[Book][Translation]The Road to Olympic Gold (by Noriko Shirota)

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Chapter 1 Enchanted by Figure Skating

 

Even Though I Can Never Win a Medal

 

Before I start to look back at the days when I became Minister of the Reinforcement Group of Japan Skating Federation and met with a great many amazing skaters, I would first like to reflect on my past as a figure skater myself. Please allow me to describe to you the atmosphere of the dawn of Japan’s figure skating.

 

The first time I put on skating boots was in 1956 when I was in the fourth grade of primary school. Now, more and more children who aim for a competitive career start to go to skating classes before primary school, but at that time, my case was already incomparably rare.

 

The turning point was a family trip to Karuizawa. People were then allowed to skate on the naturally frozen lake. My mother said, “It is too dangerous for the first time.” So she bought skating boots before the trip and took me to the ice rink “Gorakuen Ice Palace” in Tokyo, Bunkyo District. I wasn’t afraid of the ice and skated without holding onto the boards, but it wasn’t what attracted me at first. Maybe it was because I started skating in “Palace”, I was fascinated by the dancing figures of the skaters. The older girls’ bodies were wrapped in colorful dresses and the way they moved along with the music was so gorgeous! “I want to learn, too!” I expressed my emotions to my mother on our way back, and such emotions grew stronger and stronger when I watched the beautifully transparent ice beside the lake in Karuizawa.

 

Soon after that I became a member of “Gorakuen Ice Palace”. Those who taught me at that time were the 1936 Garmisch-Partenkirchen Olympian Toshiichi Katayama, and the first Japanese lady figure skating Olympian Etsuko Inada. When I was a child, I went to the rink with a casual feeling. “It will be great if I can become a competitive skater.” I thought. But “Gorakuen Ice Palace” went on to produce many famous athletes like Miwa Fukuhara and Yutaka Higuchi, and the Japanese Nationals were held there multiple times in the 1960s. In the end it soon turned out to be a rink that shouldered the dawn of Japan’s figure skating.

 

It might be related to the rapid economic development. The advancement of figure skating overlapped with the time when Japan was becoming a wealthy country. I also skated at another rink, and that was a small sub-rink. Mikasamiya sama (Prince Takahito Mikasamiya) enjoyed skating there, and it was made into a social setting by the wives of musician Hideo Saitou, known as the instructor of director Seiji Ozawa, and leader of the Supreme Judicial Court Saburou Yokota. Looking back from now, teachings I received from those who taught me the joy of skating and the acquaintances with various people at the rinks set the foundation for my life up until now.

 

I didn’t stay at “Gorakuen” all the time. During those years, coaches and skaters from various clubs around the country and officials of each province’s skating federation gathered in Karuizawa to attend a 10-day training camp. The number of people engaged in figure skating was rather small at the time, so anyone who applied would be allowed to participate. Apart from training and competitions, there were also badge tests about skaters’ techniques and some other programs. However, to me it felt more like a chance to see friends that could only meet once a year and a chance to skate in a cheerful and warm environment than “competition”. I was once told by someone from the federation, “You will surely be better!” As a result, meeting these people at the camp became my motivation during daily training.

 

Maybe it was because I found more and more things to enjoy, maybe it was because of those who encouraged me and I did get better, my training time increased from one day a week to three days a week, then five days a week ... When I got into high school, I competed not only as a single’s skater, but as an ice dancer as well. My goal was to win a medal.

 

In childhood I used to aim for high placements in ballet contests, and represented my school in a provincial relay race of Saitama, which is why I was confident with my athletic abilities and had an unyielding character. When I tried to do something, I tried to leave corresponding results. During 1962-1963 season, I won my first Japanese Junior National title when I was in my first year in high school. The following season I paired with Nobuhisa Matsumoto to win the bronze medal in ice dance in Japanese Senior Nationals and I won the bronze medal in ladies’ singles in Junior Nationals. After that I advanced to Rikkyo University, joined the skating club and continued to win two more titles in ice dance in 1965-1966 and 1966-1967 seasons.

 

As my competitive record continued to improve, I was invited to perform at Sapporo Snow Festival, the opening event of Yoyogi National Stadium in Tokyo and events at other new ice rinks around Japan. I was offered more chances to perform and the door to challenge in the world started to open in front of me.

 

However, I retired from skating at this very moment.

 

There were many reasons behind my retirement. Among them the most influential factor was that I could not picture a bright future for myself even as two-time National champion.

 

I had made up my mind I would retire, but then at a gathering of graduate members of the skating club, Katsuo Oohashi, who had already become a director in Japan Skating Federation, said to me, “We would like you to participate in Winter Universidade and the World Championships. Please keep skating.” I replied him with these words,

 

“No. Even if I do participate I can never win a medal.”

 

 I knew I was being wilful. However, “even if I keep skating, as Japanese I can never win a medal on world stage” was truly what I thought. It was funny because Nobuo Sato just came fourth in the World Championships in 1965 and people were just beginning to see hope of a Japanese getting onto Worlds’ podium. During the years when I fought for the Nationals podium, I felt through personal experience that compared with elite athletes from other countries, I started skating too late. There was no hope I could further improve myself, and I knew it.

 

After all, Japan was considered the “far east” in the figure skating world. Even after getting on the top of the podium at Japan National Championships, for most Japanese skaters, winning medals in international competitions was a dream within a dream.

 

Becoming a Member of Japan Skating Federation

 

After I retired from competitive skating in my second year in university, I thought casually “maybe I can study abroad”. But in the end I got married right after graduation and had a family. That was a time when female could hardly step into society, so like most of my schoolmates, I moved into a mansion closed to the hospital where my husband worked and became an idle housewife.

 

However, something happened about a year later, which brought me back to the world of figure skating. It felt like destiny. I met Oohashi, the senior who tried to keep me from retiring, at the parking lot of my mansion. It turned out his house was being rebuilt so he moved nearby for a temporary stay. As I was still in shock, he asked me, “Thank goodness. If you have time, can you please come to the rink at Shinagawa? Prince Mikasamiya is looking for an ice dance partner.”

 

It had been three years since I retired and I hadn’t stepped onto the ice ever since. “Can I still skate well?” Though I felt unsure, I went to the rink a few days later. On arriving, immense joy hit me. I was so happy to see Prince Mikasamiya, all my seniors and friends when I competed, and more importantly, I felt comfortable skating in a different way since I no longer had to push myself. Since then, I started to go to the rink once a week and continued for almost a year.

 

By the way, “the rink at Shinagawa” was built in 1962 by the owner of Seibu Railway Group, Yoshiaki Tsutsumi. He opened the rink in Shinagawa Prince Hotel in order to promote the development of ice hockey and figure skating. It was officially called “Shinagawa Skating Centre.” Just like Gorakuen Ice Palace where I used to skate, the rink not only functioned as the arena of Japan Nationals when the competition took place in Tokyo, but also became the office of Tokyo Skating Federation. Therefore, it seemed natural that one day a senior said to me, “You should join the federation too. Just come when you can.”

 

That was how I became a member of Japan Skating Federation in 1970, thus formally returning to the world of figure skating.

 

At that time, one could work as a level B judge at regional or sectional competitions if he had been an athlete himself. Because I belonged to Tokyo Skating Federation, I judged at competitions held in Tokyo, and started to assist skaters in preparations and other personal affairs as well. ” I enjoyed being together with my seniors, who when I was still competing, used to lovingly call me "Noko chan", and cherished the intense atmosphere of competition. I remember feeling happy just hearing my name being called.

 

It was a different case with Japan Nationals and international competitions such as Winter Universiade and NHK Trophy. Those were the hard times. The Operation Office had no more than ten people, far fewer than today, which forced us to stay in the business hotel near the arena to continue preparation before the competition. As professional instructors, coaches could receive payment from their students, but staff worked for free. No matter you are merely a judge or the head of the federation, all staff were volunteers. Male staff usually had other jobs for income and worked part time, which I believe could only be done because they truly love the sport of skating.

 

Let me tell you something about the memorable first NHK Trophy, held in 1979 in Tokyo Yoyogi Stadium. It was the fiftieth year since the foundation of Japan Skating Federation and the ninth year since I joined, but I still smile when I think about it as I step into the arena of NHK Trophy nowadays.

 

Since it was the first time an international figure skating competition was held in Asia, everything had to start from scratch. I was the youngest among the ten staff of the Operation Office and my job was to help around in literally everything. Maybe the seniors who had known me from childhood thought, “Whatever happens, Shirota can manage something.” “Noko chan, do this next!” “Noko chan, after you finish this, go there!” I was busy answering all kinds of requests and rushed here and there like in a farce.

 

The first thing that gave us a headache was gathering audience. Though nowadays tickets for NHK Trophy sell out as soon as they get on line and people can be seen in every corner of the arena, at that time, even if we put up posters at stations and all kinds of places, we hardly got any responses. “We have to do something. For the sake of skaters from around the world.” I went to various women meetings in Tokyo and primary schools nearby to give out tickets, and gifted tickets to students studying at NHK Cultural Centre. However, I didn’t receive much outcome. Watching my seniors setting the schedule and preparing the facilities, I worried so much about how many people would show up at the arena that I was sweating all over.

 

Then came the first day of competition when everyone in the staff had something not fully prepared. Just like I imagined, right before the start there were still many vacant seats. The competition would be broadcast live, so I rushed to the cameraman and limited the range of audience to be filmed. I also called out to the audience to move from the second floor to the first and sit closer to the rink.

 

However, after I finished reseating the audience and returned to the office, at the exact moment I thought I could sit down and relax, something happened. Despite the fact that the competition had already started, I heard the chairman of the Operation Committee shout angrily. “Stop the competition! Get the skaters back to the locker room! Make the zambonis round the rink!” I moved closer to see what happened and found out that he had an argument with the director of NHK.

