****Asahi Webronza was an online opinion and analysis platform run by Japan’s Asahi Shimbun newspaper. It published expert commentary, essays, interviews, and analysis on topics including politics, economics, society, sports, science, culture, and entertainment.

Compilation of the column series about Sochi Olympics by a figure skating journalist.

For the previous column covering 2012-2013 events, please check the thread below:

https://planethanyu.com/topic/4926-2012-2013-asahi-webronza-yuzuru-hanyu-beyond-the-dream/

Info:

https://web.archive.org/web/20190512130220/https://webronza.asahi.com/authors/2014111800001.html?page=5&

https://bsima.wiki.fc2.com/wiki/%E3%82%BD%E3%83%81%E3%82%AA%E3%83%AA%E3%83%B3%E3%83%94%E3%83%83%E3%82%AF%EF%BC%91

Source: https://bsima.wiki.fc2.com/wiki/%E3%82%BD%E3%83%81%E3%82%AA%E3%83%AA%E3%83%B3%E3%83%94%E3%83%83%E3%82%AF%EF%BC%91

2014.02.08

Sochi Olympics Report 1 - A Perfect Team Event. Did Champion Plushenko Ignite a Fire in Yuzuru Hanyu?

Before the figure skating team event began, the atmosphere at Iceberg, the competition venue, was far from what you would call “Olympic!”

The venue itself was beautifully decorated, with light blue as its dominant color, looking considerably more stylish than it had when the Grand Prix Final was held there a little over a year earlier. It wasn't flashy, nor did it strongly emphasize the venue's own character, but it seemed like the kind of rink that would give the skaters positive energy.

The people gathered there, however, including spectators, competition officials, volunteers, and journalists, still seemed unaccustomed to the Olympic atmosphere. The unique excitement of the Olympics, radiating from everyone, was somehow missing. The feeling of “We've waited so long for this! It's finally starting! Who's going to win?” just wasn't there yet.

It was still before the opening ceremony, of course, and the event itself was a new discipline that nobody quite knew what to expect from: the team event. Since nobody knew what place it would occupy in the overall Olympic picture until they had actually seen it in action, the mood seemed to be something along the lines of, “But this is the Olympics, after all, isn't it...?”

The attendance was disappointing to begin with. The venue, with a capacity of 14,000, was by no means particularly large. Although the second-tier seats were almost full, perhaps a third of the first-tier seats were empty. The audience was almost entirely Russian, and the large contingents of American and Canadian supporters who always turned up for major figure skating competitions were nowhere to be seen. For figure skating, supposedly one of the most popular events at the Winter Olympics, this was quite a surprise...

“Foreign spectators will probably flock here for the individual men's and women's events. If they came to watch the team event as well, their stay would become far too long, so it seems many have decided to give it a miss. That's why most of the people who bought tickets for today's event are local Russians. The first-tier seats are prohibitively expensive, so it seems almost everyone opted for the second tier instead.”

That was the explanation offered by someone from an American travel agency.

Certainly, the section allocated to Japanese spectators also had a noticeable number of empty seats, which made the atmosphere feel a little subdued. At figure skating competitions, the arena can still feel as though it hasn't “warmed up” while the lower-ranked skaters are performing. But today, it felt as though the Olympics themselves hadn't “warmed up” yet...

The competition also got off to an uneventful start, with the performances of male skaters from countries such as Great Britain and Ukraine. “This doesn't feel like the Olympics at all. It's not much different from an ordinary competition, is it?” At the beginning of the event, that was probably what everyone was thinking.

But there was one man who single-handedly transformed the atmosphere into something unmistakably Olympic.

Needless to say, it was Russia's men's representative, Evgeni Plushenko. Even when he appeared for the six-minute warm-up, the spectators erupted with delight, and chants of “Russia!” broke out. But when it came time for his actual performance, something different happened.

As people sensed something about the aura he carried with him, they were drawn in and swept up in the excitement. He maintained the tension beautifully while exuding the effortless poise of a champion. In response to the deafening cheers, he gestured as though thumping his chest, as if to say, “Leave it to me!”

He appeared at Iceberg, where there had been almost no sense of the Olympics at all, and, through his presence alone, instantly transformed the place into a venue charged with the atmosphere of a momentous contest that would determine the medals...

Plushenko was accustomed to being the main character, whether at the Olympics or the World Championships. But this was the first time I had witnessed the extent of his power to single-handedly transform the atmosphere into something truly Olympic! It was precisely because this was the team event, with its uncertain atmosphere, rather than the individual competition, where the audience would already be buzzing with excitement, that we could witness the power of Plushenko's very presence.

“Now that we've seen this, I think he was the one who deserved to be chosen for this Olympic festival. No other skater could possibly do something like this.”

Someone murmured those words, almost in awe.

The twists and turns of the Russian selection process had probably affected Plushenko himself as well. There had been strong voices, not only in Russia but also abroad, arguing that younger skaters deserved to be selected instead, such as Maxim Kovtun, who had won the Russian Championships, and Sergei Voronov, who had finished ahead of Kovtun at the European Championships.

Whether or not he felt the pressure of having to deliver results here after being selected, Plushenko gave off an aura that seemed to declare, “Who else but me belongs here?” And what he delivered was an astonishing short program that began with an effortlessly landed quadruple jump!

He got off to a confident start, sent the audience into an uproar with a blown kiss toward the stands, and whipped the crowd into a frenzy with his performance. It was a roaring two minutes and forty seconds, with the engine running at full throttle from the very beginning. He was in his 30s, yet he looked far younger and more energetic than he had in the ice shows I had seen him perform in recent years.

The spectators' chants were no longer “Russia!” They had become “Zhenya! Zhenya!” (Evgeni's nickname). A swirling chorus of voices called out the name of one individual, something people in this country rarely did. By this point, everyone was so overwhelmed that they could not help thinking: Was the Sochi Olympics, after all, Plushenko's Olympics?

With so few foreign spectators in attendance that day, the competition was an unusually hostile environment for skaters from countries other than Russia. The “skating fans” who would normally applaud skaters from every country warmly, regardless of their performances, had yet to arrive. The audience was particularly cold toward the male skaters who were Plushenko's rivals. No matter how well they performed, the crowd simply did not erupt with anything like the enthusiasm it had shown for its own hero.

The Canadian Patrick Chan was probably the one who felt that hostility most acutely. He put too much power into his troublesome triple Axel and stepped out of the landing, which was a costly mistake. But even more striking were the quality of his skating, his speed, and, above all, the way he seemed unable to immerse himself in the music. Every aspect of Patrick's usual strengths seemed to have disappeared into the shadows. I had never seen him give a performance like this. He seemed to have been swallowed up not so much by the Olympic atmosphere itself as by the “Olympics that Plushenko had created.”

So how did our own Japanese representative fare?

Yuzuru Hanyu was the first skater to compete for the Japanese team. Before the event, I had felt that the team competition was extremely important for him.

Regardless of whether they won a medal, experiencing the Olympics through the team event would mean a great deal to young skaters making their first Olympic appearance. Whether things went well or badly, once the team event was over, they would be freed from the burden of being “first-time Olympians.”

Furthermore, I had hoped that if things went well for him here, he might get carried away in the best possible way, thinking, “Hey, I can do this!” and “The Olympics aren't so scary after all!” Knowing him, he might ride that momentum straight into the individual competition.

But the man standing in his way today was not Chan, his rival over the past few years. It was Plushenko, along with the Olympic atmosphere he had created and the Russian spectators who had embraced it.

The venue fell completely silent, and the atmosphere was anything but welcoming toward Hanyu. He had been thrown into a strange environment charged with the sentiment, “‘If we can beat this guy, then Zhenya will be number one!” Could he really pull it off in a place like this…?

Terrifyingly enough, he could. That's Yuzuru Hanyu.

His expression was tense, but his movements were sharp. He slipped smoothly into the world of his familiar “Parisienne Walkways.” His light, soaring quadruple jump and triple Axel were both magnificent, but what was truly remarkable was how composed he remained in a competition like this. Right down to his camel spin, donut spin, and even the simplest movements, he executed everything with polished, refined control.

It was his first Olympic performance, and he had shown everything he was capable of at that moment, with an ease that was almost startling. He had made it look effortless, yet he had delivered with complete certainty.

All I could do was praise him wholeheartedly: “Well done!”

This was the first team event in Olympic history, and at just 19, he had been entrusted with the enormous responsibility of leading the way for his team. And he had done so in a completely hostile environment! His mission was accomplished, almost perfectly.

Normally, when looking at a 19-year-old, I might have felt like patting him on the head. But somehow, that no longer seemed appropriate for him. Perhaps there had never been any need to worry about this young man in the first place.

“The closer I get to a major competition, the happier I become, until I can't stop laughing.”

Before his senior debut, when he was just 15, he had said those words so innocently. Now, they sounded almost devilish.

He was a man who loved competition, and the bigger the stage and the greater the pressure, the stronger he became, to a maddening degree.

Could it be that Plushenko himself, along with the Russian spectators, had been nothing more than the fuel that ignited Hanyu's fire?

Source: https://bsima.wiki.fc2.com/wiki/%E3%82%BD%E3%83%81%E3%82%AA%E3%83%AA%E3%83%B3%E3%83%94%E3%83%83%E3%82%AF%EF%BC%92

2014.02.10

Sochi Olympics Report 2 - What Did Yuzuru Hanyu Gain from His Showdown with Plushenko? The Unexpected Impact of the Team Event

Even so, Yuzuru Hanyu and Evgeni Plushenko (Russia). 19 years old and 31 years old. Their showdowns in both the team and individual competitions looked set to become part of figure skating history.

As you know, watching Plushenko face off against Alexei Yagudin (Russia) at the Salt Lake City Olympics intensified Hanyu’s longing to compete in the Olympics. There is no shortage of anecdotes about him: how he copied Plushenko’s hairstyle as a child and was nicknamed “Yuzu-shenko,” and how, after winning a local competition, he would proudly hold up his trophy toward the audience, just as Plushenko did.

