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yuzusorbet · 4 years

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Continuing Kikuchi-sensei's book 'Strongly, beautifully,....'

Chapter 3

3.4 Looking at deviations of the torso 3.5 Icing as a recovery method (not translating these 2 sections; I may come back to do them after I have done the parts that interest me most.)

3.6 Experiencing the world's stage as trainer

The season after Sochi Olympics, that is, 2014-15 season. It was hard for Yuzuru to get into good condition. The 1st competition, Finlandia Trophy, he withdrew because of back pain. Yuzuru was in Canada and I did not know of his injury. I only knew about it from the news.

But, one week before GP series Cup of China, held in November 2014 in Shanghai, I received a message on my smartphone.

"Sensei, can you come to the competition in Shanghai please?" "Didn't you say that the Canadian trainer will accompany you?" I replied. After a while, "Sensei, come to Shanghai and do treatment for me please....?"

Because in the previous season, he had told me, "For competitions in Japan, please may I have your care, but for overseas competitions, the trainer in Canada will go with me, is that alright?" Perhaps he felt a sense of guilt. He was probably fiddling with Pooh-san's ear and hesitating for some time before sending the message.

"Alright, I understand. I will be there," I replied. I cancelled all my plans for the week ahead and went to Shanghai.

After a long absence, when I touched his legs, I felt the confirmation of his evolution, and also, in my heart, I felt some sense of relief that I could do treatment for Yuzuru again.

2014 December, GP series NHK Trophy in Osaka. Yuzuru, far from ideal condition, headed for competition. His short programme was only 78.01, and with scores lower than any he had in recent time, he finished in 4th place. He managed to qualify for the GP Final in Barcelona which was for only the top skaters of the GP series.

Right after NHK Trophy was over, Yuzuru came to my hotel room.

"Sensei, can you also come with me for the Final?" he said. "Oh? For Europe, the other sensei (Canada) will go with you, didn't you say that?" I was also being mean. "But, sensei,........" his eyes made the plea. "Ah, seems like it's unavoidable, shall I go to Spain and see Sagrada Familia as well?"

In this way, I was called back to be Yuzuru's personal trainer.From then on, for competitions in Japan and overseas, support for Yuzuru was done by me. Well, to him, I think it's because he has known me since he was little, and calling me "sensei, sensei" is easy and comfortable. But to me, it became a major event that happened in my life.

3.7 PyeongChang Olympic season, starts

2017-18 season, also an Olympic season. First competition, Autumn Classic, Yuzuru had a world record score of 112.72 for his short programme, breaking the previous record which was held by himself. The media, in anticipation of a 2nd Olympic gold, saw it as a good start towards PyeongChang Olympics, but......

After Autumn Classic, I met Yuzuru; his body that had been loaded with training, headed for competition at GP series Rostelecom Cup, could not be said to be in very good condition.

That not-ideal condition indicated the pressure of a 2nd Olympic win. In summer, he was pushing himself hard and the body was very overworked. The thoughts of 'must win' put a great burden on his legs. Putting multiple quadruple jumps into his programme layout was extremely demanding on the ankles.

I thought it was not so hard to win at PyeongChang Olympics if he maintained the level of record-breaking 2015-16 NHK Trophy and GPF. It seems his coaches also told him "you don't have to overdo it to that extent".

But, Yuzuru thoroughly pushes himself hard. "Not doing it, is not me" he says and continues to practise so that he can raise the level. Even if someone said "stop!" he would still continue to skate.

The Olympics becoming a heavy burden, there was not a single word of this from Yuzuru's mouth. He did not show it even in his behaviour. But when I touched his legs, I knew. To what extent was the harsh training he had put in.

For Yuzuru who has an overabundance of fighting spirit, I felt a sense of uneasiness. Unfortunately, my premonition came true. 2017 November, GP series NHK Trophy in Osaka, during official practice, he fell on a quad lutz. The ligaments of his right foot were damaged.

After he was injured, we were talking and joking and laughing. If we did not keep the mood cheerful, Yuzuru would be too pitiful. When he fell, I knew it was a serious injury. If it was the usual sprain, my treatment could help in some way. But not this time. Yuzuru had to withdraw from NHK Trophy. The trainer from Canada and a doctor took care of him and I returned to Sendai.