 

The problem was with the electronic screen which hung on the wall of the arena. When I asked about it I was told “NHK claimed the ‘SEIKO’ logo on the screen is forbidden since it’s propaganda.” But the truth was the screen was gifted by Ms. Seiko because of the Operation Committee’s limited budget. The screen itself was expensive but was lent for free under the condition that “the logo should be shown.” (Of course, we had asked for NHK’s permission in advance and got a reply that “since it’s necessary facility for the arena then there’s nothing we can do about it.”) However we argue no one would make a concession. Finally the chairman of the Operation Committee declared furiously, “Then stop this! Stop this competition!”

 

On hearing his words, someone objected. “Please show the logo! Even if you report that the Skating Federation forced you to do this it’s OK! You can’t film an empty rink any longer!”

 

Although the competition continued, I soon received another order from the vice chairman of the Committee. “Shirota, go to the broadcasting van!” I understood it as “go to the broadcasting van and make sure they did show the logo on the screen.” So I ran out immediately.

 

But upon reaching the broadcasting van, an even more unexpected problem occurred. I checked the cameras, the “SEIKO” logo was definitely shown, but the camera could hardly follow the skater’s movements. When filming a jump, sometimes even the most important part, the skater’s foot could not be caught. How can this happen? I hurriedly checked the pictures of other cameras, gave instructions on which camera shot to switch to, and arranged the specific cameramen for tomorrow’s official practice to catch each skater’s paths.

 

During this competition, Emi Watanabe won the ladies singles and Fumio Igarashi came second in men. The results were promising, but to tell the truth, there were problems everywhere. We repeated such unsuccessful trials thousands of times to make NHK Trophy what it is today, and I will keep telling you about it in the chapters to come.

 

I qualified as a level A judge after working in the Tokyo Skating Federation for a year and could then judge at competitions outside Tokyo. However, my son was born then, and my daughter two years later, so I turned down most of the invitations saying “I can’t go to places where I have to sleep out because my children were still young.” Nowadays skaters take only about a week to compete abroad, but at that time, after arriving at the arena, they spent a week adapting to the time difference, and then practice for another week for the competition. The schedules were arranged this way too, so if you accompanied a skater to the World Championships, you had to leave Japan for at least three weeks. There were more male than female in the federation, and there were not enough people to take care of female athletes, so I started to have more chances to work in athletes’ reinforcement than as a judge. I wanted to work from the standpoint of a “wife, and a mother”, and tried not to break the balance between my family life and skating.

 

Then one day, the one thing that greatly changed me happened.

 

The Impact of A Genius: Midori Ito

 

It was in 1977 when Minoru Sano won the first bronze medal in men’s singles at the Tokyo World Championships that I began to dream: One day, the Japanese skaters would be able to reach their hand towards the top of the world. Then, something happened.

 

I had been working in Japan Skating Federation for seven years by then and belonged to the department in charge of the badge tests (a test measuring skaters’ abilities). However, in the meantime I had to look after my children who were attending kindergarten and my priorities were with my family. Then, something happened. One of my seniors at the skating club of Rikkyo University, Mieko Fujimori asked me, “There seems to be an amazing female skater in Nagoya. Can you go and check if she is a promising skater?” Even though I was interested, it was difficult for a housewife with little children to leave the home she upheld and stay out for days for work. I tried to turn down the request but couldn’t be allowed. After half a year of dodging, I finally lost to my curiosity. I wanted to meet her, just for once. I couldn’t suppress such a thought so in the end I invited her to perform at a farewell exhibition when we were sending off skaters of Shinagawa Skating Centre to the World Championships. And she accepted the offer.

 

“Nice to meet you!”

 

It was a little girl brought to the rink side by her father, second year in primary school. She was polite and gave me a fearless impression. I watched her skate off energetically onto the ice. She was so small that she could be hidden behind the boards. What kind of power can such a small girl have? The thought barely came to my mind when the scene in front of my eyes shocked me wordless. A beautiful double axel! And such height that she almost jumped over the boards! The air time was nice and long and she rotated smoothly before landing back onto the ice.

 

That kind of jump gave people the envision of her later symbol, the triple axel. At that time, even for most senior ladies, double axel was the limit. But I never saw the fear of falling, or getting injured from the huge pressure of landing on the ankle from her. She didn’t hesitate before throwing herself into the air and from that I didn’t doubt she would be doing multiple triple jumps soon. Her strength was not only in the jumps. Her axis of the spins were so straight that she wouldn’t travel and kept spinning on same spot.

 

Is this what they call “talent”?

 

I could feel there was a bright future ahead of her. This was the kind of feeling I never had with past skaters. The first genius I met—that’s how I would define Midori Ito.

 

This girl is bound to fly to the world. I believed.

 

Not long after, Midori won Japan Junior Nationals in March, 1980. The following season, she participated in the Senior Nationals despite her age and got onto the podium (third place), and within no time, she became the genius famous around the country.

 

Behind her growth, there was her coach Machiko Yamada and other people who supported her. Midori had undoubtable talents, but financially, there were traveling expenses for competitions, and the environment was so bad that she couldn’t even find a satisfactory costume. Coach Yamada had various concerns about her, from “Is it right to let her continue skating?” to “How can someone so particular about food like Midori build a strong body? What kind of diet should she have?” The coach wondered about the details for her skater every day. When I finally became able to accompany them to competitions overseas and had more chances to work alongside Coach Yamada, I said to her, “What about letting her move in to stay at your house?” Outside the rink, Coach Yamada was a wife and mother just like me. I thought about the burdens it might bring Coach Yamada, but the instinct that “I would do anything to protect her talent” overcame that thought.

 

Looking back now, I think I was driven by the appearance of the unexpected genius. I wasn’t in the place and hadn’t any power to decide on a skater’s reinforcement, but in the presence of overwhelming talents, I began to have the will that I wanted to do whatever I could for skating. I called it “particular about food”, but Midori’s favourite food at that time was instant noodles. All the fish she could eat were sardines, sword fish and blue fish. All the vegetables she could eat were tomatoes, cucumbers and a few others. But she couldn’t build a body that was fit on world’s stage with only those. I thought I could at least do something about this so I brought her out to eat when she came to Tokyo and encouraged her to eat different kinds of fish and vegetables she didn’t like. Afterwards I would contact Coach Yamada, “Midori ate shrimps sushi today.” “She seems to be able to eat eels now.” Those days felt just like yesterday.

 

Meanwhile, I gave her dresses or new costumes on her birthdays or holidays like Christmas. Besides wanting to celebrate for her, I also wished that I could support Coach Yamada, who raised founds for Midori’s traveling expenses and bought skating boots and costumes for her. My feeling became stronger, the feeling that I want to send Midori to the world as an athlete.

 

Midori was already famous among skating professionals since her first appearance in international competitions, the 1980 World Junior Championships (London, Ontario, Canada) where she demonstrated triple jumps. In the following season’s World Junior Championships (Oberstdorf, West Germany), she successfully landed five types, a total of seven triple jumps for the first time in the world in her free skate, and turned into an awesome skater. Some even called her “the typhoon girl” or the “the tsunami girl”. It seemed the Worlds podium was already within reach. “Midori Ito opened the wind hole for Japan’s figure skating history.” For the first time in my life, I started to feel the “dream” I once had was becoming reality.

 

The twelve-year-old girl who gathered the world’s attention was pure and innocent. She once went out of her dorm to play in the snow around the Oberstdorf city, in whose centre stood a church, and we completely lost her trace. Every one in Germany panicked. I panicked after receiving an international call at midnight. However, she stopped a taxi on her own, told the driver the only thing she remembered, the name of the rink, and returned with a bright smile. I almost choked upon receiving the report, but it turned out to be just one of the charms of the innocent young Midori.

 

On the other hand, banquets in those days were even more luxurious than those of now, so I had to look for appropriate adult clothes for her to wear during international competitions. It wasn’t rare for female skaters to bring several formal dresses in their suitcases at that time. In order to push Midori onto the world’s stage, I though it necessary to leave a good impression on officials of the International Skating Union (ISU) and judges in such occasions. Because Japanese skaters were still nobodies in the figure skating world, I started by making Midori wear the dresses I bought her, and lead her to greet the officials present at the banquets. Figure skating is an elegant sport created by the noble class of Western Europe, so manners and gestures were of vital importance. At first Midori complained “It’s late. I’m sleepy. I want to go back to my room.” But still she did as I requested sincerely. She not only had good manners, but also sheer positive characteristics that made her loved within a short period of time no matter what circumstances she was under.

 

Send Midori to the top of the world. It had become the only wish in the Japan Skating Federation. In 1982, we sent Midori to the World Junior Championships in Sarajevo. Whenever I reflect on my skating enclosed life, I always remember that moment, when every official involved in the federation gathered at Shinagawa Prince Hotel, set a ten year plan and vowed to win her a gold medal at the Olympic Games.

 

A ten year plan—it was called the “Midori Ito Project”. The ultimate goal was to make the then 22-year-old, matured Midori win the gold medal of Albertiville Olympics (1992), and for that purpose, she would attend the Sarajevo Olympics at 14, the Calgary Olympics at 18 to accumulate experience. Such was the outline.

 

In order to achieve the goal step by step, we did what we could to work out detailed strategies and plans. First and foremost, it was to build her solid techniques and reinforce her place in the World Junior Championships. Then, we would push her onto the podium of the World Junior Championships held in Japan and she would be able to qualify for the Sarajevo Olympics. (During that time, top three in World Junior Championships were allowed to participate in the Olympics even if they hadn’t reached the age limit.) And then, we would bid for the World Championships to make her a famous athlete so that she can attend the Calgary Olympics as a Worlds medalist ... As someone who watched from aside, I felt excitement from the bottom of my heart that a new era was coming to a start.