Then, in 2010, Hanyu became the World Junior champion, and he had more opportunities to meet his idol at ice shows.

“During practice, Plushenko-san taught me the Biellmann spin!”

“He even told me, ‘Beat me!’”

“When he was teaching me all sorts of things, his wife started getting angry. She said, ‘Don’t teach that kid anything else!’ (laughs)”

Whenever I heard him recount these stories so excitedly, I never imagined that the two would face each other for the first time at the Olympics, in this way. For two people more than ten years apart in age to meet on the same competitive stage, the older one must remain at the top level for an exceptionally long time, while the younger one must develop faster than anyone else and rise to that same stage.

Two superstars from different generations had both overcome these extraordinary challenges, and their first showdown finally took place in the first-ever team event in Olympic history. Who could have predicted such a dramatic turn of events from the sight of a boy excitedly exclaiming, “He even taught me the Biellmann!”?

In their first head-to-head encounter, in the team event, Hanyu outscored his idol with the depth, smoothness, and speed of his skating, which he had developed over the past few years, as well as elements meticulously constructed to earn high scores under the current judging system.

I had the same impression at the Vancouver Olympics four years earlier, but because Plushenko competes less frequently, he seems to fall a little short when it comes to fine-tuning the details of his strategy for maximizing his score.

However, Hanyu himself must understand that figure skating is about more than that. Although he won on points, Plushenko was clearly superior to him in terms of presence, aura, and the magnetic ability to captivate the audience. It was not simply because they were performing in front of a Russian audience. Even if the two had performed today’s routines at an ice show in Japan, Plushenko would probably have received more applause.

Hanyu himself is well aware of the importance of qualities that do not show up in the element scores. When he performed in ice shows alongside not only Plushenko but also other legendary stars such as Philippe Candeloro (France), he was deeply moved, yet also frustrated.

“They really are different. They only do a double Axel for their jumps, but watching them makes me want to cry...”

He probably felt the same way this time. Although he had won the contest, Plushenko had shown him something he himself still lacked. And he must have been deeply frustrated by that.

So, in their next encounter, the men’s individual event on February 14 and 15, beginning with the short program, how will Hanyu process what he gained from their first showdown and approach the rematch? I find myself looking forward to seeing Yuzuru Hanyu take to the ice again even more than before.

The team event had a greater impact on Hanyu than anyone might have expected. And it seems that this new Olympic discipline, the figure skating team event, may have an unexpected influence on these Games as a whole, not just on Hanyu. Normally, figure skating is all about the individual competition, with a short program and a free skate determining the outcome. The athletes may only now be beginning to appreciate how unusual it is to have a team competition before the individual event.

The atmosphere in the arena had yet to catch fire. Then, all of a sudden, familiar faces appeared in abundance, including world champions such as Mao Asada, Brian Joubert (France), and Davis and White (USA), cheering on the competitors. There was something strangely charming about the sight.

Hanyu was somewhat younger than the other members of the Japanese team, and there had been concerns about whether he would fit in. Having delivered this performance with his senior teammates cheering him on may have helped him find his place within the team in a positive way. (Come to think of it, he had never competed in either the World Team Trophy or the Japan Open. His home prefecture of Miyagi lacked enough skaters to form a team, so he had never even experienced the National Sports Festival. This was virtually his first team competition.)

Then there is American skater Jeremy Abbott, who made two jumping errors in a disastrous performance of the same program with which he had delivered a magnificent performance at the U.S. Championships. How will a skater like him bounce back in the individual competition? I am very concerned about the psychological impact.

And what about Canada’s Meagan Duhamel and Eric Radford, who had already delivered a magnificent performance in the team competition, elevating warm, tender lyricism to the highest level? Will they be able to reproduce that same performance in the individual competition, or not?

Germany’s pair, Aliona Savchenko and Robin Szolkowy, chose to skip the team competition in order to focus on the individual event, while Russia’s pair, Tatiana Volosozhar and Maxim Trankov, had already delivered a full-throttle performance in the team competition. Both pairs are strong contenders for the gold medal, and there will be great interest in how their different approaches to the team competition affect their performances in the individual event.

There will also be an impact on viewers. People who would not normally tune in to watch pairs or ice dance may have followed the team competition because of the medal race, and in doing so, watched disciplines beyond the singles events. If these viewers discover the appeal of pairs and ice dance through the team competition, interest in those disciplines during the individual event may increase considerably.

The team competition had seemed likely to become little more than a trial run before the main event, perhaps even a glorified exhibition. But with the host nation, Russia, winning gold, public interest at the venue surged almost immediately. Of course, the emergence of champions in the men’s, women’s, and pairs events was significant in itself. Yet the excitement of competing for one’s country, and winning that contest, had suddenly swept through Russia.

Could adding just one event change the entire character of a competition so dramatically? Figure skating at the Sochi Olympics looks set to become an Olympics unlike any before it, one the world has never seen before.

Source: https://bsima.wiki.fc2.com/wiki/%E3%82%BD%E3%83%81%E3%82%AA%E3%83%AA%E3%83%B3%E3%83%94%E3%83%83%E3%82%AF%EF%BC%93

2014.02.18

Sochi Olympics Report 3 - A New Challenge in the “Quadruple Jump Era” That Began with Yuzuru Hanyu at Its Center

Many people felt that the men’s singles free skate at the Sochi Olympics lacked excitement as a competition, with numerous mistakes, particularly among the top two skaters, and one skater after another falling on their quadruple jumps. Certainly, looking back at the men’s singles event, mistakes had been conspicuous from the short program onward, and falls on quadruple jumps had been more frequent than usual.

To be honest, since the Olympics are held only once every four years, I had wanted to see a spectacular competition in which one perfect performance followed another.

Some tried to find reasons for the succession of mistakes, suggesting that the competition’s late start time might have been a factor or that the quality of the ice might have been different from usual. But I kept wondering whether the problem stemmed from the very nature of men’s singles figure skating itself.

Think about it. This was actually the first Olympics at which skaters were expected to land quadruple jumps, achieve Level 4 on all the other elements, and have their performance skills and skating quality scrutinized in detail through the program component scores.

Four years ago, the champion made headlines for not attempting a quadruple jump. Eight years ago, the new judging system had only just been introduced, and it had yet to mature. Never before had skaters been expected to do it all: execute the jumps they do today, perform steps and spins at the highest level, captivate audiences with their performances, and meet all these demands at once.

Even so, at competitions such as the Grand Prix Series, the Four Continents Championships, and the World Championships, we had been able to see several near-perfect performances that fulfilled all these complex requirements. This season, Patrick Chan of Canada in the free skate at Trophée Éric Bompard, Daisuke Takahashi at the NHK Trophy, and Tatsuki Machida at Skate America all delivered performances we would have loved to see again at the Olympics.

However, when the extraordinary tension of the Olympic stage is added to the already demanding requirement to perform every element at a high level, even top skaters who would normally be expected to make few mistakes can end up like this. That was the Sochi Olympics.

The harshness of the new judging system combined with the quadruple jump era becomes even clearer when we compare the men’s and women’s singles events.

In women’s skating today, few skaters attempt quadruple jumps or triple Axels. Triple-triple combinations are the mainstay of their jump layouts. Since their programs are built around jumps they can execute with a high degree of consistency, clean performances naturally tend to be more common.

As a good example, let’s recall this season’s Japanese National Championships. Some people commented, “The men’s competition was incredible, but there were still so many mistakes. By comparison, the women really are strong. Weren’t they all clean?” But that is hardly fair to the men. The men and women fought just as hard under the same level of tension. The difference was simply that the women’s jump layouts made perfect performances more attainable. At the Olympics, too, we would likely see many clean programs in the women’s singles, with skaters executing their triple-triple combinations reliably.

So, what about the quadruple jump race, which intensified over the four years from Vancouver to Sochi? Will this trend be curbed? Will the men begin to avoid some of the most difficult jumps and move toward a more stable kind of beauty? I think not. The reason is that this quadruple jump era was chosen by none other than the skaters themselves.

What remains vividly in my memory are the words of Takahiko Kozuka exactly four years ago. He said this in an interview at Japan House in Vancouver, a few days after finishing his free skate at the Vancouver Olympics.

“Evan [Lysacek of the United States] became champion without attempting a quadruple jump, but ... I think the quadruple jump era will actually begin from here. I can already feel that atmosphere among the skaters. Even after the competition, when I’m skating at Eight Rinks, the Vancouver Olympic practice rink, everyone is jumping quadruples one after another, as if competing with each other. Even skaters who didn’t attempt them in the actual competition! Even Johnny [Weir of the United States] is jumping them again and again!”

And so, just as Kozuka had predicted, the quadruple jump era began. Without saying a word, the skaters rejected the idea that someone could become Olympic champion without landing a quadruple jump. In men’s figure skating, a quadruple jump was necessary to become champion. That was a choice the skaters themselves had made.

As a result, at the Sochi Olympics, the top skaters attempted two or even three quadruple jumps. Yet in this competition, most were unable to land the jumps they had set out to perform perfectly. Although they were ranked first, second, and third among themselves, they had all, in their own way, been defeated by the very nature of the sport they had chosen. Hanyu, Chan, and Machida must all be frustrated. Surely, they cannot let things end here, having been defeated.

Fortunately, the man who became Olympic champion is only 19 years old. He is young enough to continue taking on challenges through the PyeongChang Olympics four years from now and beyond. With him at the center, these skaters will continue to challenge themselves with quadruple jumps under the new judging system.

It would be fair to say that the Sochi Olympics marked the true beginning of the battle between the skaters and the demands of their sport. Four years from now, will we see perfect performances incorporating quadruple jumps, again and again? Will we witness such a victory for the skaters?