A long recovery period was needed for his foot. He was absent for Japan nationals. He remained in Toronto, undergoing treatment, and prepared for the Olympics. I could not be at peace. The condition of his injury, I only knew about it from the news, as usual.

It was about a month and a half before PyeongChang Olympics. Yuzuru's father, holding a form for registering the size of sportswear and blazer for the Japanese delegation, came to my clinic. Same as 4 years ago for Sochi Olympics. "How is Yuzuru?" I asked, but Yuzuru's father only smiled and nodded, as he always does.

But it was definite that Yuzuru would compete at the Olympics. What I could do was, no matter what the situation, to send him into the rink in the best condition. And I was ready.

3.8 Do carefully one by one

The free skate at PyeongChang was at an earlier timing than the usual competitions, and the practice started from 8.25am. Without getting all worked up like at Sochi, I could face it calmly this time. That morning, the taping for him was completed at first try.

Yuzuru did not say anything. Of course, his foot could not be said to be in very good condition. My role was to help him get the ideal feeling that he wanted in his legs and I believe it went very well. Warming-up also had no problems.

Supporting Yuzuru's beautiful performances are his well-trained body and senses. Elegant jumps and spins are created by his steady torso and ability to sense tiny differences. These are important for flowing movements. That is why Yuzuru is always concerned about the training of the torso and any deviations.

And so, about one year before PyeongChang Olympics, torso awareness training was introduced into the warm-up schedule. There was a video showing Yuzuru sitting on a bucket with wheels and moving around; that was one of it. People who saw it may have thought, "What is he playing?"

That is a custom-made product, a bucket-shaped chair fitted with wheels used for wheelchair basketball. To move around freely on it, one has to be very conscious of the transverse abdominal muscles that surround the abdomen, the erector spinae muscles that support the spine, and other such parts of the torso; it is a training device. It is well-known that the balance ball is effective for conditioning the torso. However, it is not enough for a torso that supports the flowing movements of figure skating. Quadruple jumps do not go directly above the head. They go forward 3 to 4 metres while rotating. And so, (thinking) can't we condition the torso while moving forward, backward, left and right, this bucket-chair was developed.

Usually I would say "next, bucket", and Yuzuru would sit on it and move around, like writing the character "ハ" (t/n. this is number 8 in kanji). At the warm-up of the short programme, he jokingly said, "Sensei, I've become good at this." For the free skate warm-up, even though I did not give the instruction, he himself went to sit on it and started moving around quietly. What he did was exactly the same as how I had pictured it in my mind.

As he often says, "When I am focused, I know very clearly what I need to do."

The last part of warm-up was always, still in gym shoes, jumping straight up with rotations on the spot. Doing this, one will know if there is any shift in the body's axis.

At this time, I once again felt "this guy is incredible..." and got goosebumps all over.

In the tension, there must have been countless times of feeling almost crushed by the considerable pressure. Nevertheless, he spent his days pushing himself hard, and studying and researching all that he could. And raise himself higher, refine his skills, brutally overwork his body...... 4 years of it, for the sake of this moment.

Perfectly conditioned. To Yuzuru who was heading to the middle of the rink for his free skate, the only thing I could do was to say, "(You're) alright, so just do carefully one by one." But I don't know if he heard me.

[end of chapter 3]

[some sentences are left out or summarised]

Translated by me from this Japanese book by Akira Kikuchi: https://www.amazon.co.jp/%E5%BC%B7%E%… (please consider buying it, if you can)

(photos: searched from internet)

#Yuzuru Hanyu #Akira Kikuchi #kikuchi sensei

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Love is a Dog From Hell, 1/5 (Rosnali) - Mattels

is it really that complicated that denali wants to be the best? all signs from the figure-skating gods seem to point to yes. (especially with her decidedly adult and mature hatred of coach rosé, who keeps wearing those god awful skin-tight ski-pants.)

aka denali’s a figure skating coach, rosé’s a ski coach; the rest is history

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29861322/chapters/73479360

November is sacred to Denali.