 

Starting the “Midori Ito Project”

 

Unfortunately, things seldom go according to plan.

 

The debate about starting the “Midori Ito Project” was becoming fierce when I received an urgent call from coach Yamada.

 

“I’m sorry, Ms. Shirota! Midori broke her foot ... ”

 

It was only one month until the World Junior Championships. As much as she cried Midori had to give up her spot, and it affected the following season. I did what I was supposed to do according to plan, which was to welcome the next World Junior Champions to Sapporo in order to allow Midori to participate in the Sarajevo Olympics. Since it would be in our home country, I wished at least two skaters could perform and gain more experience. And to secure two spots for next season, the skater had to come into top ten in this competition. Fortunately, the substitute Sachie Yuuki won the fifth place and secured two spots. For Midori to get onto the podium at the Sapporo World Junior Championships and qualify for the Sarajevo Olympics, her next challenge was Japan Nationals. However, she had a hard time with compulsory figures, which she wasn’t good at, and as a result, didn’t win the fight for the Olympics spot. In the end, we had to alternate the plan.

 

No matter what, Midori was an amazing skater. How big an influence did she have on Japan’s, or more thoroughly, world’s figure skating? In the 1983-1984 season, she received the full mark of 6.0 in technical elements in an international competition in Prague (Czechoslovakia) and won her first international title. With the good momentum, she won the silver medal at the Ennia Challenge Cup (Hague, Netherland), losing only a few points to the gold medalist of the Sarajevo Olympics, Katarina Witt (East Germany). She also competed at the World Championships in Ottawa, Canada. Even though this was her first appearance on the big stage, she successfully landed a 2Lo-3Lo and a 3T-3T, which were both succeeded for the first time, ranking seventh overall. She had enough results for spectators to have high hopes of her future.

 

High hopes for her future—This is not something that can be judged only through rankings. The one thing that was most impressive for me was that after Midori lost to Katarina Witt by a small margin, there was a heated discussion at the judges’ meeting. Midori had five types of triples jumps, but Katarina Witt could only jump two. I attended the meeting since I also worked as a judge and claimed, “Midori has great jumps. Figure skating is a sport. Difficult techniques should be rewarded.” “No, figure skating is a pursuit of beauty. Style and elegance are necessary. Witt’s strategy was correct.”—Young judges mostly supported Midori and experienced judges generally supported Witt. In the 80s, it was still very difficult for Japanese skaters to express music and the program as a whole. The reason lies in that Europeans and Americans are familiar with classical music, opera and ballet. Despite wanting to compete with them, the learning environment was not ready for Japanese skaters. At that time, the referee concluded “Both sides have their points” and ended the discussion. “Considering the tradition of figure skating, it is reasonable to support Witt. On the contrary, one gets fascinated by Midori’s jumps. It is also reasonable to support her.”

 

I was very happy. Because Japan’s technical advantage exhibited by Midori was acknowledged by Europe and America who long dominated figure skating! It was the first time the thought “Japanese skaters can match skaters from the world as good jumpers” came around, and it started a standard routine of a skater’s development nowadays.

 

However, the hard struggle for the top of the world continued afterwards. In the 1984-1985 season, Yoyogi, Tokyo successfully bid for the World Championships, but Midori once again withdrawn from this competition which was a major part of the project. She had pain in her right ankle and prepared for the competition on painkillers, but it became a facture during official practice. I was a member of the event committee and had to meet guests from home and abroad day and night, so I wasn’t able to be at her side at the time. While waiting for the diagnosis, I kept asking co-workers running around how she was, “Is there anything we can do to help her recover?” I felt extremely anxious. And I thought deeply. Why does such a talented girl always having injuries when faced with the most important competition?

 

The backgrounds of her injuries, were her pride as the “pioneer of jumps” of the world, and her overly intense training towards the growing expectations from people around her. In other words, the pressure to master the most difficult and never-been-done jump, the triple axel.

 

Growing expectations—I remember well the craze of the media that reflected the expectations on her. Midori was always chased by journalists and cameramen. We had to have her enter the rink through the back door, or have another car going the opposite direction to drive away the media when she went to the hospital. I will never forget how Midori looked when the decision to withdraw was made and she entered the media room with a stick where a dozen cameramen were waiting. That was a fifteen-year-old girl and a third-year student in junior high school. The scene made me sad beyond description.

 

The Miscalculation in Albertville

 

Three years passed and it came into the 1987-1988 season. Midori turned 18 when she entered the Calgary Olympics. I expect some of you still remember how she made a guts pose after finishing her free skate and how the crowd went wild. (This is the kind of accomplishment beyond imagination at that time.) The result was a fifth-place finish. She landed for the first time in history seven difficult triple jumps of five types. It was regarded as “the technique of the future ten years” and Midori was given the privilege to skate last in the exhibition.

 

Using this as a good start, Midori continued to produce amazing results. Before retiring after the Albertville Olympics, she won Japan National Championships eight times and NHK Trophy six times. During the 1988-1989 NHK Trophy, she succeeded in landing the first triple axel in the ladies competition. Such voices as “Midori is the best” became louder and louder across the globe that when she landed the triple axel beautifully in the following World Championships (Paris), she confirmed her victory as a world champion.

 

A world champion. Since joining the International Skating Union sixty years ago, Japan had been looking forward to this day and night.

 

Now nobody could doubt Midori’s genius. The time had come.

 

The ultimate goal of “the Midori Ito Project” was the Albertville Olympic Games in 1992.

 

I accompanied Midori and coach Yamada to the competition. We arrived on the day of the opening draw, seventh of February, and everyone felt the pressure of a ten-year-long dream finally fulfilling. The compulsory figures, the one aspect Midori had long struggled with, was abolished, and there seemed now nothing else to worry about. “The Genius Jumper Midori or the Elegant Dancer Christi Yamaguchi (USA)?” Right before what felt like a close match, a great many media predicted Midori as an Olympic gold medalist, including News Week which used Midori’s picture as the front cover.

 

Midori was going to skate third in the fourth group. That is to say, she would perform later than her main rivals, which made things look even better for her. At that time, the captain of Team Japan of Yoshiaki Tsutsumi, who had been supporting Midori since secondary school. We staff of Japan Skating Federation also set a condominium near the rink, preparing rice and salmon, codfish, laver, even oden and sweets . . . We brought all machines including the rice cooker to assure Midori, who was particular about food get to eat what she likes and relax and adjust her body to the best condition. “Eh? Shirota san’s cooking?” Midori laughed when she saw me making tamagoyaki (fried egg). On the 9th, the day after the opening ceremony, Midori started to go to the rented rink in Megeve, which is not far from Albertville, for practice. She brought rice balls and wore the relaxed expression from beginning to finish . . . At least that was what I thought.

 

On the twelfth of February, the official practice at the main rink started. The skaters got to skate for around 45 minutes here every day. Although the competition wouldn’t start until a week later, there was already a competitive mood. The officials and judges from the ISU, media from different countries got their first impressions of the skaters here. More importantly, one could create pressure on her rivals here. It was only practice, but one had to control the atmosphere.

 

Midori showed amazing performance during official practice. She landed all her jumps perfectly, including the triple axel. Usually skaters take time to skate around and get used to the ice, in order to prepare the body for difficult jumps, but Midori did all the jumps in the first twenty minutes, when other skaters were still warming up. It was just as smooth during her music rotation. One by one, she landed multiple jumps including the triple axel combination at the start of her program and left the rink when there was still time left. “That will do it!” She seemed to have strength to spare. The abilities way beyond most skaters left her rivals stunned. People were certain she would win the gold medal. “It is all according to plan. The time has come.” I thought.

 

We planned to let her present 80% of her abilities during official practice, then allow her to fall back a little bit, and in the end peak during the competition. However, Midori’s strength started to slowly decline and she was unable to regain it. She had landed enough triple axels after arrival that could almost guarantee her victory, but on the morning of the nineteenth February, the competition day, she didn’t manage to land one . . .

 

Things I learnt from Midori

 

As a result, Midori failed to win the gold medal.

 

The overall standing was the second. Even though it was a silver medal, it was the first Olympic medal that Japan has ever received. It should have been a success. And more importantly, the last triple axel that she landed when she had given up to answer all the expectations on her shoulders shone greater light than a gold medal.

 

However, I felt extremely defeated by the fact that we were only one step away from the gold medal. I was so frustrated that I can’t recall a single thing that I did before we went back to Japan. It was not just Midori’s failure. It was our failure, the entire Japan Skating Federation. Why? Because we were blessed with a genius, a talent that one can merely encounter “once in a hundred years”, but we still failed to bring the gold medal back to Japan.

 

Why—

 

I kept reflecting on it for days, for months.

 

In Albertville, every time a practice was over, Midori was surrounded by an enormous number of reporters that she had never seen in life. “How was your triple axel?” “Have you got yourself fully prepared?” “Can we expect the gold medal?” However confident the athlete is, if she is continuously questioned like this, anxiety is sure to arise from the bottom of the heart. Especially after Seiko Hashimoto won the bronze medal in the 1500-metre race in speed skating, voices claiming “if it was Midori she can get the gold” “victory is guaranteed” brought even more pressure.

 

“I’m okay.” “I will do my best.” Midori’s expressions were getting darker as she answered questions with few words. There was nothing we could do. The situation had gone beyond our control. We did preparation based on the experience of past Olympic figure skaters, but who could ever imagine a reporter sneaking into the condominium to put a hidden camera?