Source: https://bsima.wiki.fc2.com/wiki/%E3%82%BD%E3%83%81%E3%82%AA%E3%83%AA%E3%83%B3%E3%83%94%E3%83%83%E3%82%AF%EF%BC%93

2014.02.19

Sochi Olympics Report 4 - The Arduous Road Ahead for Yuzuru Hanyu. What Will Help Him Overcome It Is His Clear-Eyed Perspective and Depth of Thought

In any case, we have witnessed the birth of a teenage Olympic champion, something rarely seen in history.

It is said that this is the first teenage champion in 66 years, since Dick Button. Until about ten years ago, Button was a familiar face on American television as a sharp-tongued commentator. He was a man who said whatever he pleased, no matter how harsh, prompting conversations like, “Who is this guy?” followed by, “Apparently, he’s actually quite remarkable …” That very Dick Button!

Of course, I have never seen him skate. To think that Hanyu is the first teenage champion since someone like him ... it certainly brings home the magnitude of Hanyu’s achievement.

But from here on, Yuzuru Hanyu faces a thorny road. He himself must be the most surprised by, and the most frustrated with, the way he won this time. He knows better than anyone that he did not win with a performance befitting a champion, and he must also know very well what he needs to do from here on.

At the next World Championships, or perhaps at the PyeongChang Olympics four years from now, he must deliver a performance worthy of a champion. He must surpass his own performance in Sochi, not someone else’s.

At this point, he may have been burdened with something far more difficult than simply defeating other competitors: surpassing himself.

As I explained in detail in my previous article, “A New Challenge in the ‘Quadruple Jump Era’ That Began with Yuzuru Hanyu at Its Center,” men’s figure skating has become an almost unbelievable sport, demanding both an array of extraordinarily difficult elements and a level of performance artistry that can stand alongside other art forms without looking inferior.

Nevertheless, as athletes, they must strive toward that goal. There is a standard their own sport demands, a destination they must reach. And Yuzuru Hanyu is now in the position to lead the way. Can he really do it? Of course he can! He may be delighted with this gold medal, but he is not the sort of person who would become overconfident and think, “Now I’m an Olympic champion!”

I would like to recall something he told me after he first broke the world record for the highest score in the short program at Skate America in the autumn of 2012.

“From here on, when I’m around 22 or 23, I’d be happy if I could become the kind of skater who leads everyone else!

“Patrick [Chan] and Evgeni Plushenko were those kinds of skaters. They were so incredibly strong that they created a situation in which they swept up all the titles. No one could beat them, and that frustration took root among the men all over the world. Everyone thought, ‘Let’s beat Plushenko,’ ‘Let’s beat Patrick’ ... and they became so much better. That’s how the era changed.

“There are always skaters who change their era. That’s why I want to become someone like that. I want to become a skater who is truly worthy of being at the top, someone so deserving of that position that no one would complain even with Patrick or Daisuke Takahashi competing against me.”

Around the same time, he was already making predictions about what men’s singles would be like after Sochi:

“I think that by then ... we’ll be in an incredible era. There are so many talented skaters around my age who are still juniors. They’re also good at dance, and they haven’t emerged yet because they can’t do quadruple jumps. But once they start jumping them, those of us at the top now might not be able to beat them.

“When those skaters of my generation develop their abilities and rise to the top, when I’m no longer running out in front on my own but can run alongside everyone else, I think a new era will arrive, with further advances in quadruple jumps as well.”

He understands the achievements of Plushenko, Chan, and the others who competed alongside him in Sochi, and he wants to carry on the role they played. He already has the foresight to see where the sport is heading, and he understands both the severity of the challenges ahead and what he himself must do.

He is not merely a strong athlete. What distinguishes Japan’s Olympic champion, Yuzuru Hanyu, is his clear-eyed perspective and depth of thought. With him, we can confidently entrust the future of the sport.

And yet ... he really did win the Olympics.

“Olympic champion! Yuzuru Hanyu!” When that announcement rang through the arena, I felt so incredulous that I almost wanted to laugh.

Yuzuru-kun really, truly is the Olympic champion?

From that moment on, whenever I spoke to people from other countries at Olympic Park or around the city of Sochi, I invariably heard:

“You’re from Japan? Congratulations, Hanyu!”

The women would recall him dreamily, saying, “How can I describe him? He was just wonderful!” Even the burly men would give him a thumbs-up and praise him: “A great champion!”

Who would have thought that Yuzuru-kun, with his mushroom-shaped haircut, would make me feel so proud to be Japanese, time and again, in the faraway city of Sochi? Who would have thought he would make us feel so proud?

That mushroom-shaped haircut reminds me of six years ago, when I first interviewed him one-on-one. When I asked him about his future goal, this was his answer:

“First place at the Olympics!”

Not a gold medal, not victory, not becoming a champion, but simply “first place!” I thought it was adorable that he put it that way. Apart from that, his answer was no different from what I had heard from countless other boys over the years. But thinking back, this was the first time I had been allowed to witness a boy’s dream truly come true.

As the flower ceremony progressed to the medal ceremony, I found myself deeply moved by the realization that a Japanese man had finally reached the pinnacle of Olympic figure skating. During the flower ceremony, Hanyu bowed deeply to the applauding spectators. He then bowed just as deeply, again and again, to his coach, Brian Orser, who was waiting rinkside. In a manner so characteristically Japanese, he expressed his gratitude to so many people.

Gratitude. Before the season began, when I asked him about the secret to his mental strength, he told me it was “the desire to respond to everyone’s support.”

“Skating is a sport that you absolutely cannot do on your own. So many people, starting with my family, support my skating and cheer me on, all for someone like me. Of course, that support can sometimes become a source of pressure. But first, rather than thinking of it as a burden, I accept everyone’s support and expectations. I’m grateful for them. And then I think, ‘I have to work even harder!’ If there is something like that within me, perhaps it is part of what makes me strong.”

Gratitude. Watching him overcome the pressure and claim victory with that characteristically Japanese sense of courtesy, I thought about all this as I watched him bow deeply.

The road ahead will be arduous. He now carries a cross that no one has been made to bear for 66 years, and he must walk a difficult path that no one has walked before.

But for now, let us simply say, congratulations. After everything that happened, Yuzuru Hanyu was, after all, stronger than anyone else. I truly look forward to the next four years of your journey.

Source: https://bsima.wiki.fc2.com/wiki/%E3%82%BD%E3%83%81%E3%82%AA%E3%83%AA%E3%83%B3%E3%83%94%E3%83%83%E3%82%AF%EF%BC%94

2014.03.07

Sochi Olympics Report 5 - Yuzuru Hanyu and Asian Skaters Are Redefining the Conventional Wisdom on Jumping

The figure skating competition at the Sochi Olympics produced the first Asian men's Olympic champion in history, as well as the first teenage champion in 66 years.

The result also signaled a major shift in men's figure skating.

In women's figure skating, teenage Olympic champions have been relatively common. They include Oksana Baiul (Ukraine, Lillehammer 1994), Tara Lipinski (USA, Nagano 1998), Sarah Hughes (USA, Salt Lake City 2002), and Yuna Kim (South Korea, Vancouver 2010). Why, then, had there been no teenage champion in men's figure skating for 66 years?

The conventional explanation goes something like this.

"For girls, jumping is easier when they're teenagers because their bodies are lighter. As they enter puberty and develop more mature female physiques, it becomes harder to maintain the jumping technique they had in their teens. Boys, on the other hand, need the well-developed muscles of an adult body to perform triple Axels and quadruple jumps. It takes a little longer to master high-difficulty jumps and win at the senior level."

In other words, by the time female skaters approach their twenties, they have already passed the peak of their jumping ability and begin to struggle against younger skaters who can jump effortlessly. Men, meanwhile, tend to add more jumps to their repertoire as they get older, improve their success rates, and see more skaters become capable of competing at the top of the world rankings. Their peak as athletes also comes later, allowing them to continue developing for at least five years longer than female skaters of the same age.

Seen in this light, Yuzuru Hanyu is an extraordinary exception.

I remember when he was 14, in 2008. At a Japanese national team training camp, he landed his first triple Axel and rolled around on the ice in delight.

Mao Asada was also training at the camp. Although Hanyu was still of junior age, a handful of the most promising junior skaters were allowed to join the senior training camp each year, giving them the chance to practice on the same ice as the top skaters.

"A senior training camp... I could skate with all these amazing people! Just thinking about it got me really excited! There were Daisuke Takahashi and Mao-chan... Especially when I watched Mao-chan's triple Axel, I realized that you didn't need that much force. So I tried jumping the Axel while relaxing a little, and I rotated and landed on one foot. I thought, 'Oh, wow, I can do it! I actually did it!' That's how it felt..." (From Figure Skating Japanese Men's Fan Book: Cutting Edge 2009, published in 2008)

Kensuke Nakaniwa, runner-up at the 2004 Japanese Championships and now a coach, read Hanyu's interview and was struck by how perceptively the young skater learned through observation.

"What keen insight! Exactly! These days, landing a jump is a given. What earns points is how effortlessly and comfortably you can execute it. The same applies to spins, steps, and every other element. In other words, you can't look as though you're trying too hard. To win at the senior level, you have to make your jumps and skating look effortless. Hanyu had already realized this when he was much younger. And he figured it out by watching other skaters. His instinct for skating is truly exceptional."

Hanyu had found a clue to mastering the triple Axel by watching Mao Asada. For a moment, I wondered whether he might be a rare male skater whose style was closer to that of a female singles skater.

If power-based male skaters such as Alexei Yagudin (Russia), Brian Joubert (France), and Takahito Mura represent one type, Hanyu stands at the opposite end of the spectrum. Rather than relying on brute force, he generates rotations through his sense of rhythm during takeoff and other technical skills. He is the type of skater who makes jumps work through technique.

Japan's Nobunari Oda was another technically gifted jumper. His trademark was his light, floating jumps, almost like those of a female skater. Yet he also possessed a certain degree of power that female skaters lacked, allowing him to produce exceptional jumps that were both light and remarkably high.

Hanyu belongs to a similar lineage to Oda, but he has also made the most of his light frame, weighing just 53 kilograms. Even as a teenager, he had already made jumps, including the quadruple toe loop, into formidable weapons.