Although she’s a full-time figure-skating coach year round, boasting a full clientele of Olympic level students alongside a waiting list that seems to be growing by the year, November always manages to remind her why she started teaching to begin with.

Bonneville Academy, despite Denali considering its title of ‘academy’ being a stretch, has managed to wedge itself into her life, year after year. She spends six months of her year in Chicago, teaching private lessons to overenthusiastic and grossly rich teenagers, but from November through to April, she spends in Utah, working with the students to tighten their quadruple lutzes and receiving a paycheck that leaves her feeling pretty comfortable until the next November.

Although the school is technically a legitimate boarding school, offering fairly okay-quality education alongside the best training in the country all year, a lot of the students only attend for the ski season, unable or unwilling to fund a whole year.

Or maybe, Denali considers with a smile, nobody wants to live in the middle of nowhere, locked away in the mountains like a fucking yeti.

Michelle Visage, school director, emails Denali every year about working for them full-time, but every year Denali finds herself unable to leave Chicago behind. She loves her cozy city life, thank you very much. Living alone in her uptown apartment has yet to be beaten, even with the promise of the best skating facilities money can buy.

Half of the kids who attend don’t even realise how lucky they are, she finds herself thinking as her rental car starts the ascent to the school. It’s a long drive, the journey from Salt Lake to Bonneville is deliberately out of most peoples’ way, ensuring the cleanest snow and freshest powder for its plethora of skiers and snowboarders. She’d definitely have killed for something like this when she was still training.

The school is specialised, known for its premium winter sports programme raved about by former Olympians and their coaches. Everything is fully equipped, facilities and machines inside the camp always sparkling new and top of the line; huge dance studios with scary Russian ballet teachers to help her skaters achieve their best on the ice; big gyms and personal trainers; meals specially catered and designed to build muscle and strengthen bones.

It’s also really fucking expensive; Denali sees the checks on Michelle’s desk with their seemingly endless zeroes, given by mothers determined to boast that their little Sally went to Bonneville! But the elusive RuPaul, who Denali knows funds the school, but has never seen or heard much about, hands out plenty of scholarships to kids she deems talented and hard-working enough to thrive.

Denali’s car turns the corner, giving her a view of Bonneville’s ski slopes. She spots a couple of instructors already at the top of the chairlifts, riding down the mountain in neat lines as they enjoy the start of what’s looking to be a beautiful season. It’s still early, but it’s snowing heavily, Denali’s windscreen wipers working hard to keep the snowflakes off her windscreen.

As Denali pulls up to their entrance, she spots a couple of other employees hanging around outside, boisterous laughter coming from their conversations. They’re all old-timers, Denali is sure one or two of them have worked at the school since its opening in the late nineties.

She immediately spots the inky black mullet that belongs to Mik, one of the snowboarding coaches for the younger kids. She’s standing alone, narrow back pressed up against a red bricked wall as she smokes a cigarette, flicking ash off of the end into the thin layer of snow below her feet.

She gets out of her car, passing her keys over to the valet Michelle hires unnecessarily every year, always insisting, rather pointedly if you ask Denali, who seems to consistently be at the receiving end of the seemingly never-ending gripe, that she knows that someone’ll fuck up her parking arrangement, Denali.

It’s a fair point– Denali would never be bothered to follow Michelle’s colour-coordinated and meticulously planned spreadsheet, in which she’s grouped all the instructors of the same sport together in the carpark, as if it matters to anyone which spot they have.

The valet takes her bags too, which she’s perpetually grateful for; her suitcases are almost always overweight in the airport, despite taking three of her big ones with her. They’ll take them down to her room for her too, as if she’s staying in a nice hotel, not just a ridiculously boujee school.

Mik spots her, dropping the cigarette she was smoking and stubbing it against her chunky boots, jogging over to catch Denali in a tight hug. “Hey slut!”

Denali laughs, embracing her. “Nice to see you too, Mickey.”

Mik shrugs, letting her go with a smile. “You know you missed me, don’t even try it.” Denali rolls her eyes but can’t deny it, grinning when Mik wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Denali Foxx!” Michelle greets her loudly, ticking her name off on a clipboard. “Usual room,” she says, fishing a key out of her pocket and passing it to Denali.