 

“This is getting worse.” I thought. So I ordered a senior skater to confront the media instead of Midori and said to them, “She is fine. And she is simply going to skate at the competition like she always does.” I repeated the same thing again and again to the eager reporters and it was when I started to feel sorry. We weren’t prepared for the chaos, and we didn’t have any solutions. We didn’t even know how to calm Midori. It was already too late when we realized the problem. I felt guilty that although we had little experience in dealing with so many local and foreign media, it was the big stage we had long dreamed of. It wasn’t even a valid excuse. When the competition was over, Midori lowered her head and looked so fragile in front of the media. “I am sorry that I couldn’t capture the gold medal.” My feeling of guilt became even stronger seeing this.

 

Some time later a few thoughts came to my head. What if we got Midori gradually used to mass media? Like when she injured her foot before the World Championships in 1985 and a number of spotlights turned to her, if we didn’t hide her from the cameras, instead turned the media into helpers to boost the communication between us and skaters . . . Maybe the result could be different.

 

And the one thing that needs the deepest introspection lies somewhere unseen.

 

It happened in January 1992, a day before Nationals in Kobe, when no one doubted Midori would be chosen as an Olympian to go to Albertville. I received a phone call from Midori herself. “Shirota san, I don’t want to go . . .” “What are you saying at this hour?! I am leaving for Kobe now, and you have to come!” I scolded. As I arrived at the arena, I saw her on the spot and looked just as usual but . . .

 

Perhaps something had changed in her heart long before the Olympics. After winning the World Championships in 1989, Midori’s goal became the first place at every competition. Midori certainly fulfilled that expectation by winning most of them, her skills which were completed at high levels were not 100 percent shown each time. Maybe in the deepest part of her, she felt she hadn’t fully answered the expectations, and such worries sometimes turned to emotions of not wanting to skate at all.

 

As the only world champion, all the hopes were on her. The innocent girl who loved skating, who used to feel overjoyed by the beautiful snow scene she saw during a competition was nowhere to be found. Looking back from now, my whole plan to make her a winner in Albertville and all I thought was perfect support might have been a huge burden for her. If I had known her true emotions . . .

 

Unfortunately, I only realized the truth after my sixty years of work in figure skating, which is, the “right way” could only be found after the result came out.

 

I learnt this from the time that I dedicated to one genius.

 

No athlete can win if you make her carry the entire nation alone.

 

If we don’t face the world as a whole, we can never get onto the highest podium of the Olympic Games.

 

That’s why “we shouldn’t rely on one genius, and we have to create a pool of talents in Japan.” I learnt this from a failure, but ironically, it gave me the strength to stand up in the long-last depressions later on.

[planetmidi]

Thank you, thank you, thank you norwhite for taking the time to translate.  This is such an incredible read and I so appreciate you taking the time to translate.  Your kindness to give the gift of translation is very much appreciated!!

[axelsandwich]

Thank you so much for continuing the translation, it's fascinating to look at the process behind the scenes. No pressure at all but I hope you keep at it! 

[bubblyfluff]

Thank you so much for the translation dear! It's soothing to read the words of someone who dedicates her entire life to the sport, indeed this is so beautiful.

 

And the part where she said "the very existence of Hanyu is the music.", that exactly is what I feel since Hanyu's Hope and Legacy! Last season it was reaffirmed especially during Ballade and of course, Notte Stellata. And after watching FaOI 2018, the Haru Yo Koi, he showed that he has complete control over that skill of his. I believe that Hanyu will be able to embody every music he chooses to skate to!

[jinxxoo]

Thank you so much for the translation!

What fascinating insight into Japan's figure skating history.

[norwhite]

Chapter 2 Japan’s Figure Skating: The Age of Winter

 

The Gold Medal is “Comprehensiveness”

 

I spent the summer of the year of the Albertville Olympics in Nagano. The reason behind this was to prepare for the opening of the first National Hopeful Youngster Scouting Camp, which is held to excavate the hidden talents all over Japan. During that time, I was just appointed vice minister of the Reinforcement Group and the responsibilities on my shoulders grew, but it was definitely not a time when I dashed forward for a new aim.

 

That was the hardest time of my skating career.

 

I had a chance to support a genius that we only meet once in a hundred years, but I failed to help Midori Ito win the gold medal—such regret was still torturing me. Until that time, I had thought that if I could meet a skater who’s got talent and jumped well, I could send her onto the top of the podium. But then I learned the Olympic Games are not such an easy stage. I visited Nagano in a low spirit, and there I met Takeshi Tsuchigahata, minister of the Reinforcement Group at that time. What he said to me I could never forget.

 

“Shirota, what we need to win the gold medal at the Olympics is comprehensiveness.”

 

That is to say, however talented an athlete is, she needs her supporters closely behind her to produce a result.

 

What I should be developing, is not only the ability to foster or support a skater.

 

A heartfelt realization of mine was that in order to push a Japanese athlete to the top in the figure skating world, whose control had long been held within the hands of European and North American countries, staff as ourselves must first have the strength to rival the West. By assisting international competitions in unquestionable ways and holding big competitions smoothly, we would gain trust and be recognized as allies by other countries. In those ally countries we could build the relationships necessary for training a skater.

 

It was a task requiring exploration, however, step by step, we found the problems we needed to solve to fulfill the task. The regret from Albertville quietly and slowly turned into a determination.

 

We will grasp the next chance with our own hands.

 

Then we are sure to capture the gold medal.

 

The Trials at NHK Trophy

 

We wanted to be abreast of European and American countries. However, we only realized how far we were from this ambition after the outcome of NHK Trophy, the one time I mentioned in previous chapters, and I hope I can convey the feeling.

 

During the 1980s, when Midori Ito brought light to Japan’s figure skating, NHK Trophy, which Midori won six times in total, started to gain attention and expectations not only from within Japan, but foreign countries as well. As a result, situations such as “distributing tickets” which happened when the competition was first held never reoccurred, but we still felt lacking money and experience during the operation. As an international competition that Japan has to hold once a year, we tried to find different cities outside Tokyo to be the host. In the end we had to go through trial and error every time we chose a new hosting city, and we went on to repeat what we did for the first competition for quite a while.

 

It was during the ninth NHK Trophy held in Harudori Ice Arena in Kushiro, 1987. I worked as a member of the staff, in the meantime, I was also ordered to take part in the judges’ meeting organized by the International Skating Union (ISU). It turned out I had to run around with both ID cards of the staff and attendee.

 

Because it was the first time for Kushuro to host such a big event, there were more problems to take care of before the competition than ever before. Compared to National Yoyogi Sports Stadium in Tokyo or Makomanai Ice Arena in Sapporo, which holds skating events from time to time, we didn’t know much about the rink itself. Opening the gate, we saw a rink in the state of a storeroom and we hurriedly cleaned it up to make it more like a competition field. Is this place seriously going to hold an international competition? That was the thought in our minds.

 

Speaking of NHK Trophy in Hokkaido, I could not forget the competition held in Taisetu Arena in Asahigawa three years later either. It was so cold that your body would make sounds when you look down. It was difficult to simply skate not to mention jump. I checked the thermometer and it was below zero degrees. I decided it was practically impossible to hold a competition in such a cold environment and complained to the staff, “You have to make it warmer otherwise there will be injuries.” However, the only reply I received was “we cannot”. Even our blood ran cold because the competition would be cancelled if it went on like this.

 

It was time for some hard work.

 

“Do you know there are heaters connected to ducts that were used when staying up or for funerals in cold seasons? Those should be able to make the arena warmer. Let’s make some of them!”

 

I immediately went to the houses of local staff and brought heaters. We taped plastics into cylinders to make them function as ducts, and put them around the walls of the arena. Praying as we turned on the switch, the temperature at once rose to about ten degrees. “Now it would be fine for the competition!” We were so happy that we all shouted out.

 

Looking back from nowadays I can tell them as funny stories, but unexpected problems turn up every year. When problems occur, we would combine our knowledge to try to solve them, again and again, and during such processes, I got to learn and form my own understanding of “how to run a big competition” “what we should pay attention to” “what we should do to make a competition run smoother”, etc. In a word, ideas only emerge when you are on the spot and using your own body. With the accumulation of trials, we should be getting closer to the ideal. We had no choice but to continue forward with such a belief.

 

The National Hopeful Youngster Scouting Camp

 

Before the first National Hopeful Youngster Scouting Camp started in Nagano in July, 1992, I had no choice but to visit different rinks across the country in person when I heard someone say “There is a good skater.” I tried my best to do so, to the extent that whenever there was the request “Please come and have a look”, I would reply “Sure, I will go.” But there was still limitation on the times I could travel. One of my seniors in the federation saw it and suggested, “Compared to traveling like this, isn’t it more efficient to gather all the skaters at one place?” He was right. In this way it will be possible for all staff members to watch the skaters and improve our efficiency, and therefore we made the decision to begin a camp.

 

Our purpose was just as the name of the camp suggested, to find all the hidden young talents around Japan. It was the first time for us to start a national recruitment. The first camp was set during the last ten days of July after the summer vacation started, in which every skater with a recommendation from where they lived was accepted.

 

Because most of the skaters gathered would be minors without their parents by the side, we were very careful in choosing an appropriate location for the camp. Besides a whole-time rink, other requirements include grounds for off-ice training and a safe dormitory not too far from the rink. We looked a lot of places for such a facility, and then found one that is used until now, the Teisan Ice Skating Training Centre on Nobeyama Plateau, Minamimaki Village, Minamisaku Gun, Nagano Ken. We borrowed the skating rink and decided the camp would last four days and three nights.

 

The project was proposed more than one year before the Albertville Olympics, so it wasn’t like we suddenly thought of investing in scouting youngsters. However, the United States, the power house of figure skating at the time, already had three candidates, Yamaguchi Christi, Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding, for Albertville and successfully supported Yamaguchi to aim for the gold medal, which made us realize that we needed to have more than one skater to compete on the world stage. We had to have all three quotas. We needed not one, but three shots to win the Olympic Games. Such a thought grew stronger and stronger in my mind.