That raises one concern about Hanyu's future. If his success at these Olympics followed a pattern more commonly seen in women's skating, might it become increasingly difficult for him to maintain his jumping technique as he gets older? It is also hard to ignore the history of female skaters who achieved success in their teens, reached their peak at that point, and left competitive skating relatively early.

As anyone can see, Hanyu does not have a particularly robust physique. He has asthma, has suffered numerous injuries, and has a small appetite. Even before the free skate at these Olympics, his nerves were so bad that he could not swallow the rice ball he usually eats three hours before a competition. He managed to wash down only a little food with miso soup. He went into the competition in the worst possible condition in terms of stamina.

Of course, his strengths are not limited to his light frame. Although he looks slender, he has built up his core muscles through off-ice training and developed the physique needed for jumping. Supported by two outstanding physical conditioning specialists, Masashi Aoshima in Toronto and Akira Kikuchi in Sendai, he has also developed a different attitude toward physical conditioning. He is now said to understand the condition of his muscles in minute detail, with knowledge comparable to that of an anatomist.

Even so, he will need to take even greater care of his body from now on. His new goal, he says, is to win a second consecutive Olympic gold medal at PyeongChang. If he can maintain both his jumping technique and a healthy body until then, the conventional wisdom in men's singles that "you have to get older to compete at the top level" will be overturned in the truest sense.

Another key to this transformation, alongside Hanyu, will be the young Asian skaters who are about to emerge onto the world stage.

In fact, skaters of the Hanyu type are becoming increasingly common around the world.

One example is China's Boyang Jin, who won the junior title at this season's Grand Prix Final. Despite his small frame, standing just 156 centimeters tall, he successfully landed three quadruple jumps in his free skate. The performance caused a major sensation: at an event where even the senior skaters had managed no more than two quads, a 16-year-old boy had landed three.

Remarkably, Jin has also recently landed a quadruple Lutz in practice. He is reportedly preparing a free skate featuring three different types of quadruple jumps. Developments like these are beginning to challenge the notion that male skaters must grow older before they can compete at the highest level.

At the Junior Grand Prix Final that Jin won, several other Asian skaters also made their mark, including Nathan Chen (USA), Keiji Tanaka (Japan), and Ryuju Hino (Japan).

In fact, Asian skaters have also been making remarkable strides in senior men's singles. At these Olympics, all three medalists were of Asian descent: Hanyu, Patrick Chan of Canada, and Denis Ten of Kazakhstan.

The same trend has been evident at the World Championships in recent years. Of the 12 medals awarded over this period, nine went to Asian skaters. Non-Asian medalists other than the Japanese skaters, Chan, and Ten have become increasingly rare.

It was around the generation of Miki Ando that people first began to remark on how Asian female skaters were developing longer limbs and physiques increasingly similar to those of their Western counterparts.

Now, seven or eight years later, the male physique has also begun to change among the generation younger than Hanyu. When Hanyu first appeared on the scene, people were surprised by his physique, which seemed so unlike that of a typical Japanese boy and almost as if he had stepped out of a shoujo manga. Today, however, many other skaters also have strikingly long limbs.

Japanese and Chinese male skaters had long been known for their jumping ability, and Asians were often said to be naturally well suited to the jumping demands of figure skating. It was also said that Asians had a younger physiological age than Westerners and could therefore remain competitive for longer.

A new generation of Asian skaters appears to have retained these inherent physical characteristics while developing a new physique with long limbs. Over the next four years, we may witness an era in which they redefine the conventional wisdom about jumping in men's figure skating.

Source: https://bsima.wiki.fc2.com/wiki/%E3%82%BD%E3%83%81%E7%95%AA%E5%A4%96%E7%B7%A8

https://web.archive.org/web/20190512130220/https://webronza.asahi.com/national/articles/2014031200003.html

2014.03.12

Sochi Olympics Report (Extra Edition) - Living in the Olympic Park District (Part 1)

Just 200 meters from the Venue!?

That was the selling point of the place where I stayed. It wasn't a hotel or a B&B (Bed and Breakfast), but a spare room in an annex of a private home, available for rent at 6,000 yen a night.

The shower, toilet, and kitchen were shared, and meals were not included. The landlady changed the towels and sheets at irregular intervals. Besides me, there were other guests who had come to Sochi from Greece, Belarus, and other Russian cities to cover or watch the Olympics, so the place had quite a lively atmosphere.

We chatted using phrasebooks with pointing illustrations and Google Translate (this app seems to be on everyone's smartphone around the world!) and exchanged currency and snacks from our respective countries. The hole in a Japanese five-yen coin fascinated people, and rice crackers were popular, too.

We took turns using the only washing machine and hung our laundry on the same clothesline alongside the other men.

Among the clothes hanging out to dry was a polo shirt bearing the Nagano Olympics logo. Wow, I thought. This person must have been covering the Winter Olympics for much longer than I had. It was probably Alexander's polo shirt, from the room next door.

There were two calico cats in the house, Toasty and Marquise. Toasty was the chubby one, the less cute of the two, but she took a liking to me right away.

And sure enough, just 200 meters from the Olympic Park! Beyond the laundry hanging out to dry, the Olympic flame burned brightly every day.

When I decided to go to Sochi to cover the Olympics, naturally, the first thing I did was look for a hotel. But at the time, in December 2013, even the cheapest hotel cost 20,000 yen a night. Staying for three weeks at that rate would be tough.

So I found a website listing vacant rooms in private homes. The twin room I eventually booked was listed at 12,000 yen a night.

I negotiated with the landlady, Anastasia, by email in a mixture of English and Russian. "I'll be staying alone, so would 6,000 yen be possible? I don't mind sharing the room with someone else." After some back-and-forth, we finally reached an agreement.

Well, 6,000 yen a night wasn't exactly cheap either, but it was a third of what the hotel I had originally considered would have cost. (In the end, no strangers ever shared the room with me during my stay.)

Still, whenever I told friends and acquaintances that I had rented a room by negotiating directly with a Russian family, they all expressed concern.

"Are you sure that's safe? It's Russia!"

Who knew? I had no idea myself. There was always the possibility that I might arrive in Sochi to find nobody waiting for me and nowhere to stay.

But at Sochi Airport, Anastasia was there waiting for me, holding a piece of paper with "HIRONO" written on it.

She even used Google Translate to offer me some kind words. Something along the lines of "If anything happens, you should tell us. We'd be happy to help" appeared on her phone screen in halting Japanese. During the ten-minute drive from the airport to her house, she enthusiastically pointed out and explained the various Olympic facilities we passed.

"This is the athletes' village, and this is the Main Press Centre. And look, you can see the hockey venue!"

I had heard that many residents had been forced to relocate from the area where the Olympic Park was built, so the Games were not necessarily welcomed by everyone.

Fortunately, however, the construction site had been right next to this family's home. They had probably watched the various facilities take shape one after another from close range. Anastasia and her husband proudly pointed out the imposing, enormous buildings.

"Look, that's the Olympic cauldron. The Olympic flame will be lit there the day after tomorrow."

Because the shower was shared, I sometimes caught sight of the man next door wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around himself. The kitchen was incredibly old-fashioned, and the gas stove had to be lit with a match.

Not just Sochi, but Russia in general seemed to be a country where things were rather poorly put together. A chair would suddenly break beneath someone (the man who came to fix the air conditioner fell off it), a large wardrobe door would suddenly come loose and threaten to fall on you, or opening one door would inevitably cause another to swing open from the rush of air.

Still, I hadn't expected the comfort of a hotel, so this was good enough. In general, things were just as haphazard in hotels and even inside the Olympic Park. The Olympic Park was supposed to be brand-new, yet the walls of the toilets were already crumbling. A friend who stayed at a newly opened hotel told me that there was a bathtub but no plug, making it impossible to soak in it. And if you put money into a vending machine and nothing came out, the response was simply, “That's too bad”...

It had been much the same when I visited Sochi for the 2012 Grand Prix Final ("The Real Face of Sochi, the Olympic City"). A funny photo of two toilet bowls in a single cubicle had become a hot topic, but honestly, it was entirely plausible.

Still, regardless of how comfortable the place was, this accommodation had one enormous catch.

The claim that it was just 200 meters from the Olympic Park was absolutely true. From my room, I could see the Olympic cauldron and Iceberg, the figure skating venue, nearby. With everything so close, I assumed I could pop over whenever I liked. I even thought I might go and watch some hockey or curling whenever I had a bit of free time.

But it didn't take long to discover something unbelievable. The only way to reach Iceberg, despite being right nearby, was to enter through the Olympic Park's entrance. And the one and only entrance was a 30-minute walk from here!

In other words, every single day, I had to start by walking away from the Olympic cauldron and Iceberg, the very venue I was headed for. I passed through a residential neighbourhood full of stray dogs and cats, walked alongside a vast stretch of vacant land where I had no idea what would eventually be built, and made my way across rough, unmarked ground strewn with large rocks before finally reaching the entrance for accredited personnel.

If I could enter there, the journey would be much shorter. But the entrance for ordinary spectators was even farther away. I had to pass Olympic Park station before finally reaching the security checkpoint.

On my first day, when I got lost along the way, it took me 40 minutes. Once I got used to the route, it took about 20 minutes. After rain, when my feet sank into the mud, it took 25 minutes. And from the gate to Iceberg, the figure skating venue, it was another 20-minute walk!

Every day, I walked roughly two kilometres there and back just to reach a place that was practically right outside my window. So much for “200 meters from the Olympic Park”!

I tried taking a shortcut on my way back and managed to sneak through a gap in the fence and exit through the entrance for accredited personnel. But that only worked for the first few days. Before long, ID checks were put in place, and I was told, "You can't leave through here."

Well, I suppose that was to be expected from cheap accommodation. The weather was pleasant, so once I got used to it, walking wasn't too much of a hardship.