“Roomies!” Mik says, laughing with an eye-roll when Denali pretends to shover her fingers down her throat complete with exaggerated gagging sounds.

Denali’s always grateful to room with Mik, the rooms are a slightly awkward size– too big to stay in alone, a little too small for two people. Mik works at the school year round, and Denali knows she’s equally grateful to have someone to share with, forever complaining about how empty it feels when she’s by herself with two beds.

“Almost everyone else is already on the slopes,” Michelle notes, turning around so she can point out people on the mountain behind them. “You’ve got a couple days until the kids are allowed out, so better make the most of it.”

The school is laid out like a small village, boys on one side and girls on another, divided in almost everything except meals, which they have in the dining hall all together. The dorms are split into age, six buildings facing parallel to one another in a large U-shape, each with attached communal bathrooms and showers for the students. The buildings are all deliberately short so you can gape at Utah’s mountains practically anywhere on campus.

“I’ve been waiting for you to go out,” Mik says, grabbing Denali’s hand between her cold fingers, trying to drag her down the asphalt leading to the sports instructors’ rooming in the centre of the U.

The academics take place a couple miles down the road in a big building that actually looks like a school, which Michelle swears helps the students to stay focused, but Denali can’t say she’s totally convinced. She’s seen them get off the bus after school, racing one another to be the first in the chairlift queue.

“I really don’t want to go.” Denali whines, but lets Mik tug her down the path regardless. She’s not the best snowboarder even on her best days, and Mik always wants to take her down the especially mogul-ly runs, zipping in between trees and dodging ice patches that are still missing snow.

“Yes you do!” She says, practically skipping down the road. “There’s only a couple of us here anyways, and the kids aren’t allowed to carve up the snow yet– it’ll be fun!”

Denali rolls her eyes, with a sigh. “I’m only doing green runs!”

“Only red runs? Perfect!”

“No, fuck, come on Mik,” she huffs, her breath coming out in sharp puffs in the cold air. “I’m out of practice, this isn’t fair.”

Mik looks at her, shrugging her narrow shoulders, “how’s that my issue, gorge?”

She groans loudly as they approach the staff building, letting Mik lead the way to their room, unlocking the door with her own key.

Mik keeps their room uncharacteristically clean, especially in comparison to her wardrobe filled with clothes piled up on the bottom rather than on their hangers. Denali is pleased to see her blue suitcases on the side of the room Mik’s left for her, both her skating and snowboard boot bags by the end of her bed.

Mik talks aimlessly about the year so far as Denali changes out of her oversized shirt and equally oversized jeans combo. She rifles through her suitcases, half listening to the other girl, searching for her snow-pants and a hoodie, adhering to Mik’s advice to forgo her ski-jacket as it’s still early in the season and sunny enough, despite the snowfall.

She makes her help her lace up her boots properly, watching Mik’s skilled hands tightening them in record time. “Are you borrowing a board?” She asks.

“Mm,” Denali confirms, “are they ready?”

“You can literally borrow mine,” Mik squints up at her from her kneeling position, “we’re like, basically the same height.”

Denali scoffs at this, arching one of her dark eyebrows. “No fucking way am I borrowing one of yours, they’re all deathtraps.”

“They’re literally normal boards.”

“No, they’re all weirdly thin and flexible, I’ll literally break my neck.”

Mik frowns, “ok, first of all, rude. Second of all, I’ll have you know my boards are perfectly safe–”

“–did you or did you not snap one in half last year?”

“That was one time!”

“And that’s one time too many, doll.” Denali says, leaning down to tuck the laces into the tongue of her boot, pulling down her pants so they rest over the top. She reaches out a palm, helping Mik up from her kneeling position. “Get ready and I’ll meet you by the chairlift, okay?”

Mik rolls her eyes, reaching into Denali’s suitcase to attach her goggles to her helmet, passing it over with her gloves tucked neatly inside, as she would with her ten year-olds. Denali yells a thanks over her shoulder as she leaves, weaving her way out of their building to run down to their small ski shop.