 

The National Youngster Scouting Camp (Nobeyama Camp in short) is not only a place to offer on-ice training to the skaters, but also off-ice training, tests of skaters’ sense of rhythm, performance and physical abilities. Personally, I felt it wasn’t necessary to find a skater who was all-round perfect at this age, but he had to present the probability to master the jumps. Thus although there was no age limit for the first camp, I narrowed it down to 9 to 12 years old afterwards.

 

For most skaters, the foundation of their skating were set from 7 to 10 years old, among which how many jumps had they mastered was one key element. There were four points that I paid much attention to: (1) The physical sense of balance; (2) The scale of their skating; (3) Whether they can skate without lowering their waist or not; (4) The body type able to sustain a growth spurt.

 

If a skater doesn’t have a good sense of balance, he would be prone to injury; if he cannot glide far enough with one step, his skating wouldn’t be completed beautifully; and the stability of the position of his waist would affect the stability of a skater’s jumps.

 

As for body type, it is best for a skater to have a body as thin as a pencil. It is associated with the rotation axis of his jumps. And it doesn’t help much for a skater to have long arms and legs. It is a pity that such conditions cannot be changed even if the skaters themselves work hard, but still, I secretly observed the body type of the skaters’ parents.

 

On the opening of the camp, I gave a speech before the skating session started. Parents who sent their children to the camp had to leave after the speech, and I said the following things to them every year.

 

“If you raised your child as a gentle young master or mistress, don’t hesitate to take him or her back right now. This camp is held for those who aim for the top and are willing to defeat the others for this goal.”

 

To become a top athlete in international competitions, it might be necessary to have the strength of an entire family besides the athlete’s own hard work. A skater’s remaining on the rink means his family is bound to be drawn into the competition, not to mention the huge financial burden. If a skater heard my speech and lost his faith, then he could never survive on the world stage. The nearer one is to the top, the more it becomes clear that nice words won’t get you through, it is a world where there’s only winners or losers. This camp is open not only to find children willing to devote their passion to skating, but also to let their family decide whether they have the determination to fight for the top of the world.

 

Honestly, I have a lot of memories regarding the camp.

 

At first, because there were few participants, we had campfire and fireworks. We even had activities like normal schools. But during the years the number of participants grew to more than 100, so we had to reduce the field activities. It was a bit sad. It was believed activities outside skating were useless, however, in fact they offered a good chance to discover the characteristics of the skaters.

 

I was strict during training, but I tried my best to play the part of a mother-like figure in other circumstances. When a great many children were gathered together, it is unavoidable for some of them to feel uncomfortable, like having a stomachache or a fever. For this purpose, only my dormitory is a twin room. I let the child who got sick sleep beside me, fed him water at night, and did other temporary care like changing the towel.

 

Being among all the young talents of the same age around Japan and learning from each other, some skaters showed amazing improvement even during the short period of four days. Those who used be the one being looked up to at their home rink only came to realize they were merely “one of them” after coming to Nobeyama Camp. I believed that witnessing the better spins, better skating and better jumps of their rivals closely is of enormous value to skaters of good prospects.

 

The Sunset in Saint Gervais

 

The year of 1992 started with regret. During the year when I set the goal to promote an Olympic gold medalist with my own hands, I met with a future Olympic gold medalist. Life is just so unpredictable.

 

Ten-year-old Shizuka Arakawa participated in the first Nobeyama Camp. However, in the camp, Arakawa was far from eye-catching. To be honest, I don’t really remember much about Arakawa at this time. She also took part in the camp in the following years. Without a doubt, she was a good skater, but I don’t think she was the absolute top of the camp. After all, the only skater who entered Nobeyama Camp with the “absolute best abilities” was Mao Asada. No one could have matched her, before or after.

 

I didn’t come to notice Shizuka Arakawa as a skater until the beginning of 1994. I acted as the leader of Team Japan and led a group of skaters to an international competition held in Saint Gervais, France.

 

I was one of the judges for men’s singles at that competition. In order to avoid jet-lag, we arrived in France three days earlier, and I spent the time watching Japanese skaters practice from the side of the rink.

 

Arakawa, who was a first-year student in junior high school at that time, was skating in the rink. It was her first appearance in an international competition. Since Midori Ito, there hadn’t been a Japanese ladies’ skater who could do triple combinations, even Arakawa was still training 3T2T. However, I sensed a relaxing atmosphere around her. Arakawa’s coach, Hiroshi Nagakubo, who was at another competition earlier and arrived late, suddenly demanded,

 

“Forget everything. Try a 3T3T.”

 

And Arakawa did that on the spot.

 

It seems like an easy thing written here, but doing what one is told whenever demanded to “try” is as a matter of fact unbelievably difficult.

 

Arakawa had told me that “I haven’t done that in practice” or “My coach didn’t tell me to train it”, but she never said a word about “being unable to do it”. Usually, under the pressure of a coming competition, athletes tend to refuse to obey sudden requirements. This is not limited to figure skating. Most people submit themselves to the fact that “I haven’t done it before”, and set a limit for themselves even before knowing whether or not they couldn’t do it.

 

On the contrary, Arakawa was the kind of skater who believed “since I am demanded to do so, I am considered capable of managing it”. That was why she could challenge difficult jumps and succeed. The pure-heartedness to challenge things she was told, the strength and courage to face difficult tasks, and the physical abilities to in fact put into practice—These three strong points were shown right after Arakawa moved into the senior circuit. Immediately I informed her, “Figure skating is entering an era where skaters with good jumps have a big advantage.” I was sure she would then do her new combination at this competition.

 

Arakawa was not yet an all-round skater who had good jumps and good performance at that time. Fortunately, she had the strength of youth. Not feeling afraid is a powerful weapon. Being young means one can think things over but still cannot do it, but it also means being able to overcome emotions and momentum. Therefore, it’s best to jump as much as one can when young. I believe it is the same for all the skaters and all the time.

 

A few days later, Arakawa managed to overcome the anxiety of participating internationally for the first time, and succeeded to jump a 3T3T in Saint Gervais. She won a silver medal in the end.

 

Looking back at Arakawa’s growth starting from this point, I recalled one thing. In Saint Gervais, when I was heading for the rink from my dormitory waiting to do my judge’s job, I saw Arakawa who just finished practicing and was returning. The air was incredibly clear and the sky above our heads was so blue that we could see it through. Far away was the highest peak in Western Europe, Mont Blanc, covered in snow, and the setting sun shone above the white peak and made it sparkle. The beautiful meanwhile majestic scene as a background, Arakawa was stretching her back and walking. At the exact moment I felt a strong emotion within my chest.

 

“This girl might become an Olympic champion one day. No, I hope she will.”

 

The picturesque moment in my memory remained in the corner of my heart. And it turned into a motivation that pushed me in latter affairs.

 

Tasting Humiliation at Nagano Olympics

 

In June, 1994, I became Minister of the Reinforcement Group of Japan Skating Federation. Having taken part in both Albertville and Lillehammer Olympics, Yuka Sato announced retirement after winning the gold medal in the World Championships in March. Since then, the call for the nurturance of the next generation became louder and louder. As a result, I was appointed to direct the scouting of young skaters, including Nobeyama Camp.

 

I didn’t expect this to happen when I joined the federation, but I was stricken by the bitterness of Midori failing to get a gold medal. Had Midori stood on top of the podium in Albertville, I could have been satisfied and left figure skating already.

 

Unfortunately, from the time I became Minister of the Reinforcement Group, until the Nagano Olympics had passed and we entered the 21^st century, Japanese figure skating world experienced a true “age of winter”. Of course the skaters did what they could, but judging by the results, we kept failing on the world’s stage year after year.

 

Arakawa, who had participated in Nobeyama Camp from the year it started, became a first-year-student in junior high school and won her first Junior Nationals in the 1994-1995 season. Her talent began to show. In the 1996-1997 season, she was granted special permission to participate in the 65^th Japan Senior Nationals and came second only to Fumie Suguri, who was one year older than her. Because Hanae Yokoya was tenth in the last World Championships, Japan had only two spots in ladies’ singles. Generally speaking, Arakawa, who was second, should be sent to Worlds, but during that year, she didn’t manage to get that spot.

 

There were two reasons. One was that Arakawa had no senior results, and the other was that many people claimed that the spot should be given to Hanae Yokoya who didn’t make Nationals due to injuries. Looking back from now, I am not sure whether we had made the right decision. Yokoya was a good skater and got onto the podium of Japan Nationals twice, but her jumps left her during Worlds and finished 23^rd at last. Suguri finished 18^th. According to the result, Japan had only one spot for the ladies’ event in the Nagano Olympics despite being the hosting country.

 

Then came the December of the year 1997. Aiming for the only spot, Arakawa challenged Suguri in Japan Nationals held in Kobe. After the short program, Suguri came first and Arakawa followed. I watched the free skate which decided their fates from the audience. As Minister of the Reinforcement Group, I was determined either Suguri or Arakawa could win this game.

 

However, deep down in my heart I thought Arakawa was more suitable as representative for Japan. There was no other lady skater who could do a triple-triple combination jump besides Arakawa. If Arakawa succeeded in landing such a combination at the Olympics, Japan would be able to appeal to the judges that, “We, too, have talented young skaters!”

 

Arakawa’s free program “The Red Poppy” choregraphed by Toller Cranston was amazing. The opening jump was a triple lutz and triple toeloop combination. But in the NHK Trophy prior to Nationals, the toeloop on the end was underrotated. So I said to Arakawa during the official practice before the competition, “If Suguri ranked before you in the short program, you will have to land that triple toeloop. Otherwise you won’t win against her.” “I’m OK” was the response I received.