But there was another problem waiting for me at this place. Starting around the day after I arrived, the Wi-Fi connection began to deteriorate until I could no longer browse the internet or send and receive emails. This was a real problem.

Back in Japan, the editors were waiting for my articles to arrive. My manuscripts were already late as it was. "I've written it, but I can't send it..." was simply not going to cut it.

In desperation, I even resorted to taking photos of my computer screen with my smartphone and sending them my articles, including the one on the first team event.

"I really have written it! I just can't send it. I'm so sorry, but could you please transcribe this for me?"

I really did cause everyone a great deal of trouble during those first few days.

"I'm sorry. It seems the internet provider's entire capacity has been taken up by the Olympics, so even the internet in the main house isn't working. But this isn't our fault," Anastasia explained. Apparently, all the households in the surrounding area were experiencing the same problem.

Even so, this was my job, so I had no choice but to grit my teeth and find a way to manage. I walked all over the property, searching every corner, until I finally managed to pick up a weak signal in one corner of the garage, exposed to the wind.

For a while, every day and every night, I crouched down in that spot where the firewood was stacked, working alone in the cold. Without that signal, I couldn't send my articles, check the order in which the skaters would perform, or even view the pages I had written for WEBRONZA.

Even in Sochi, the nights were cold. Looking back, I could see the Olympic flame blazing brightly nearby, illuminating a lonely journalist.

And it was always on nights like these that the shower would suddenly turn cold halfway through.

Source: https://bsima.wiki.fc2.com/wiki/%E3%82%BD%E3%83%81%E7%95%AA%E5%A4%96%E7%B7%A8

https://web.archive.org/web/20190512130220/https://webronza.asahi.com/national/articles/2014031300007.html

2014.03.13

Sochi Olympics Report (Extra Edition) - Living in the Olympic Park District (Part 2)

Troubles piled up one after another, pushing me to my physical limits...

There were plenty of other terrible things that happened, too, though they weren't the accommodation's fault.

For example, the tickets I had ordered failed to arrive. This time, to cut costs, I bought tickets through auctions and online resale sites, checking every site I could find, both in Japan and overseas, to get the cheapest tickets available.

The team event tickets cost 9,000 yen, and the men's short program tickets cost 10,000 yen, both for Category A seats. The most expensive ticket was for the women's singles free skate, at 33,000 yen for a Category B seat. At face value, these tickets would cost 70,000 to 80,000 yen, but apparently, because Sochi was such an inconvenient place to travel to, many people who had bought tickets found themselves unable to attend. I was grateful to those who were willing to pass their tickets on to me.

However, because I hadn't obtained the tickets through official channels, one problem after another arose.

The tickets for the team event, which I had bought from a dubious overseas website, had somehow been sent to London instead of Sochi, and there was no sign of them arriving. In the end, I never got to see that day's competition in person. I kept waiting outside the house for FedEx right up until the start of the event, but...

The tickets for the women's free skate didn't arrive until midday on the day of the competition. I had given up hope of ever seeing it, but when those tickets finally arrived, that single ticket seemed nothing short of miraculous!

Then there was the men's short program. Despite having a ticket, I was told, "This ticket is invalid!" and denied entry to the Olympic Park. Apparently, the seat printed on the ticket had been reassigned, and a Japanese ticket agency was supposed to have a representative waiting near the Iceberg Skating Palace to exchange it for a new ticket. However, before I could even reach the Iceberg, I was told "Cancelled!" at the Olympic Park gate and couldn't get inside at all.

This was a serious problem. Even after I explained the situation, I was told, "This ticket is invalid. There's nothing we can do. The ticket was issued by the Japanese Olympic Committee, so please contact them." It was already past 10 p.m. in Japan! Fortunately, the Japanese spectators who had run into the same problem banded together. After being sent from one place to another, we finally managed to get a replacement admission ticket for each of us.

But there was hardly any time left before the competition began. Exhausted, I hurried as fast as I could toward the Iceberg, where I was finally handed a replacement ticket. That was how it all unfolded. By the time I reached my seat, the first group was already six minutes into its warm-up. If I had remained stuck at the gate any longer, I would have missed Yuzuru Hanyu's score of over 100 points.

But why was this person buying tickets when she was supposed to be covering the Olympics as a journalist? Didn't the press center have internet access? And why did she have to struggle to get by in such cheap accommodation? Some of you may be wondering.

That's right. The Olympics come only once every four years, and a struggling freelance writer like me can't get a press accreditation pass. I cover competitions everywhere, from the Japanese National Championships to the World Championships, but the Olympics are the one event for which I can't obtain a press ID. I tried every possible avenue and even pleaded with the Japanese Olympic Committee, but to no avail.

It had been the same at the Turin and Vancouver Olympics, so I had been prepared for this. I even considered giving up on going to Sochi altogether. But I had work commissioned by 19 companies across 25 different media outlets, including magazines, books, websites, television, and radio, so I simply couldn't afford not to go.

What's more, although I had received some assistance with reporting expenses for Vancouver, this time I received nothing at all. Things were tough, but I had to cut costs wherever possible and make the trip profitable no matter what. Otherwise, I would have gone to Sochi as a hobbyist rather than as a professional journalist.

Considering the cost of accommodation, tickets, and even airfare, I doubt anyone else made it to Sochi as cheaply as I did. Reports said that a one-week package tour cost around one million yen, that obtaining a Russian visa was a hassle, and that registering for a spectator pass was also necessary, making it even more difficult than usual to attend the Olympics in person. But if you really set your mind to it, there was always a way to make things work.

What I couldn't do anything about, though, was the fact that I could only watch the athletes I had followed for so long take center stage from the distant stands. I couldn't even attend the official practice sessions, which I normally watched closely. Of course, I couldn't hear the athletes' comments immediately after their events, either, as I usually did. This report, too, was written without any access to the athletes' post-competition comments. In the end, I felt as though the skating gods were whispering to me, "You don't deserve to be here."

Even so, I still had work to do. There were times when I wrote articles until dawn, then got only two hours of sleep in the morning, only to be woken up four times by phone calls from Japan. The people calling had properly taken the time difference into account, so it was my own fault for staying up all night and sleeping in the morning.

I realized I had reached the limits of my stamina during that ticket-cancellation fiasco. The competition was about to begin, and I hurried toward the Iceberg on foot, but I couldn't keep up with everyone else's brisk pace. I had to say, "I can't go any farther. Please go ahead without me!" I was being left behind because I couldn't keep up physically with people much older than I was.

Still, perhaps the sheer intensity of the work was what kept me going mentally. I had no time to dwell on how painful it was not to be able to cover the competition properly. I was simply caught up in a relentless cycle of writing and speaking, completely absorbed in my work. Friends among the reporters and photographers whom I occasionally ran into at the venues later told me that I had looked remarkably happy.

Watching the competition from the stands alongside people waving Japanese flags and banners supporting their favorite skaters was something I would never normally get to do. I even found myself joining in the chants of "Mao-chan!" and "Kana-chan!" for the first time.

Once, I sat next to a man who told me he had come because he loved the Olympics, although he didn't know much about figure skating. As he asked questions, I found myself explaining things to him: "That jump just now was a Lutz. The next one is a double Axel." "That pair over there are the current world champions, and that pair are the Vancouver Olympic champions. They're rivals, but they train under the same coach."

"That's amazing! It's just like watching the competition with Shizuka Arakawa herself!" he said delightedly.

I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm just an impostor.

Another time, a photographer said to me, "Must be nice. You get to relax and enjoy yourself as a spectator. We haven't slept at all, you know."

That's true. I love skating far more than you do, so perhaps I'm enjoying the Olympics even more than you are. I may not be able to cover the competition officially, but I'm probably enjoying this greatest-of-all-stages event, which comes around only once every four years, more than anyone else.

After all, I'm the happiest skating fan in the world. I've been fortunate enough to witness the very best era of Japanese figure skating unfold before my eyes.

Source: https://bsima.wiki.fc2.com/wiki/%E3%82%BD%E3%83%81%E7%95%AA%E5%A4%96%E7%B7%A8

https://web.archive.org/web/20190512130220/https://webronza.asahi.com/national/articles/2014031400011.html

2014.03.14

Sochi Olympics Report (Extra Edition) - Living in the Olympic Park District (Part 3)

Thank You for a Wonderful Olympics!

There certainly were all sorts of things that happened, and some of the worst were things I could never tell anyone about. But, well, let it be. When you stay somewhere for three weeks, things eventually work themselves out.

First, I managed to secure an internet connection. The connection in the garage of my lodging had finally stopped working, and I even wandered around town with my laptop in search of somewhere to get online. Then I discovered a corner of the Olympic Park where a Russian telecommunications company was providing free Wi-Fi. At least in the worst-case scenario, I could always come here and get things done. From then on, after each day's events, I would sit on a bench, download all the data, including the protocols, and then head back to my lodging.

Perhaps a cheerful Ukrainian woman felt sorry for me as I sat there looking so desperately preoccupied while everyone else, elated after watching the competitions, made their way home. She gave me a gold medal chocolate.

"Since Hanyu worked so hard, something good will happen to you, too."

But the Olympic Park was a long way away. I needed to find somewhere closer where I could send my articles whenever I wanted... And I found one! On the fifth day of my stay, I finally picked up a free Wi-Fi signal at a hotel café just an eight-minute walk from my lodging. From that day on, the café became my very own press center. I wonder what the staff thought of this East Asian woman who showed up every day, occupied a seat for hours with nothing but a cup of tea, furiously hammered away at her keyboard with her eyes wide open, and talked loudly on the phone.

Even so, one waiter who spoke English would strike up conversations with me.

"You're from Japan? I like Haruki Murakami. Norwegian Wood, Dance Dance Dance, they're wonderful..."

I was so happy that I wanted to tell him I liked Tolstoy, too. But there was no way I could talk about Tolstoy with anything like the same fluency with which he talked about Haruki Murakami.

