in such a condition. I had to head to PyeongChang soon, because Gabrielle Daleman and Junhwan were competing in the team event. I still hadn’t seen Yuzuru complete a program with quadruple jumps included. If I were asked whether he would make it in time, honestly, under normal circumstances he would not. But Yuzuru is different from everyone else. He is Yuzuru, unlike anyone else on this earth. I believed in miracles. And so I left for the PyeongChang Olympics, leaving Yuzuru and Javier behind. 4.13 The energy that only Yuzuru has Spoiler Having arrived at the PyeongChang Olympic venue a little ahead of the others, I was able to get a real sense of the Olympic atmosphere through the team event. Since many top men’s skaters such as Shoma Uno and Nathan Chen were competing in this team event, I could observe the overall “flow” of the Olympics from an objective standpoint. I could see things like who had come into form early, who was getting nervous in the Olympic setting, and who was holding back their energy for the main event. As for Yuzuru and Javier, I received frequent phone calls from Tracy, who was still in Toronto, keeping me updated. Each day, I heard that Yuzuru’s injury was healing rapidly and that he was regaining his form. His recovery was astonishingly fast, like a newborn baby growing and learning something new each day. At that point, I felt that Yuzuru and Javier had an equal chance. Since the start of the season, the landscape of men’s figure skating had gone through many changes, but I still believed that only these two had a real shot at winning the Olympics, and that their chances were evenly matched. By not competing in the Grand Prix Final, Javier had ample time to train, and he endured tough sessions leading up to February. After peaking at the European Championships, he pushed his body in training until he was completely exhausted, then took a period of rest. As a result, he was in a condition where his technique and stamina were fully in place, while fatigue had also been cleared. He was carefully adjusting his preparation so that he would peak at the men’s singles competition. Meanwhile, Yuzuru was facing his own body and mind, pushing forward single-mindedly and with complete focus toward victory. If it had been Javier who got injured, things wouldn’t have worked out this way. It takes him longer to get into shape than Yuzuru, and he’s the type who improves little by little, with ups and downs. But Yuzuru, once he decides to do something, pushes forward without looking back, and then explodes with energy. I don’t know anyone else who can motivate themselves and move forward with such incredible energy as Yuzuru. He’s the only one on this planet. Even after suffering such an injury in November, he had already begun regaining strength at a superhuman speed and had started attempting quadruple jumps. Only Yuzuru could do things this way. Having spent six years with him, I knew Yuzuru was completely different from other skaters, someone who defied even conventional theory. That’s why, even if he wasn’t yet including quadruple jumps in his run-through practices at that point, I never underestimated him. I'm sure his rivals thought, "Yuzuru hasn't been able to practice much since his injury. This is our chance." But we shouldn't underestimate Yuzuru. The competition isn't over yet. In fact, we should be afraid of what kind of explosive performance Yuzuru might unleash. The best thing I could do was simply sit quietly and entrust everything to Yuzuru. Over these six years, I had already taught him the skating and jumping techniques I could, and I had analyzed his pattern of needing about six weeks to peak. He had developed strong mental control when it came to focusing in competition. However, I had no idea what kind of drama would unfold, or what result awaited in the end. It felt like exploring uncharted territory, navigating a route without a map, searching for new frontiers. My experience as a skater and as a coach was of no use. It was a realm beyond my control. Since Yuzuru was undergoing treatment, I couldn’t support him from the technical side of training or practice. As a coach, all I could do was support him emotionally. What Yuzuru needed was momentum. Once he gets going, he just keeps moving forward. Other skaters would have ups and downs, with tired days and rest days even after arriving at the venue, but for Yuzuru, there was no need to stop, nor any time to do so. In that sense, the men’s singles schedule suited Yuzuru well. The short program and free skate were held on two consecutive days. If there had been a rest day in between, as in the women’s event, his focus might have wavered. But in the men’s event, it was all over two straight days, and since the competitions were held during the day, there was no long waiting time after morning practice. From the moment the short program began, he stayed in a heightened state of excitement for two days straight, and the Olympics were over in what felt like no time at all. 4.14 The first step is compulsory figures Spoiler On the evening of February 11, after the second day of the