 

I didn’t get other chances to speak with Arakawa before the free skate. I was sitting in the front row at the short side. Compared with Arakawa who seemed very calm, my hands were filled with sweat. Finally I could no longer hold back my anxiety and put up three fingers and waved to Arakawa who entered the rink and skated towards me. “Triple-triple!” I stressed with my gesture.

 

How could you do something like that in a competition of Olympic selection! There was no doubt people would criticize my actions. However, I just wanted to convey to Arakawa, “You have to jump to make up for the gap between yourself and the top. You can do it.” In the end Arakawa landed the triple lutz-triple toeloop combination beautifully and won Nationals for the first time! She got the one spot for the Nagano Olympics. Afterwards I heard from her that she did see my gesture. Being calm enough to measure the environment around her and courageous enough to demonstrate all her abilities in an Olympic selection convinced me of her strength.

 

It’s just that there wasn’t much difference in the scores between Arakawa and Suguri as of this competition. Suguri had pain in her waist before the competition started. As a matter of fact, Suguri’s father told me, “She tried her best in the short program, but to be honest, she might not be able to hold it together for the free skate. (Considering her physical conditions,) we are happy she made it this far.”

 

The scores of Suguri and Arakawa were close, but then why was I pushing Arakawa at the time? It was because their advantages were very different. Arakawa had great physical abilities to do jumps including triple-triple combinations which only she could do in Japan, while Suguri’s strength was without a doubt the performance abilities gained from ballet. She was able to portray music and make her performance look effortless. Suguri could draw those watching her perform into her own world.

 

However, the Japanese skaters were inferior to Europeans and Americans at the time and it was necessary to place our bets in the jumps. It was the reason why compared with Suguri who was all-around good, I preferred Arakawa who could decide win or lose with one jump to go to the Olympics.

 

Unfortunately, the gap between us and top skaters in the world was too wide. No matter it was Suguri or Arakawa that went to the Olympics, the fact that Japan wouldn’t be able to earn a good result was as clear as fire.

 

It was sad. But it was reality.

 

I knew we wouldn’t win at the Nagano Olympics, but that didn’t mean we had nothing else to do. My job was “reinforcement”. Even though we could not win at the moment, we had to find a way to win next time.

 

I believed the experience we gained in Nagano would be at least of some help to the skaters, even though we had no chance of getting a medal. To make good use of the advantage of being the host, a year before the Olympics, I asked the governor of Nagano to prepare the ice at the “White Ring”, the venue built for the Games, as soon as summer was over. Nobody knew who would be selected for the Olympic Team at the time, so I called all potential skaters including Arakawa and Suguri to practice at the official rink. Due to the high temperature, it cost a lot of money to sustain the ice, so an exhibition was held on the last day and the income was given to the Nagano prefecture.

 

We did all we could at the time. Arakawa landed a triple lutz-triple toeloop combination in the short program at Nagano Olympics, but lost to the anxiety of being in her first Olympics in the free program. She couldn’t match her usual self and finished 13^th.

 

Some of you might still remember, the event that caught the most attention at the Nagano Olympics was speed skating. Japan Skating Federation is responsible for not only figure skating, but also speed skating and short track speed skating. During the Nagano Olympics, in the field of speed skating, we had Hiroyasu Shimizu and Tomomi Okazaki, both of whom were capable of winning medals. The federation dedicated the majority of resources, including staff, founds and time to speed skating.

 

The result was that Shimizu won the gold medal in 500 meter race. Combined with the fact that he was the overall champion at the World Cup prior to the Olympics, there were voices that saying “Speaking of skating, it’s speed skating.” Nobody knew how resigned and how lonely we were receiving no attention or expectation. For instance, I booked rooms for figure skaters at hotels close to the arena over a year earlier, because there would be security checks if they return to the Olympic Village. I thought this could reduce some burdens from the skaters until they reach their rooms. However, right before the competition, I was told by Japan Olympic Committee (JOC) and some officials of the federation, “We need the rooms reserved for figure skating transferred to speed skating. Shirota, your place is too far from any medals.” It was true. Realistically speaking, it was more than natural for the federation to provide better support to athletes that have better chances of medaling. “No problem.” I had to give up on the outside, but on the inside I was griting my teeth. “This is where we start to fight back.”

 

Personally I cannot forget these Olympics. And there was one more scene that I cannot forget even until now, which was the back of Suguri who came second after Arakawa in Japan Nationals.

 

Suguri came to Nagano as the alternate. To prepare for any emergencies, Suguri arrived at the same time as Arakawa, did the routine and entered the rink as Arakawa did, and practiced quietly. She didn’t say a word of complaint.

 

She was serious. But her “turn” did not come. I looked at her back and thought, “I will do whatever it takes to send Suguri to the next Olympics.”

 

In order to do this, we needed the three spots. That’s why we needed to foster more than one good skater as soon as possible. I just didn’t realize how much time we needed to realize such a dream at the time.

[Yuzu_legend]

Thank you so much for the translation!!! 

[Kitty]

Thank you so much for the translation!!

[norwhite]

Chapter 3 Becoming Minister of the Reinforcement Group

 

Abroad from Novice

 

I used to spend days and nights trying to think out highlights for Nobeyama Camp.

 

I tried to figure out what we could do for the hard-working skaters, not as families or coaches, but as the Reinforcement Group of Japan Skating Federation. In order to send as many skaters as possible to the world stage and grant them results, what was necessary for us was all I thought of.

 

I knew it was a question whose answer could not be found in a day or two. So I carried on with the days full of problems at hand and kept looking for a solution in a corner of my head.

 

When I worked as Minister of the Reinforcement Group, every day I felt myself flying around like an arrow.

 

I usually show up at the Federation office in Kishi Memorial Sports Hall in Shibuya, Tokyo after three thirty in the afternoon. It seemed ridiculously luxurious for an office worker, but I had my reasons. Speaking of the centre of figure skating, it is Europe. The International Skating Union located in Lausanne, Switzerland. There are eight hours of time difference (seven in summer) , so 9am in Japan is midnight in Switzerland. So counting the time to arrive at the office after 3pm means I could get in touch with those Europeans related to skating when they just start to operate.

 

Some staff had jobs in universities, so when everyone gathered together, it was often past 4pm. Then we began to have meetings, write and hand in reports to related departments, refer to foreign organizations and entre discussions with them, and before we knew it, it got dark already. Because I often remain at the office until past nine thirty, sometimes I would receive warnings from the parking lot, “We are closing, so could you please move your car?” I always misestimated that work would be done soon enough and replied, “I’m sorry. Could you just wait one moment?” Such a scene repeated itself over and over again. I felt really apologetic towards my family for returning home after the date had changed in those days.

 

Does this mean I could spend the morning relaxed? No. There were contacts from the federations of each province, and sometimes skaters’ coaches or families would come and seek advice. I often found it past noon while answering all kinds of consultations. When the season began, there would be no stop between trips to international competitions. Mostly I had no time to stay at home beside changing luggage before heading for the airport for the next destination. Because of flying without enough sleep too often, I had a fever on the plane more than once or twice.

 

However, busy as I was, those days were very rich for me.

 

We called it “the age of winter”, but winter would not last forever. I believed after so many trials and errors, we were getting close to an answer. I started to have such a feeling. The light was faint, but sensible.

 

Every year, the number of participants of Nobeyama Camp kept growing. “I wish I could become a skater who gets invited to Nobayama Camp.” It gradually became a place young skaters longed to.

 

In figure skating, we put children between the age of nine and twelve into the “Novice” category. However, in Japan, skaters belonged to this category had only provincial competitions or competitions held by ice rinks to participate. That’s why I thought if Nobeyama Camp went on smoothly and selected and brought up enough young skaters, one day we could hold novice competitions on the national level.

 

With a national novice competition, we would be able to offer skaters chances to polish their skills from a very young age, which means Japan’s figure skating would step up from the bottom. “Please let us hold such a competition!” I visited various people while working as Minister of the Reinforcement Group, and finally, after two and a half years, the first novice class competition of JOC Cup was held in January, 1997. In October of the same year, the first Japan Novice Nationals was held in Nagano.

 

To entre the Nationals, the country was divided into six blocks. Beside the top skaters of each block, three to five skaters deemed promising in Nobeyama Camp will also be sent to Nationals. It represented the hope of the Reinforcement Group, or shall we say, my hope for the skaters who were “not completed, but was judged and believed by the federation would be great in the future, and allowed to skip several block competitions.”

 

In the beginning, only skaters who had good results in Novice Nationals got sent to international competitions, but soon we made the rule that three skaters selected by Nobeyama Camp would be sent abroad as well as an award. To make this possible, I took advantage of the time I spent at international competitions, asking European coworkers whether there were novice competitions that Japanese skaters could attend. That was a time when the internet hadn’t become popular. There were a lot of small competitions in Europe which the ISU did not control. The only way to gather information was to go there in person. Meanwhile, I begged the representatives of the competitions that were likely to receive Japanese skaters to provide details later. This was how we started to send novice skaters to international competitions, through repeated bargain.

 

During those years, I had sent a number of skaters to novice competitions abroad. To young skaters, including Mao Asada, Miki Ando and Yuzuru Hanyu, being able to participate in international competitions was a huge motivation. After setting such a rule, even more children made attending Nobeyama Camp their goal and trained harder than ever. As a result, we had skaters on the podium in almost all of the novice competitions held in autumn or the time around New Year’s Day in North and East Europe. We even occupied first to third in a few competitions, and some foreign staff called us “medal thieves” with forced smiles.

 

Going to international competitions means skaters could get to see foreign faces. The foreign skaters they met would be their rivals in juniors later on. Being chosen once wouldn’t guarantee the spot for the following year. The Camp welcomed skaters from nine to twelve, which meant it was possible for a skater to get sent abroad four times at most, but being called every year was never an easy thing. If a skater had his or her name called each time, to me it was already a proof that he or she had grown into an athlete who was capable of fighting on the world stage.