In this way, the people of Sochi (or, to be precise, Adler in Sochi City. Here, "Sochi" refers to the Sochi district of Sochi City, which is an hour away from the Olympic Park by train) were, for the most part, friendly and kind.

The neighborhood where I was staying had a pleasant atmosphere, with longtime local residents and people like me who had come to stay for the Olympics all living together harmoniously. During both the opening and closing ceremonies, everyone, from the landlady to the other lodgers, went out into the street to enjoy the fireworks going off nearby, cheering and shouting together. When someone started yelling, "Rossiya!" even the Japanese and Belarusians joined in, chanting for Russia together.

At the neighborhood grocery store I visited so often, the man there would talk enthusiastically about Yulia Lipnitskaya, while I enthusiastically told his daughter about Yuzuru Hanyu. Since they weren't fluent in English, a radio DJ who had come from Kazakhstan acted as our interpreter.

At the shops, cafeterias, and lodging houses, the local people could hardly speak any English, but Russian speakers who had come to work as volunteers or cover the event were always ready to help. The gardener, who could never remember my name no matter how many times I told him, eventually started calling me "Tokyo!" Well, that was fine, too. One day, the man at the cafeteria earnestly asked me to teach him about Kyokushin karate, but I felt bad that I couldn't teach him a single thing.

For some reason, people were incredibly welcoming whenever I said I was from Japan. There was an elderly woman at a pirozhki shop who would even wrap up freshly fried ones that hadn't been put out for sale yet, saying, "I'll give you these instead." Anastasia brought me some sweet Russian fruit wine and chocolates to apologize for the fact that I couldn't use the Wi-Fi. The yellow mimosa blossoms in the garden grew more vivid by the day, and the landlady even put a sprig in our room.

Then, once the men's and women's competitions began, friends, acquaintances, and skating coaches from Japan started arriving, and the town grew livelier. I was sad when the nail clippers a friend had brought me as a little care package, something I simply couldn't find anywhere in town, were confiscated at the Olympic Park security checkpoint. But I was already so happy that someone had gone to the trouble of bringing them all that way for me. I will never forget how delicious the kitsune soba a friend made for me when she stayed in my room during the women's competition was. Come to think of it, when it came to food, this town was truly blessed. I can't count the number of times a good meal had come to my rescue.

I had eaten at restaurants a few times, but the food was ordinary and nothing particularly special. What you really shouldn't overlook, however, are the casual cafeterias scattered throughout town. The prepared dishes there were of remarkable quality! There were three within walking distance of my lodging and another two a little farther away. All five operated on a cafeteria-style system: take a tray, line up, choose the salads and small side dishes you like, and have the staff serve you your main dish and rice.

They varied in size, from tiny places run by a single woman to ones about the size of a compact company cafeteria, complete with a selection of desserts. But all five cafeterias I visited in rotation were absolutely delicious, without exception!

Take, for example, a chicken dish baked with tomatoes and mushrooms on top, covered with cheese and mayonnaise. The mayonnaise wasn't just there for flavor. It enveloped the chicken in an indescribable sweetness and savoriness. The rice was just a little firm, but otherwise not unlike Japanese rice. Sometimes it had a mild curry flavor, and it went well with any of the side dishes. There were plenty of other staples besides rice, including pasta, potatoes, and beans. But the staff had learned that I always chose rice, every single day. I was delighted to feel like a regular when one of the women would be waiting for me with the question, "Which rice will you have today?"

There was also a wide variety of soups, so it was easy to get plenty of vegetables. The pickled carrot salad, in particular, was so addictive that I bought some to take away every day and kept it stocked in the refrigerator.

The prices were low, too. For example, the meal shown in the photo on the right, curry-flavored chicken with rice, a large meatball, borscht, smetana, a local specialty similar to sour cream, and green tea, cost just 160 rubles (about 480 yen). Having food this delicious in such a casual, unpretentious setting reminded me of eating at street stalls in Asia. Whenever I thought, "Ah, the food is delicious again today," I could forget about all sorts of other troubles.

I also had meals packed into containers to take away and ate them at the entrance to the Olympic Park. The only problem was the food packaging in Russia. The containers would melt or crack after just a brief spell in the microwave. I couldn't help wondering whether they were safe, but even as liquid seeped out of the bottom and I tried to catch it with a handkerchief, the food was so good that I ate every last bite. With these packed meals, there was no need to pay the exorbitant prices for food inside the Olympic Park.

Strangely enough, apart from the friends I took there myself, I never saw any other Japanese people at these wonderful local cafeterias. Sometimes, when I said, "The food in Sochi is delicious, isn't it?" people would give me a look as if to say, "Really?" But if they had spent several days in town and left without ever discovering anything beyond the expensive restaurants serving safe, unremarkable food, I thought that was a real shame.

One day, I found myself swept into a party at a cafeteria, where a large group of people had gathered. They invited me to join them for drinks, and I ended up joining the gathering. They were technicians working inside the Olympic Park. Apparently, they had come from other Russian cities and places such as Ukraine to work there temporarily for the duration of the Games.

They offered me vodka, so I brought out some salted kelp that I happened to have with me and quickly pickled some cucumbers to serve as snacks. We couldn't communicate very well, but I think I managed to convey my feeling of gratitude: "Thank you for a wonderful Olympics."

The woman at the cafeteria whom I had come to know well through my frequent visits, and who reminded me of Elena Gedevanishvili, asked me, "How old are you, really?" We then whispered our ages to each other, making sure the other male customers couldn't hear. Somehow, I felt that women asking each other their ages was a sign of having become close, no matter what country they were in, and that made me happy.

Today is my 24th day in Sochi. Because I had cut costs on my airfare (less than 100,000 yen), I couldn't return home right away. Even three days after the closing ceremony, I was still going to the cafeterias. The only people left in town seemed to be staff who would stay on until the Paralympics. When I ordered borscht from the soup counter, tucked away at the back where it was hard to spot, a female volunteer came over excitedly and said, "Oh, so that's where the borscht is!" Clearly, I was more of a regular than she was.

Just as I was beginning to feel that I might end up staying in this town forever... tomorrow, at last, my flight to Japan would arrive.

(completed on March 3, 2014)

Source: https://bsima.wiki.fc2.com/wiki/%E3%82%BD%E3%83%81%E7%95%AA%E5%A4%96%E7%B7%A8

https://web.archive.org/web/20170212115604/http://webronza.asahi.com/national/articles/2014033100006.html

2014.04.01

Post-Sochi: Can Yuzuru Hanyu become the next Mao Asada? (1) - The “Missing” Jump He Fixed

It was a truly magnificent first World Championship victory.

At the end of the short program (SP), Yuzuru Hanyu was in third place. I had heard that, seeking to escape the commotion following the Olympics, he had flown to Toronto almost immediately after returning to Japan, only to make another quick turnaround, and that his physical condition was far from good. In the SP, he had even fallen on a jump with an astonishing degree of underrotation.

Even during the official practice session on the morning of the free skate, his quadruple toe loop wasn't going well. Even when he landed it, he would tilt his head and examine the marks his blade had left on the ice. He was short on rotation. He must have realized that he wasn't jumping his usual toe loop. His quadruple Salchow seemed to be in better shape, leading people to think, "It's going to be difficult for Hanyu to win."

Tatsuki Machida, who had arrived at the World Championships in excellent physical and mental condition, was in first place after the short program. Everyone expected him to hold on to his lead and win. But then came the six-minute warm-up just before the free skate. That was when I began to think, "Maybe..." Right in front of the press seats, Hanyu nailed the very jump he had been so worried about: the quadruple toe loop.

Fatigue from the Olympics, the pressure of being a champion, the return of pain from an old injury... Various factors were cited as contributing to his short-program mistakes. But the real reason was, in fact, that his quadruple Salchow was going so well.

Figure-skating jumps are delicate things. Once you get the feel for one jump, you can sometimes lose the feel for another.

For example, a skater who has only just learned to land a triple Axel might temporarily find themselves unable to land even a double Axel. I often hear skaters describe this kind of problem: “Once I learned the triple, I forgot how to do the double.”

Of course, skaters make all the necessary adjustments to these subtle aspects of their technique before competing. But Hanyu's quadruple jumps were in precisely this kind of situation. He had declared, "I'll absolutely have it ready for the Olympics!" Yet his quadruple Salchow had failed him in Sochi. He was determined to make up for that at the World Championships, no matter what. He was pouring an extraordinary amount of effort and determination into this jump.

In a short period of time, he had somehow managed to regain his feel for the Salchow. The trade-off was that a subtle misalignment had crept into his quadruple toe loop, a jump he had previously performed with remarkable precision. Skaters often describe this situation by saying, "My jump has gone missing," "My quad is lost," or "It's gone somewhere!" It's a frustrating situation in which a jump they could previously land suddenly becomes impossible, at least temporarily.

Even someone as talented as Yuzuru Hanyu couldn't get it back overnight. So when he nailed that jump during the six-minute warm-up, after struggling with it so much during the morning's official practice, I found myself staring in amazement. "It's back!"

In an incredibly short period of time, he had brought his quadruple Salchow up to standard, then corrected his "missing" toe loop during the competition itself. He landed both types of quadruple jumps perfectly, the very two jumps that had been his main challenges, and finished first in the free skate. He closed the seven-point gap to Tatsuki Machida in one fell swoop, pulling off an astonishing comeback victory.

What was even more infuriating, though, was his comment after winning the title.

"It's been a while since I've been in a situation where I had to catch up after the short program. It was really fun!"

That's right. This guy is a competitor through and through, a nineteen-year-old practically made of fighting spirit. His opponent was his close friend, "Tatsuki-kun," with whom he often horsed around backstage at ice shows. Machida was five years his senior, but Hanyu had competed at the World Championships first and won a world medal before him. This year, however, Machida had been relentlessly pursuing him. At the second Grand Prix event, Skate Canada, Hanyu had even experienced the frustration of being unable to surpass Machida's score from the first event, Skate America. At the All-Japan Championships, Machida had finished a close second behind him, and the two had gone on to share the Olympic stage in Sochi. Now, at the very last moment, this "new star" might overtake him...

