Victor's too inexperienced as a coach. It's not like his mental weakness started now. Not like it wasn't there before now. Not like it wasn't there for all of the years he trained with Celestino. He should have been prepared for this much. Stupid Victor.
Yuri's feet touch the ground in more realization, catching his weight and turning it into momentum, than any realization that he'd gone into his jump. The salchow landed, without quite thinking about it beginning. Surprise that he'd made it, surprise that he'd simply gone straight through it. That everything in him knew where he should be going, what it should be doing. That his thoughts are a ribbon of surprise, without shock, without recourse, as his fingers wrap his back and his camel spins level.
Each piece flows into the next, the music filling his mind. The triple loop brings a flare of applause, of release, and it's such a relief while his hands are thrown out and his face is up, eyes briefly closing, to just let himself go with it. Smooth all the way down, as the music draws out, and he lowers, hands coming down across his body as his legs spread and his back one nearly, but never, touches the ice behind him.
Ebbs into a handful of delicate turns, cross-backing the ice, to match the gentle tinkle of the piano keys.
The triple axel starts well enough, but the counterbalance proves that wrong barely the second later on landing when it's all he can do to make sure it's only his hand that touches down. To push himself back up, press himself back into the ramping music. It went well enough, for not having practiced it at all earlier. But still. It's a frisson of clarity coming with the first blaring error, and the need for something else to push it from there.
Especially as his focus and precision sharpens, pressing the edges, riding control and demand, and the triple flip next is perfect. Again. The crowds cheering, but he's stuck with a thought from the far edge. Because. What if. How would Victor react if he made the last quad toe loop a flip instead?
Barely enough time to think it before, he's sliding across the length for his last combination. To get enough space, enough distance, enough speed to start. The triple axel is perfect that time, but the jump into the single loop isn't, and it sends his loop into an overrotation. One where he does catch his weight without overbalancing, but while eradicating the trained leap into his triple salchow. But.
No. No. It was overrotated, but he's not as tired as he should be having not slept. He's not tired and he's not done. He's not giving up now.
There's a cross-back only one length and the speed to throw himself into a triple lutz.
Not stop. Not slowing. Only letting one foot, then the other touchdown, before he's back up for a triple toe loop, too.
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Date: 2017-04-10 01:49 am (UTC)Yuri's feet touch the ground in more realization, catching his weight and turning it into momentum, than any realization that he'd gone into his jump. The salchow landed, without quite thinking about it beginning. Surprise that he'd made it, surprise that he'd simply gone straight through it. That everything in him knew where he should be going, what it should be doing. That his thoughts are a ribbon of surprise, without shock, without recourse, as his fingers wrap his back and his camel spins level.
Each piece flows into the next, the music filling his mind. The triple loop brings a flare of applause, of release, and it's such a relief while his hands are thrown out and his face is up, eyes briefly closing, to just let himself go with it. Smooth all the way down, as the music draws out, and he lowers, hands coming down across his body as his legs spread and his back one nearly, but never, touches the ice behind him.
Ebbs into a handful of delicate turns, cross-backing the ice, to match the gentle tinkle of the piano keys.
The triple axel starts well enough, but the counterbalance proves that wrong barely the second later on landing when it's all he can do to make sure it's only his hand that touches down. To push himself back up, press himself back into the ramping music. It went well enough, for not having practiced it at all earlier. But still. It's a frisson of clarity coming with the first blaring error, and the need for something else to push it from there.
Especially as his focus and precision sharpens, pressing the edges, riding control and demand, and the triple flip next is perfect. Again. The crowds cheering, but he's stuck with a thought from the far edge. Because. What if. How would Victor react if he made the last quad toe loop a flip instead?
Barely enough time to think it before, he's sliding across the length for his last combination. To get enough space, enough distance, enough speed to start. The triple axel is perfect that time, but the jump into the single loop isn't, and it sends his loop into an overrotation. One where he does catch his weight without overbalancing, but while eradicating the trained leap into his triple salchow. But.
No. No. It was overrotated, but he's not as tired as he should be having not slept.
He's not tired and he's not done. He's not giving up now.
There's a cross-back only one length and the speed to throw himself into a triple lutz.
Not stop. Not slowing. Only letting one foot, then the other touchdown, before he's back up for a triple toe loop, too.