 

To compete with skaters within the country and receive good results, one could open his eyes to look at the greater scene overseas. At the same time, to compete with foreign rivals of the same age, one could have the faith to “win next time” and polish his skills beyond boarders. Nobeyama Camp was not only created to improve a single skater’s abilities, but also to prepare multiple skaters the capabilities and experience to face domestic and foreign athletes. The Camp is a system based on such a consideration.

 

After I became Minister of the Reinforcement Group, I made Vice Minister Nobuhiko Yoshioka (now professor at Chiba University, International Education Department) the producer. As for myself, even though I still went to watch the Camp, I gradually distanced myself from the skaters. Moreover, staff from the provincial branches came to join us in the Reinforcement Group, I therefore entrusted more and more work to them.

 

Speaking of the reason why I chose to distance myself from the skaters, I felt I could see their skating and performance more clearly and objectively if I didn’t have much contact with them. Once I get to know a skater, I will reflect my own judgement and preference on him. So I deliberately avoided to know the skaters’ names. When I came to watch from the side of the rink and found a good skater, I would tell Yoshioka “the child in blue” or “the kid skating on the other side” and refrain myself from getting to know their names.

 

There were different kinds of programs in the Camp during that time, including inviting foreign instructors to direct on-ice training and Russian ballet teams to give dance lessons. Compared with picking out the skater who had the best overall evaluation, I was often attracted by the skater who exhibited amazing charm in a particular discipline. I was right most of the times. I have been asked plenty of times in interviews, “What’s the difference between the skaters selected from the Camp and those did not? Can you explain in details?” To answer those questions, I had asked myself and tried my best to put what I feel into words other people could understand, but even until now, I didn’t find the precise description.

 

Some shine. Some don’t.

 

That’s all I could say. If you stand by the side of the rink and watch over twenty children skate and jump, you can see some children had light around them. Skating that’s full of strength, spins around a tight axis, natural jumps with a flow, combined with a little hand gesture, the line of the neck and a good way to place the sight … When these complicated elements are joined together in one skater, beauty would be born and make him or her shine on the outside. I never let a shining moment slip. Only in this I had confidence, and such a vision I believe was worked out in Nobeyama Camp.

 

Being Supported by a Wonderful Staff

 

I am very lucky to receive support from a wonderful staff. Everyone were competent enough that even if I suddenly come up with an unexpected proposal, they would follow me without a word of complaint. I am sorry to say that I couldn’t have done anything if I was alone. From time to time I would be too focused on the matter in front of me to forget even to eat. When I was on the competition scene, I was often drowned in the skaters’ performances and skipped meals unintentionally. When I returned to the hotel in the middle of the night I would fall straight to sleep like a pool of mud, and as soon as I woke up the next morning, I would rush to the rink again without breakfast. Before I knew it, noon had passed, and then the sun set, and when I finally got back after room service had ended at midnight, I found a memo in my room. As I opened the fridge I discovered that a sandwich and juice had been prepared. They were prepared by the staff who worried about my health. Thanks to their care the kindness, I managed to not fall ill in those crazily busy days.

 

The staff each had their specialty and worked different jobs.

 

Vice Minister Nobuhiko Yoshioka was in charge of “analyses”. He analyzed the skaters’ programs and calculated how many more points they needed to win. He then went on to work out what elements were necessary for the skaters to include in their programs to get the extra points. He would present several options for me to choose from and put forward suggestions that would make it easier for me to make a decision.

 

Haruto Shirai (currently associate professor at the Department of Foreign Languages of Daito Bunka University), who is incredibly good at languages, was in charge of the “procedures”. He was made vice minister of transactions and managed the routes to international competitions and schedules for domestic ones. He also took over the negotiations involved with foreign languages. He kept close communications with foreign officials and was the reason why we could establish a tactful relationship with the skating world.

 

They are like Joo san (助さん) and Kaku san (格さん) in Mito Koomon (水戸黄門) and always supported me. By the way, skaters would be given a journal on the last day of Nobeyama Camp, and those were handwritten page by page and full of the hopes and encouragement of Yoshioka and Shirai. They observed the skaters from a closer distance than me, the actual Minister of the Reinforcement Group, and I fully appreciate their support to the skaters, physically and mentally, that they contributed a great deal to the connection between the federation and the skaters.

 

There were a lot more amazing staff beside Yoshioka and Shirai. Whenever I burst out anything ridiculous and had to apologize to relevant personnel home and abroad, they would step up before me and explain in detail about what happened and even lower their heads for me. Moreover, there was a staff in charge of “gifts”. To live up to his position, he would arrange comfortable residence and commuting vehicles for officials and judges who came to Japan from across the world, and would also select suitable gifts for them carefully. You may think that gifts were always the same, but in fact they were not. Let’s take a trip to a remote city as an example. One would wish to bring back famous local desserts, but finding they had been sold out or being unable to do so due to time restrictions were not rare. If this was the case, how would you feel if someone handed you the desserts you wanted and told you they were “gifts for you”? Such “happy” or “How did he know what I want? What an attentive person!” emotions were priceless. The staff in charge of “gifts” was an expert at finding out what others “might want to get” and would queue from early morning outside the store or look everywhere for remaining storage of popular items. He was also responsible for bring the guests who were in Japan for the first time to Kabuki (歌舞伎) and Noo (能) shows to make them familiar with the country’s culture.

 

My staff were incredibly reliable. I could tell them anything like: “I want to change the hotel for the camp. This one is more affordable for the skaters.” “It’s a bit late but tell them it looks like I can’t attend tomorrow’s meeting.” Or “I heard the wife of that foreign coach has her birthday on the next day after her return from Japan.” And I would get their reply, “Got it. Leave it to me.” This was why I could look forward and proceed with my work. I couldn’t have done anything without them.

 

At that time, I remember exchanging ideas freely with the staff every day.

 

On the wall of the sportsmen’s club on the first floor of Kishi Memorial Sports Hall where we stayed was the photos of past Olympic gold medalists. However, of course at that time, there was not a single figure skater. “Here. One day . . .”

 

We were partners sharing the same uplifting dream, and because of this I believed spring would come by sometime in the future and could continue with our path. If the staff around me were satisfied with such status as “we are weak but we tried our best” or “it’s memorable enough to participate in the Olympics”, I certainly would have resigned from my job.

 

Improving Competition Arrangements

 

Even until now, Makuhari Event Hall in Chiba holds various ice shows including Fantasy on Ice every summer. Each time I step into this arena, I sense memories and a warm feeling come to life inside me. Here in Makuhari, I worked for the first time as vice director of the Operation Office.

 

It was the World Championships in 1994. At that time, I had a strong will that “I want to appeal Japan’s figure skating to the world. I want to be acknowledged by the fellows who also supports figure skating.” Such a will grew stronger day by day.

 

Makuhari Event Hall was chosen to hold the competition before I became Minister of the Reinforcement Group. Kobe was once considered as an alternate but was given up since the lighting was not ideal. However, even in Makuhari not everything was going smoothly, and there were several difficult problems that needed to be solved before the competition.

 

First was the practice rink. When the World Championships were being held, it was necessary to have a practice rink beside the competition rink. Of course, we could not find another rink nearby so building one from scratch was necessary.

 

We borrowed a warehouse with a tin roof near the arena and spread a waterproof sheet. Sands were lay out with ice frozen above it and finally built a rink that could be skated upon. Unfortunately, it was still too dark for practices. Although we rented and brought in lighting facilities, there was not enough electricity and it didn’t get a little brighter. We had no choice but to prepare a separate power source. In order to light up the ice it would cost tens of million yen, and for it to provide enough electricity it would cost another tens of million. I remembered complaining to myself that, “Since it’s for the practice rink there is nothing I could do about it. But it really is a bit expensive … ” We received funding from local organizations, but still had to pay a lot of money.

 

Another problem was that Olaf Poulsen, then ISU President had a complicated expression when inspecting the arena. When being shown around the event hall, he criticized by saying, “The Championships cannot be held in such a concrete jungle.” He had complaints about the facilities as well, but more importantly he thought it was inappropriate for the competition based on his impressions on the surrounding environment. I murmured, “There will be green plants at the time of the competition. Please don’t worry.” I guaranteed to him bitterly. As a result, in order to prevent him from having such an impression as “there’s little green”, we arranged for him to stay in a suite room from whose window a beautiful garden can be seen in the hotel, and finally was allowed to keep holding the competition.

 

We also put much efforts into decorating the arena. The funding of the federation was not sufficient, but we wished we could make the guests think “The arena is great. We want to come again.” And thus we believed it was for the good of Japan. We hang up royal-blue curtains across the arena that would be shown on television screens, and to make a contrast, decorated the judges’ seats in yellow phalaenopses. In addition, we put pine bonsais in the “Kiss and Cry” where skaters and their coaches wait for their scores to exhibit Japanese culture. The staff told me, “Shirota san, even the cheap ones will cost five hundred thousand yen.” “It’s not about money.” I said to him, “If the best skaters in the world are satisfied with this World Championships held in Japan and replay such comments to those who didn’t come, people will know Japan did its best in holding the competition.” That was why I was pretty luxurious in preparation. I also received comments from officials of the federation, “The curtains look like ten thousand yen notes.” I accepted the small advice but insisted, “It is for the world to see how great the arena is so please pretend the decorations were cheap!”

 

I found a new viewpoint by standing on the spot where the audience would be. For example, now it has become a tradition for audience to throw flower bouquets onto the ice. To find out how we should wrap the flowers so they won’t break up in the air, or how heavy the bouquets should be so they can be thrown into the rink easily, I devoted a lot of efforts into discussing with a flower shop owner in Tokyo. At that time, after the performance of man’s single skater Philippe Candeloro (France) who was very popular even in Japan, hundreds of bouquets would fall onto the ice. Such a scene was the highlight at the competition.