After the short program, Hanyu had put on a calm front in front of reporters, saying things like, "Nothing is different from usual." But his frustration was unmistakable. That night, he must surely have been tossing and turning, rolling around in his room.

"No, I'm stronger! I'm going to win!"

And yet, there was no lie in his words: "It was really fun." Someone remarked, "Maybe Hanyu is the one who is happiest about Machida's tremendous rise." That may well be true. To unleash his fighting spirit against a formidable rival and ultimately come out on top: that is the greatest joy for Yuzuru Hanyu, the competitor.

After the free skate at the Sochi Olympics, I quoted Hanyu as saying, “I want to become a skater who can lead everyone.” There was actually more to that statement.

Wouldn't it be tough to become someone whom skaters all over the world are chasing? Wouldn't it be frightening? Was he really all right with that?

He replied:

"Not at all! Because that's exactly what Plushenko was, right? And the Plushenko I liked best was the one who was competing against Yagudin. So I'm sure a rival like that will appear for me, too. If I didn't have a rival to compete against, I wouldn't be able to keep loving skating.

"When I watch Patrick now [Patrick Chan, who had won three consecutive World Championship titles], I think it must be absolutely no fun for him. Winning even when he makes that many mistakes must be boring. For an athlete who lives in the world of competition, there's nothing more frustrating than that. It must be incredibly difficult to keep winning when you haven't even delivered a performance you're satisfied with.” (Comment made after Skate America 2012)

Driven by two things, Hanyu seized the World Championship title: his pride in the two types of quadruple jumps he absolutely refused to give up on, and his fierce competitive spirit against Tatsuki Machida, a rival he absolutely refused to lose to.

After winning the Grand Prix Final and the Olympics, he had now won the World Championships as well.

There was one question I had been pondering ever since Sochi about this young nineteen-year-old champion.

Could Yuzuru Hanyu become the next Mao Asada?

"Mao-chan? You mean, why not Daisuke Takahashi?"

That's the kind of response I get when I bring up this subject. But I feel that Hanyu is now in a position where he may have to shoulder the heavy responsibility that Mao Asada had carried for so many years.

Source: https://bsima.wiki.fc2.com/wiki/%E3%82%BD%E3%83%81%E7%95%AA%E5%A4%96%E7%B7%A8

https://web.archive.org/web/20201025024836/https://webronza.asahi.com/national/articles/2014041500004.html

2014.04.16

Post-Sochi: Can Yuzuru Hanyu become the next Mao Asada? (2) - The Skater the Figure Skating World Needs

The Olympic season brings events that far exceed even our wildest expectations.

I had thought that Yuzuru Hanyu winning the men’s singles title at the Olympics was not entirely out of the question. He had plenty of youthful charm, and I vaguely imagined that if he won, he would become a popular star.

However, I had never imagined he would become this popular, filling Saitama Super Arena for the World Championships even without Daisuke Takahashi, and becoming such an extraordinary sensation that weekly magazines and television talk shows were all devoting special features to him.

“People in Japan didn’t know Yuzuru Hanyu as well as we thought they did,” one figure skating insider remarked. That was exactly right.

At the age of just 17, Hanyu became a World Championship bronze medalist. At 18, he set a world-record score in the short program, and at 19, he won the Grand Prix Final. For those of us in the skating world, this young man, who might even pull off an unexpected victory at the Sochi Olympics, was already more than a familiar face.

But to the general Japanese public, he was still a relatively unfamiliar skater. So when he suddenly emerged as Japan's first-ever Olympic gold medalist in men's figure skating, it caused a sensation, with people asking, “Who on earth is this guy?!”

As a result, ice shows across Japan were hugely successful in April. The young man was working through interview schedules packed minute by minute, continuing to deliver passionate performances amid enthusiastic cheers from the audience. Then, when I saw Hanyu occupying the center of the skaters' photographs on an ice show promotional poster, displacing Mao Asada, who had been the undisputed star, I had a thought.

Mao Asada had yet to announce what she intended to do next. But if she were to retire, or perhaps take a temporary break, could Yuzuru Hanyu become the figure who took her place?

It has been nearly ten years since figure skating first became truly popular in Japan. During that time, Mao Asada had shouldered an enormous role and responsibility, occupying a position of immense importance.

Of course, figure skating's popularity also depended on the many other popular skaters alongside her. Even so, there would have been a huge difference between having Asada and not having her. Mao Asada had played the role of continually drawing people's attention to the sport, including those who had little particular interest in figure skating. Even people who knew little about the rules would watch television if “Mao-chan is competing.” In other words, figure skating was broadcast during prime time because Asada was there.

It was not just competitions. A variety of events were held throughout the year because Mao Asada was there. At times, she even helped draw public attention to important issues, such as the very survival of skating rinks. People would think, “Something serious seems to be happening to the sport Mao-chan does.”

Furthermore, many people who initially became interested in skating because of Asada went on to find favorite skaters in the men's events or ice dance. Some became devoted fans who learned to appreciate the sport beyond its surface appeal.

A similar phenomenon occurred in South Korea with Kim Yuna. People first focused their attention on Yuna as a single star. From there, more fans became knowledgeable about the international skating scene, and skaters such as Daisuke Takahashi in men's figure skating, Canada's Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir in ice dance, and China's Pang Qing and Tong Jian in pairs became hugely popular in South Korea.

Compared with discussions of television ratings and advertising, this may seem like a less conspicuous aspect of her influence, but Asada had certainly played a role in broadening the base of figure skating fans. No other skater had been able to attract attention on that scale, and her presence as a star, along with everything she had accomplished without even realizing it, was simply enormous.

That was why so many people had been desperately searching for the “next Mao Asada” over the past several years. She could not remain an active competitor forever. People in broadcasting, those working in other media, and those at the heart of the skating world all knew that. So many people who did not want to see skating's popularity decline were frightened precisely because they could not find the “next Mao-chan.”

Contrary to their expectations, however, the most vibrant part of Japan's skating world was its men's field, led by Yuzuru Hanyu. Whenever I brought this up, people would often respond, “No, that's not it! Figure skating needs a female star!” I understood their point very well, but...

Then the Sochi Olympics ended, and what erupted was an entirely unexpected Yuzuru Hanyu frenzy. At this point, I found myself wondering: Could he perhaps...? Could he take on the enormous responsibility that Mao Asada had carried?

These were thoughts that had never occurred to me before the Sochi Olympics.

First of all, Japanese men's figure skating already had a skater who had achieved considerable popularity before Hanyu: Daisuke Takahashi. Those who do not attend competitions in person may not fully appreciate it, but Takahashi's charisma is extraordinary, too.

Mao Asada had an overwhelming impact on television ratings and the number of commercial appearances she made. Yet when it came to driving magazine and book sales, as well as attendance at ice shows and competitions, it was actually Takahashi who had the greatest impact.

In other words, Asada had the kind of mainstream popularity that made people think, “If Mao-chan is competing, I might as well watch.” But Takahashi had many times more fans who wanted to know more about Daisuke and see as much of him as possible. They were not satisfied with watching him on television alone, so they went to competitions in person and bought publications featuring him.

This distinction was clearly evident in the media, too. Newspapers and television placed greater priority on covering Mao Asada, while magazine writers catering to the needs of dedicated fans considered securing interviews with Takahashi more important. Even among those of us working in the media, this subtle division of roles had taken shape.

In fact, 90 percent of those watching the men's singles competition at the Sochi Olympics in person were Daisuke Takahashi fans. Television broadcasters apparently wanted to capture images of Japanese fans celebrating Hanyu's victory, but most of the spectators were dejected, thinking about Takahashi, who had finished sixth.

Fans loved not only Takahashi's overwhelmingly artistic performances but also his personality. He could be a little timid, and early in his career he repeatedly disappointed people's expectations. But he struggled and struggled until he grew stronger. Even after becoming strong, he never lost his endearing humility or his self-love, which was so unabashed that it made those watching him blush. Many people loved this kind of skater deeply and intensely, even if his appeal did not extend to as broad an audience as Mao Asada's.

And yet, some people would insist:

“Even so, what the figure skating world truly needs is Mao-chan!”

Source: https://bsima.wiki.fc2.com/wiki/%E3%82%BD%E3%83%81%E7%95%AA%E5%A4%96%E7%B7%A8

https://web.archive.org/web/20170123024433/http://webronza.asahi.com/national/articles/2014041600009.html

2014.04.17

Post-Sochi: Can Yuzuru Hanyu become the next Mao Asada? (3) - Beyond the Manufactured Image of “Yuzuru”

Unlike Daisuke Takahashi's charisma, Mao Asada possesses a kind of popular appeal that reaches a much wider audience in Japan. That appeal brings more people into contact with figure skating and revitalizes the sport from the ground up. Could Yuzuru Hanyu perhaps take on that role? Watching the frenzy that followed the Sochi Olympics, people are beginning to think so.

“Japanese people like strong athletes who can compete on the world stage. He's the first Japanese man ever to win Olympic gold, and he's so young. Hanyu certainly has what it takes to become an idol representing the skating world.”

“After all, he's already won the Olympic gold medal that Mao-chan never managed to win.”

If Yuzuru Hanyu really were placed in a position where he had to bear such a heavy responsibility, would he be all right?

The expectation is that he will become a strong champion who keeps winning all the way to the PyeongChang Olympics. That is ultimately up to his own training and mental preparation. There's little point in us worrying about it, and to some extent, there's probably no need to worry.

Instead, perhaps we should devote our efforts to protecting him from external pressures and scandals unrelated to competition. If he is to become the figure who leads the world of figure skating in Mao Asada's place, the entire industry must unite and do everything in its power to protect him.

Another concern is whether being elevated to superstar status might go to his head or make him complacent.

This was one aspect of Mao Asada that never changed, no matter how much attention she attracted or how popular she became. Even after becoming such an extraordinary figure, she never grew arrogant or behaved haughtily. Of course, that was part of what made Mao such a unique personality.