☆☆☆☆☆

Humiliatingly enough, Mik makes Denali carry her snowboard with her on the chairlift, refusing to let her sit with one foot strapped in like a normal person would.

“You’re gonna knock your teeth out,” she laughs when Denali complains loudly about it. “Like fully splat, bitch.”

“I know how to ride a chairlift, thank you very much.” Denali grumbles, clutching her board tightly in her arms and sitting down. Mik reaches behind them, pulling down the safety bar, which Denali rests her feet on.

“Can’t have any casualties on day one, gorge.”

“The only casualty will be from me wringing your skinny little neck out when you push me down the mountain, you fucking bitch.” She groans, looking at the run below them.

There’s a pack of skiers weaving their way down tightly together under the poles of the lift. She can already see the deep valleys of moguls, even with her terrible eyesight. One of them looks up at their chair, waving at them with a grin.

Denali squints and she can see it’s Tayce, one of the newer instructors at the school. They had made fast friends last year, gossiping together about who hooked up with who over Thanksgiving– no, no, no, it’s clearly Brooklyn and Vanessa, they keep eyeing each other up–, which of their kids were likely to actually make the Olympic team– all of mine, thank you very much, Taycey–, who they might fuck given the chance– have you not seen A’Whora in the physio suite? I’d let her curb-stomp my neck– et cetera, et cetera.

“Everyone else is coming up tonight and tomorrow,” Mik remarks, waving over-exaggeratedly waving down to Tayce like she’s in a pantomime. “Tayce is like the only bitch I can stand here, as of currently”

“ As of currently? I’m here, as of currently! ”

“My point still stands, gorge.”

“After this run can you join up with them?” Denali groans, “Tayce’ll go super-speed with you. And she’ll let you harass her without breaking your nose.”

Mik laughs, “I don’t go that fast, bitch.”

“Have you ever seen that Disney movie Bolt ? Y’know the one with that dog who runs like, full speed of light? They could do a live-action version with you as the dog.”

“Woof!”

Denali’s face cracks into a grin as she rolls her eyes, “I’m serious! One minute you’re next to me, the next you’re–” she slides her gloved hands together in a forward motion “–zip . And then I’m the idiot who can’t get down.

“I’d never leave you!” Mik gasps, clapping a palm to her chest. “How dare you, fucking bitch.”

Denali scoffs loudly in response. Every year Mik tries to bully her into doing a couple runs together, and every year without fail Denali obliges, only to find herself stuck at the top of a mountain, Mik nowhere in sight.

“Head,” Mik announces, reminding Denali to duck her head so Mik can raise the safety bar, as they start to approach the end of the lift. Mik lines herself up to the drop-off, riding around the corner smoothly, giggling as Denali has to jog to keep up.

They both sit down to strap in, Mik tightening Denali’s bindings for her and pulling her up with a roll of her eyes.

“See you at the bottom?” Mik asks. Before Denali can answer, she’s slipped off, whooping as she hits a bump and flies upwards, grabbing the nose of her board as she hits the jump.

“So much for never leaving me, I guess,” Denali grumbles, carefully edging herself down the slopes with big sweeping S-shaped turns, she knows Mik will laugh at her about later, reminding her how her ten year-olds could easily out-board her.

Uh yeah, I’d fucking hope so, Denali thinks to herself, curving around onto the toe-edge of her board. Otherwise this’d be the biggest waste of money like, uh, ever.

The air that whips around her is cool, blowing snowflakes into her dark hair, but she doesn’t feel cold, happy in her thick sweatshirt and pants. Her feet are desperate to be unlatched from the board, feeling slightly unnatural to be locked in. She’s much more in her element spraying ice as she nails a complicated spin, she knows Mik would eat ass on.

Yeah, she thinks, fuck you and your ten year-olds, Mickey.

☆☆☆☆☆

“Michelle’s put the board up,” Tayce says in the late afternoon, sticking her head around Denali and Mik’s door propped open by a snowboard boot.

Denali looks up from the book she’s reading, comfortably curled up on her bed with her mandatory evening uniform of thick fluffy socks and sweats on. Mik, on the other hand, is still in her lycra leggings and hoodie, having made no effort to change since coming back, much to Denali’s disgust.