team event, Yuzuru and Javier arrived in Korea. Surrounded by more than a hundred members of the press, Yuzuru held a press conference at Incheon Airport before traveling to Gangneung, where the Olympic venues were located. The following evening, at the practice rink beneath the Gangneung Ice Arena, Yuzuru was set to have his first practice of the PyeongChang Olympics. At last, he would be skating in front of the media for the first time in 95 days. Since his injury in November, he had not appeared in public, and reporters from all over the world gathered at the venue, surrounding the rink in 360 degrees. Everyone was watching with bated breath: would he attempt a triple Axel? Had he recovered enough to land quadruple jumps? Before practice, I asked him, “What kind of practice are you going to do?” Yuzuru replied, “Not much practice.” Since I had left everything about practice entirely to him, I simply said, “Okay.” When Yuzuru stepped onto the practice rink, he actually began by skating compulsory figures. It’s the most basic form of skating, tracing figure eights on the ice. This was a surprise to me. At the Cricket Club, we sometimes do it as a way of revisiting the basics, and when the ice feels particularly good and fresh, I myself also go out and skate compulsory figures. Then Yuzuru would come over and say, “Try doing figures like this,” tracing patterns on the ice. He is one of those skaters who enjoys compulsory figures. However, compulsory figures are a rather dull practice that has now all but disappeared from competition. It doesn’t involve large movements of the body like skating does. Instead, it is a practice of holding a steady position while tracing figure eights. Reporters from all over the world photographed Yuzuru as he performed this simple exercise, just to let his body become accustomed to the ice. After doing compulsory figures for just under ten minutes, he skated a bit. He performed several single jumps, and after landing just one triple Axel, he showed a satisfied smile. Then, just 15 minutes after the start of practice, he was off the ice. It was a very good plan. If it had been three or four years ago, I think Yuzuru would have felt the need to prove his abilities and would have attempted every jump. He would have tried to prove to the press that he could do these jumps, that he was fine. But Yuzuru is an adult now. He has become a very intelligent and mature athlete. He understood that he no longer needed to prove anything. Yuzuru was focusing solely on the short program and free skate, doing mental image training so that he could deliver his best performance only in those two programs. He did not waste any energy. He did not try to prove anything at unnecessary moments. He was aiming to devote all his power to those 2 minutes 50 seconds and four and a half minutes. He was very positive. In reality, there was pain in his right ankle, and he was also taking painkillers. But Yuzuru never showed anything to anyone—neither to the other skaters nor to the media. He did not reveal how difficult training had been since January, nor that his right ankle was still in pain, nor that he had been compensating for it in practice, nor that he still could not skate his program perfectly. He was incredibly calm, and it felt like it was the first time I had seen him approach a competition with such composure. And within Team Brian, a very warm sense of camaraderie had formed. It was a warm atmosphere, like a family enjoying a holiday at the skating rink. Yuzuru came over to the boards, talked, and laughed. He smiled brightly, and seeing that smile, I couldn’t help but say to Tracy, “It’s so nice to see Yuzuru like that.” For Yuzuru, behaving in such a positive way was probably the only way for him to approach the Olympics. Objectively speaking, it was a very difficult situation. Yuzuru had to smile and be happy with everyone on Team Brian in order to stay positive. Even if those smiles were forced, that was okay. Because seeing Yuzuru smile made me, Tracy, and Javier smile too, which in turn made Yuzuru smile as well. It was now just four days until the men’s short program. 4.15 The magma of the heart Spoiler For the three days after Yuzuru arrived at the Olympic venue, I constantly felt the other coaches’ eyes on him. Everyone was essentially “scouting” Yuzuru. What I found interesting was that the happier and more cheerful Yuzuru seemed, the more those around him began to speculate. Yuzuru acted almost deliberately energetic, never once favoring his injured leg or so much as wincing in pain. Paradoxically, this only made the other coaches and the media wonder, “Has Yuzuru’s injury healed? If so, when will he start practicing quadruple jumps?” As for Yuzuru’s training plan, I had left it up to him, but the three things we confirmed in advance were the painkillers, his jump layout for the competition, and the amount of practice at the venue. Because he still had pain in his right ankle, Yuzuru consulted me, saying, “I’m taking painkillers, and I’ll have to keep taking them during the Olympics as well.” So we confirmed together, “They must be