 

During the preparations, the staff were too busy thus they made a mistake in ordering buttons for ID cards. Buttons of 600 thousand yen had been bought. As a result, we were forced to use them for the following ten years. Although there were failures such as the above, this was the competition where Yuka Sato first won over her strongest opponent, Surya Bonaly (France) in ladies’ singles! We also received praise from related personnel and the competition concluded in great success.

 

Various ideas emerged in Makuhari have been kept in other international competitions until now. For example, thanks to Makuhari, the royal blue curtains hung around the arena of NHK Trophy and Japan Nationals were adopted by more international competitions. Later, it seems that ISU chose blue as the image colour of international competitions as well. Speaking of figure skating, the colour is royal blue. Such an image started in Japan. It was unbelievable for me who grew up used to seeing things imported from foreign countries.

 

In a word, the one thing that is most important for running a competition is the environment.

 

After I became Minister of the Reinforcement Group, in 1996 and five years since 2001, I had been working as manager of NHK Trophy, and during the time I found out all about the details of “ice” “audio effects” and “indoor environment”.

 

The logo of NHK Trophy is a beautiful piece of ice drawn in the centre. It is unfortunate that sometimes when we travel abroad to participate in competitions we would find the ice in the corners had melted. But during NHK Trophy, we try our best to freeze the ice in the most careful way to ensure the skaters could skate easily. There were cases when the arena was located in a place where tap water was not accessible, so we even used water wagons to transport water. By communicating with related experts again and again, we spent days building the ice with ideal thickness so it wouldn’t hinder the edge of the blade. Skaters were happy about it, too.

 

Then I’ll talk about audio effects. When I visited a rink with its audio equipment functioning, I would first stand in the middle of the rink, and then walk around the arena to make sure whether the sounds could be heard in equal volume. Now in most places there are high quality speakers hung in the centre of the ceiling that are able to carry music to the entire arena, but in the past, the speakers were located not overhead, but in the corners of the arena or around the rink. Therefore in some places it was difficult to avoid the sound being twisted to a certain degree. Because music is connected to the timing of the jumps, it was a “live or die” question for skaters who moved all across the rink. I double-checked with the staff from Yamaha, who was in charge of audio equipment, asking him, “Is this place OK” or “Here you can hear the sound is twisted”. We spent time adjusting the equipment every time there was a competition. Genichi Kawakami , former CEO of Yamaha helped me a lot on this. From the era when not even the slightest light shone on Japan’s figure skating, Mr. Kawakami had been providing music for free or at the lowest possible price and assisting us in operating audio equipment. The staff from Yamaha knew clearly that in figure skating, “the sound is life”. Nowadays, music is recorded in digital form, but at that time, we used records, open reels and cassette tapes with which it was very difficult to guarantee the quality of the music, and we had to continue adjusting over and over again. Even until now, I still think Yamaha is best in the world regarding management of music and audio devices. It is not an overstatement to say Japan’s figure skating will not be what it is today without Yamaha.

 

Finally I would like to talk about indoor environment. In order to allow the skaters who came from around the globe to have their best performances, we needed to pay attention to things that wouldn’t be shown on televisions, and even the things that wouldn’t be seen by the audience. It was necessary to have a control room providing comfortable temperature and humidity to let the skaters relax, clean bathrooms, and a beautifully decorated arena with seasonal features.

 

By not ignoring the smallest detail, NHK Trophy, a competition to which we devoted all our spirits, later became a competition that foreign skaters “want to attend”. The past where we had to run around to give out tickets seemed far enough already. Foreign skaters who gathered happily and Japanese skaters who started to spread their wings here became the attraction that bought numerous fans to the rink we created.

 

 

Judging Experience Existed for Reinforcements

 

I am one of the judges of the highest level and I am qualified as an ISU referee. I judge at singles, ice dance and pairs competitions, all categories of figure skating. During the time I worked for Japan Skating Federation, the qualifications to judge at Senior B competition were given to those who had experience as skaters. From then on, they would first earn qualifications to judge at Senior A, Level N (I don’t exactly know what a “Level N”(N級) competition is so please correct me if someone does.) competitions and to be a national referee. They would then try to accumulate experience on larger competitions and step up to become an international judge, international referee, ISU judge or ISU referee. In order to earn the qualifications, besides written examinations and practical tests, one also needed to attend seminars. I remember the exhausted feeling finding pieces of time during actual work to take part in those studies.

 

The reasons why I fought to step up in levels were as follows.

 

Earning the judging qualifications is very beneficial to grasp hints leading to the skaters’ victories. For instance, during the judges’ seminars held by the ISU, we were not only taught which elements among spins, steps, jumps and others would be viewed as the most important, which of them could not be overlooked, but also we were informed “which side of skating should be reinforced to earn more points”, as I look back from now.

 

Moreover, as I got more chances to judge at international competitions, I had the advantage of building a stronger pipe connecting the foreign skating world. It’s natural to become familiar with more and more people when you meet them several times at the same competition. If you invite them to meals after the competition ended, you would certainly come closer. “About her performance last time, why did you give her that score?” The result was that the chances for me to ask such questions increased as well. I grew to understand which kind of performance different judges prefer and which part of rival skaters’ performances were highly valued.

 

Figure skating is a sport where the scores given by the judges decide whether you win or lose. It is different from sports like soccer and tennis where athletes directly confront each other. That is to say, one has to consider how to appeal his or herself to the judges. However hard a skater trains, if he or she mistakes on the direction, all the hard work would be useless. That was why I always watch a skater from the sight of a judge, and think about what score I would give him or her and how I would comment on his or her performance as a judge.

 

I believe it is an entirely different sight from those of the skaters and the coaches. “The program component is not enough. Ask the choreographer to change it.” “If you continue to follow this coach, it will be difficult for you to further improve. So prepare to find a coach who can fix your problems.” The motivation behind my decisions such as the above probably lies in this as well.

 

However, I am the kind of person who acts along my thoughts. I can’t hesitate and explain my suggestions to skaters between swallows. And because of this, although most of time the skaters would quietly comply with me, they are bewildered deep in their hearts.

 

I can say from the bottom of my heart now that “I cannot help a skater grow by just being strict.” But at the time I thought the opposite, “I have to be strict to help a skater grow.”

 

For example, I once watched Nobunari Oda practice spins and it was said I shouted out to him, “How can you be so bad at spins?” (I don’t really remember it myself.) Saying harsh words to skaters must have been a daily routine for me during those years. It had nothing to do any particular skater. Oda is a skater who has soft knees and can jump well, so what I really thought was “you can definitely spin more beautifully”, but when put into words it became criticism. I can’t imagine how hurt Oda must have felt.

 

I had thought about explaining the situation afterwards but fortunately, Oda seemed to took my words as something provoking and started training spins repeatedly. But there must be skaters who were discouraged by my words as Minister of the Reinforcement Group. If I had treated the skaters according to their personalities, like “criticism is stimulating to this kid so it’s OK” “this kid is a bit soft mentally so I have to cheer him up”, I might be able to apply certain attitudes and certain words to various skaters. It is a shame I didn’t have the sense at the time.

 

At the Olympic Games, a country can earn at most three quotas for one discipline. As the Minister of the Reinforcement Group for Japan Skating Federation, I wanted “Japan’s figure skating to stand side by side with the rivals around the world.” I took the top three skaters who could compete internationally as my responsibility. I thought of them as my obligation. However, among the enormous skaters aiming to be the best, I wasn’t sure who would fight his or her way out. Even one with the most ideal qualities can have his or her condition break down before a competition, and all hard work would be in vain. On the contrary, those who don’t match the others regarding talents could have a tough mind and received good results. Such was the most difficult situation faced by the Reinforcement Group.

 

How to distribute the limited budget and personnel to the right skater—I realized this is a long term problem. I felt it might be reasonable to divide the resources evenly to all the athletes, but the truth was, from the standpoint of the Reinforcement Group, “I wanted to send the skater who was most likely to win in an international competition.” “I wanted to give the chance to the skater who was incomplete at the moment but had the potential to shoulder the next generation.” It may sound cruel, but it simply wasn’t practical to provide all hard-working skaters with the same budget and personnel because we had our goal. For a skater’s family and coach, there’s only one skater to care about, one skater to support, which is why they can feel genuinely happy or sad for that skater depending on the result of competitions. It is right for them to help the skater get back to the right condition if he or she performs badly.

 

However, as the Minister of the Reinforcement Group, if skater A is not at his best, and it is confirmed compared to waiting for A to get out of his slump, supporting skater B is more likely to lead to good results, then B will be supported. If both A and B have problems, then it is time to put our expectations on C and D. When considering things on the grand basis of competing on the world stage, the factor that influences the line-up will be how to ensure Japan’s victory. I thought about things in this way day and night during my days as Minister. Brutally speaking, if I cared too much about “the skater’s emotions”, I wouldn’t be able to come to the correct decision. As a person I felt sorry, thinking “he had been trying so hard, is there really nothing I can do?” Or “we have devoted so much effort to her, and we can’t let them be wasted.” But in the end I had to give up such a constricted point of view to improve Japan’s status in the world.

 

Sometimes I heard complaints, “she treats you so well when you are good, but dumps you even if you made just a small mistake.” “Why does she always give the best to that skater?”

 

But no matter what those around me think, when it comes to the competition, the result means everything.

 

Even until now, I still consider it as what I had to do, what I was supposed to do.

 

(TO BE CiONTINUED)

[TallyT]

Thank you for this, it's fascinating!

[katonice]

Thank you for this translation! It's amazing! 

[Yuzenah]

Thank you for translating!

It's really interesting to read.