“Well?” Tayce asks in annoyance, cocking her hip, “you coming or what?”

Mik groans, rolling off of her bed and moving to stand next to Tayce in their doorway, bare feet on the cold linoleum. Denali carefully places her bookmark in her book, grabbing a pair of Nike slides– sponsored, thank you very much– and begrudgingly walking down the corridor to their big common room.

The Board– with an optional trademarked symbol from Mik– as it’s been aptly dubbed, is a large whiteboard divided neatly (by the increasingly anal Michelle) into a leaderboard. The top ten coaches are listed top to bottom, ordering the number of world title holders they’ve coached at Bonneville, bonus points being allotted to those whose kids win gold, and double points if the title being held was Olympian.

Michelle says it builds healthy competition. Denali says it builds a desire to Tonya Harding every other bitch in this place. Tomayto, tomahto.

Denali hadn’t even been on The Board, until she had returned three seasons ago with the last World Skating Championships under her belt, managing to land three podium spots. She proudly boasted for months to anyone that looked like they might listen that her girls had swept the categories, winning medals across the ladies’ single event, ice dance and pair skating.

Despite her allure of confidence, she knows she only made it up there because Michelle insists on starting fresh each year. She tries to tell them that she’s giving the new coaches a chance, but everyone knows it’s to keep egos in check.

Egos like mother-fucking Rosé McCorkell’s, who’s placed first on The Board two years running.

First as in one spot ahead of Denali’s second, first. First as in gloating in Denali’s face every opportunity she gets (and rest be assured, every opportunity means every opportunity ), first. First as in deliberately sabotaging Denali’s skaters, first– well, at least in Denali’s eyes.

Okay, whatever, yes it could have been a coincidence that one of her front runners’ sole came unglued from the attached blade on the morning of Nationals a year ago. And yeah, sure, maybe Rosé was like, several states away from the incident. And okay, yes, she still came in first after the whole thing, so it’s not it even really mattered after all. But Denali just knows Rosé had something to do with it, that bitch.

“Who’s on top of the pyramid this year?” Mik sing-songs when they approach The Board. Denali instinctively works her way through their photos from the bottom to the top, clapping Tayce lightly on the back when she sees her smack-dab in the centre.

She isn’t nervous; she knows she did well this year, the girls she had coached in the previous season competing in nationally-recognised competitions, pictures of them grinning up on their podiums, flowers in sequinned arms, emailed to her and the school. And it’s not even like it matters.

Her photo stands in line with another, both placed side-by-side at the top of the leaderboard. She can hear Mik mumble an oh shit, with a laugh as she realises that Denali is tied with Rosé at the top.

Okay, so maybe it matters a little bit.

Rosé’s photo looks down at her. She’s wearing her obnoxious signature pink ski jacket, her name embroidered into it in a sparkly silver thread. Her equally obnoxiouly signature curly pink hair has been tied up in a messy ponytail, and she stares at Denali with a big fucking grin on her face.

Denali wants to rip down the laminated photo, putting it into a paper shredder and watch as Rosé’s dumb face gets torn into ribbons.

“Healthy competition huh?” Tayce remarks, wrapping a long arm around Denali’s shoulders. “The cheek, the nerve, the audacity and the gumption, mama.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” A voice groans, Denali turns around and is met by the woman of the hour. Rosé looks her up and down, irritation flickering in her green eyes. “Stepping your shit up, this season ice princess?”

Denali arches an eyebrow in response. “Evidently, McCorkell.”

Rosé smiles at her, all pearly white teeth Denali is pretty sure are veneers– well, at least that’s the rumour she and Tayce started last year as a laugh.

All of a sudden, she feels like a shark’s prey, a minnow trapped inside the great white’s tank. Rosé doesn’t have to say anything for Denali to know that she’s going to be in for a tough season.

Better get that hammer ready, she thinks to herself, I am not the Nancy Kerrigan of this competition, bitch.

tags: rosé, denali foxx, gottmik, rosnali, rivals to lovers, coach au, figure skating au, skiing au, lesbian au, love is a dog from hell, mattels

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