properly prescribed by a doctor and comply with the World Anti-Doping Code. Let’s make absolutely sure there are no mistakes.” There are many different kinds of painkillers, and some traditional or folk remedies, such as herbal medicines, may contain prohibited substances. Even if the athlete has no intention of doping, there are cases where a diuretic or other banned ingredient is mixed in, leading to a violation. We could not allow Yuzuru to be caught up in such a tragedy, so I instructed that he should only use medication prescribed by a doctor, and that it should also be declared to Japan’s anti-doping authorities. In fact, I did not ask whether the medication was a painkiller, an anti-inflammatory, or an antibiotic. Yuzuru is someone whose body is highly sensitive to medication, so drug treatment requires caution. He also does not like strong medications prescribed by doctors. Even so, since he wanted to continue using it right up to the day of the competition, he must have been in considerable pain. As for the specific prescription and dosage, I trusted the judgment of both the doctor and Yuzuru. Regarding the jump layout for the competition, since he began attempting quadruple jumps at the end of January, we had considered various patterns and practiced many different combinations. However, our agreement was to “perform only the jumps he could land successfully.” This was a promise we made when I visited Yuzuru at his apartment shortly after his injury. During training in Toronto, he had even successfully landed the quadruple loop in the week before departure. However, he had not yet landed it within a full program. I felt that including the quadruple loop in competition was not a good idea. But on the 15th, the final day of official practice, and the day before the short program, Yuzuru practiced the quadruple loop at the underground practice rink. And he landed one beautifully. Yuzuru is a smart athlete, so there was no need to worry that he would suddenly change his plan and try to include the quadruple loop in the competition on his own. He probably just wanted to confirm for himself that his body had recovered enough to perform the quadruple loop. We had not changed our competition strategy; at least for the short program, it remained “quadruple toe loop, quadruple Salchow, and triple Axel.” Yuzuru was thinking the same way. So when I saw him land the quadruple loop, there was no need to discuss strategy any further. It was enough to simply say, “That was a good quadruple loop.” The most notable aspect of the strategy was the training volume. Even while in Toronto, Yuzuru suggested limiting both the amount and content of practice at the Olympic venue, and I agreed. Training at the Gangneung Ice Arena was kept extremely simple. He arrived on the 11th, and on the 12th he only attempted a single triple Axel at the underground practice rink. In his first session on the main rink on the 13th, he successfully landed both the quadruple toe loop and the quadruple Salchow. However, the number of attempts was kept quite low, and he did not push himself too hard. The same was true on the 14th. The quadruple loop was attempted only once, on the day before the short program. During training in Toronto, after he began attempting quadruple jumps at the end of January, he practiced quadruple toe loops and quadruple Salchows repeatedly almost every day, and also attempted the quadruple loop. However, once we arrived at the Olympic venue, the content was made very simple. For Yuzuru, it was an amount that could hardly be considered full-scale training. Seeing Yuzuru reduce his training volume like this and keep his cards close to his chest, I couldn’t help but wonder what the other skaters’ coaches were thinking. He showed no signs of pain, yet he hardly did any jumps. Was his injury healed or not? Which was it? But the purpose of this “restriction” was not to hide anything. For Yuzuru, the main reason for limiting his training was to “store up” energy—energy for the competition. Yuzuru held back his desire to jump and his desire to show everyone his jumps, instead storing up that energy. He carefully decided on the training elements he needed to confirm before the competition, and only completed the bare minimum number of attempts. For four days, from the 12th to the 15th, he kept his training volume low, building up the magma within him that he would unleash in the short program and free skate.
yuzurujenn Posted 1 hour ago Author Posted 1 hour ago *Machine translation, inaccuracies exist. Please do not reply in this thread.* 4.16 What Happened During the Official Practice the Day Before the Short Program Spoiler 4.17 It was a real miracle Spoiler 4.18 Yuzuru and Javier as I had always envisioned Spoiler 4.19 Yuzuru needed the Olympics The calm heart of Javier Spoiler 4.20 The calm heart of Javier Spoiler
Recommended Posts
Create an account or sign in to comment
You need to be a member in order to leave a comment
Create an account
Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!
Register a new accountSign in
Already have an account? Sign in here.
Sign In Now