Compared with Mao Asada, Yuzuru Hanyu is a fairly “ordinary” boy. Although he hasn't shown it lately, he can be somewhat prone to getting carried away. I was a little concerned about that side of him, so when I recently managed to get just ten minutes for a one-on-one interview, I took the opportunity to talk with him. To my great relief, he seemed remarkably unchanged from before.

“He hasn't changed at all, even after becoming an Olympic gold medalist,” another reporter remarked admiringly. Looking at Hanyu now, it's hard to imagine him being brought down by complacency or overconfidence.

But what about from here on?

For now, he's frantically focused on the tasks immediately ahead of him: the World Championships right after the Olympics, followed without a break by a tour of ice shows. The commercial frenzy on a scale he never imagined will come later. Before the Sochi Olympics, he had already achieved a certain level of success and become a popular skater. What awaits him now, however, will be incomparably more complicated and chaotic than anything he experienced back then.

Until now, Japanese male skaters, no matter how popular they became, had been able to remain outside "this world." Hanyu is now being thrust into a world experienced only by superstars on the scale of Mao Asada.

For example, although such a thing should never happen in sport, there may be certain competitions in which things take an undesirable turn, such as Hanyu being allowed to win despite lackluster performances in order to maintain his popularity. Will he be able to endure being placed in such a helpless situation, when all he wants as a teenage athlete is to devote himself to hard work and self-improvement until PyeongChang?

Mao Asada's greatness lies in her ability to keep moving forward, unchanged, sustained solely by her love of skating, even in such circumstances.She gave no thought to the amounts of money generated by her performances or to her social influence. Even if she thought about such things to some extent, she was never swayed by them. Mao Asada may be the only person capable of continuing to skate with such a pure heart. It could be said that her extraordinary nature as a person was what allowed both her own popularity and the popularity of figure skating to flourish in such a remarkable balance.

Even so, compared with when she was a child, Asada seems to have smiled less as she continued to occupy her current position. Changes had certainly taken place in her that would not have occurred if her struggles had been limited to difficulties within the sport, such as problems with her jumps or concerns about her training environment.

Even Mao Asada was placed in a position where she could not help but change. Will Yuzuru Hanyu really be all right?

I believe that even if he becomes an unquestionably popular star, he is not the kind of person who will grow complacent. Even if he did become a little conceited, thinking himself rather impressive, I do not believe that would ruin him as an athlete. On that point, I have faith in him.

But he might, to some extent, shape himself to fit public expectations and the manufactured image of “Yuzuru Hanyu.” And he might do so with all his might, simply because he wants to live up to everyone's expectations.

After the Olympics, as Hanyu was celebrated as a new hero and prince, a skater close to him said he felt sorry for him.

“The news about Yuzuru that's going around now... doesn't it sound as if they're talking about a completely different person? That's not who he is. I feel sorry for him, and I'm worried about him.”

The heroic image portrayed by television variety shows and other programs was strange enough, but I was also concerned that newspaper coverage of his character had become almost entirely focused on his experience of the earthquake disaster.

Various accounts explained that his experience of the disaster and the difficulties he faced with his training environment afterward were what had made him mentally strong. But that narrative was far too simplistic.

Yuzuru Hanyu was already strong long before the earthquake. The disaster was certainly a profound experience, but it did not fundamentally change who he was. I cannot shake the feeling that by focusing so heavily on earthquake-related stories, the media are losing sight of his essential strength, his innate qualities, and his appeal as a person.

It makes you realize that this is how heroic images are created, shaped to suit the convenience of those doing the reporting. One column drew parallels between the way Hanyu was being portrayed and the cases of Mamoru Samuragochi and Haruko Obokata. That comparison was certainly apt. Those two became the talk of the town largely because of the stories surrounding them, rather than the musical works or research themselves. The same thing is happening to Hanyu: everything other than the main point, his skating, is becoming the subject of public attention.

Of course, Hanyu is different from those who actively sought to exploit the images and narratives that had taken on lives of their own.

In truth, he probably no longer wants to talk about the earthquake. I cannot forget the pained smile he gave me when he spoke at length about his experiences shortly after the disaster.

“When I talk about this kind of thing, I'll probably dream about that day again tonight.”

Even last season, when the NHK Trophy was held in Miyagi, he seemed to struggle considerably with having to answer questions about the earthquake while competing.

If what he had overcome had been an injury, an illness, or the death of a family member, he could have sent a message asking people to stop defining him solely by that experience. But when someone who has lived through the extraordinary experience of a natural disaster goes on to achieve such remarkable success, it is inevitable that he will be turned into a “star of reconstruction.”

Even so, Hanyu himself seems to make a conscious effort to speak about things he would rather not discuss, driven by his wholehearted desire that “if my existence can help the recovery effort, even just a little, then...”

The image of a hero from the disaster-stricken region, along with the various superficial images of “Yuzuru” that have taken shape around him, may cause him some suffering as he tries not to disappoint those expectations. The kind of suffering he will experience is one that Mao Asada, who was able to keep skating as herself, never had to endure.

Source: https://bsima.wiki.fc2.com/wiki/%E3%82%BD%E3%83%81%E7%95%AA%E5%A4%96%E7%B7%A8

https://web.archive.org/web/20170123023042/http://webronza.asahi.com/national/articles/2014041700009.html

2014.04.18

Post-Sochi: Can Yuzuru Hanyu become the next Mao Asada? (4) - The Golden Age of Japanese Men's Figure Skating Is Coming

A few years ago, despite his appearance as a guest at an ice show, the venue failed to fill all its seats. At the time, if the guest had been someone like Mao Asada, Daisuke Takahashi, or Evgeni Plushenko, tickets would undoubtedly have sold like hotcakes.

Seeing the empty seats, Yuzuru Hanyu reportedly apologized to the show's promoter, saying, "I'm sorry I couldn't bring in more spectators " He had thought about why he had been invited and keenly felt that he had failed to fulfill that role. Hanyu is someone who thinks about all sorts of things like that.

He has to consider his current role and work hard to shape his public image. I'm concerned about the burden this places on him. People are also surprisingly sensitive to anything that feels artificial. They may see through the persona he has desperately constructed to fit in with those around him and recognize that it is not the real Yuzuru Hanyu. And that, in turn, may cause him further suffering.

Yuzuru Hanyu is a treasure of Japanese figure skating and a national treasure of Japan. Is it right to place such a burden on him alone?

What does Yuzuru Hanyu need, and what does Japanese figure skating need for its future?

The answer is his rivals.

Let's look back at Hanyu's words from the first installment of this series ("Can Yuzuru Hanyu Become The Next Mao Asada? (1) [The 'Missing' Jump He Fixed]").

"The Plushenko I liked most was the Plushenko from when he was competing against Yagudin."

"I'm sure a rival like that will definitely appear for me, too. If I didn't have a rival to compete against, I wouldn't be able to keep loving skating."

At the recent World Championships, Tatsuki Machida boldly emerged as a formidable rival to Hanyu. But he is certainly not the only man capable of defeating Yuzuru Hanyu. On the international stage, there are Patrick Chan (Canada), Denis Ten (Kazakhstan), and Javier Fernández (Spain). But above all, we'd like to see more and more formidable contenders emerge from within Japan.

Keiji Tanaka and Ryuju Hino are the same age as Hanyu. Then there is the younger generation: Shoma Uno (born in 1997), Taichi Honda (born in 1998), and Sota Yamamoto (born in 2000). Many young skaters are making rapid progress, striving to catch up with Hanyu before the PyeongChang Olympics.

Of course, his rivals can be older than him, too. I'd like to see plenty more exciting performances from Takahiko Kozuka and Takahito Mura, with Machida leading the way.

They all look like quiet, gentle, somewhat timid young men. Yet beneath that appearance, they are astonishingly strong-willed athletes who hate to lose. It would surely be frustrating for them to watch Yuzuru Hanyu stand alone at the summit of superstardom, a position that had been thought attainable only by a woman, someone like Mao Asada.

Over the next four years, new stars will surely emerge one after another, each seeking to take Hanyu down and delighting audiences in the process. This was something that never happened with Mao Asada or Japanese women's figure skating. Rather than simply following an untouchable heroine, these male skaters will challenge the reigning hero, each determined to claim his crown. We are sure to witness this kind of thrilling battle in Japanese men's figure skating in the years ahead.

Of course, Hanyu won't want to lose to his friends and fellow skaters, either. At this year's World Championships, being pursued by Machida seemed to bring about a miracle: Hanyu successfully landed two different types of quadruple jumps. As his rivals improve, Hanyu will refuse to be outdone and will grow even stronger.

In fact, signs of this were already apparent. During this month of ice shows, Hanyu reportedly looked remarkably frustrated when he saw Machida land a quadruple flip cleanly during a practice session.

Then, at a practice session for the next ice show, Hanyu himself landed a perfect quadruple loop! Neither jump had yet been successfully landed in official competition by anyone. If either were landed successfully in competition, it would be a first in history. Surely this has already made us all the more eager for the next season.

If they maintain this momentum, the Japanese men's team, centered on Yuzuru Hanyu, might become the strongest team in history, for whom sweeping the podium would be almost routine. An extraordinary golden age of Japanese men's figure skating may be just around the corner, one that will capture the attention of the media and even people with no interest in skating.

Japanese figure skating needs a Mao Asada. But can Yuzuru Hanyu truly become Mao Asada?

It won’t be Yuzuru Hanyu alone who sweeps away all those adult agendas and commercial interests, but the next generation of Japanese male figure skaters as well. Figure skating was once disparaged as a "sport for sissies," and people said, "We don't need it unless it has a female star!" But these skaters will surely sweep away such attitudes.

A new four-year journey lies ahead, leading up to the PyeongChang Olympics. They will continue skating on the ice, a stage more dazzling than ever before and more demanding than ever before. Let us wish every one of them the very best as they give it their all.