#...I really like Yuzuru Hanyu go check his performances out if you haven’t already :)

[nell0-0]

Too tired to color these for now, may do it another day. But I love these way too much not to share them right away pfpfpfpf

Close up:

[yuzusorbet]

A beautiful and moving fan account of GPF Torino 2019, by a fan who lives in Turin, Italy.

THE YUZU CHRONICLES IN TURIN – DAY ONE

Yuzu is in my town. Yuzu is in my town. I can’t quite believe it: I’m having breakfast and can’t quite believe it, I go out and can’t quite believe it, I get on the subway and… yes, I start to believe it, since I’m surrounded by Poohs. So many Asian women, so many Skate Canada/FaOI/Continue with Wings bags. When I get off, I can feel the thrill: in less than one hour, I’m going to see Yuzu live! In my town! As soon as I reach the Palavela, I meet other fans: some I met last year in Helsinki, some I never met before, but it doesn’t matter. Here we are, all for Yuzu, all with Yuzu, hoping and feeling and praying and focusing for him and with – and that’s something so strong that all the differences between us – country, age, social/economical/cultural status – disappear. It’s just so beautiful (and important) to be here, together, when Yuzuru is skating at the Grand Prix Final. At last. I find a good seat – mine is not bad, but there are better places where I can settle down and watch the practice – and wait for Yuzu. The arena is not totally full but there are many people here anyway: (nearly) all for Yuzu? A roaring, thunderous shout is the answer: YES! And Yuzu has just appeared… alone. Where’s Brian, or Tracy, or Ghislain? Nobody knows, at the moment. He puts his beloved Pooh on the balustrade, then waits for the Zamboni to resurface the ice, and finally enters the rink: he bends down, touches the ice, and takes off. Yes, I can’t find another way to tell what he does: does he skate? For sure. Does he dance? Definitely. But he flies. The impression is there’s always some room between his blades and the ice, an inch of air allowing him to just float. And the noise he makes on the ice is just so different from the noise made by all the other skaters… you could close your eyes and tell when Yuzu is skating just listening to him. But of course it’s so mesmerizing to watch him: when you see him live, you catch something that you can guess even watching his videos, but that is so strong and obvious here. You can call it aura, or charisma: something so overwhelming that I feel blessed and hypnothised at the same time. The practice goes by very fast. Yuzu skates… what to say? He fell a couple of times; he pops a couple of jumps (one at the beginning of Origin run-through); his skating is so graceful, though, and solid, and pure, that no fall and no popped jump can damage its beauty at all. Moreover, he had so many outstanding moments: all his 4S and 4T and 3A; the 4T-euler-3F sequence; an unusual 3A-3A sequence; the 4Lo he lands (majestic)… and the 4Lz he lands (royal)! Really: as soon as I understand he’s going to jump a 4Lz, I cross all of my fingers and clench my teeth and… and he jumps. Cleanly, beautifully. Never underestimate Mr. Hanyu: I’d better remember Brian’s words. Finally, he cools down. A slow Italian song, Di sole e d’azzurro (“Of sun and light blue”) by Giorgia, is filling the arena. Yuzu gets in tune with it and starts his usual sequence: grand pliés, arabesques, ports de bras… in this moment, he really looks, he is Baryshnikov on ice. I don’t know how he can do it, but he’s able to fill my heart with fire and calm at the same time. Maybe it’s “just” beauty, or poetry. Maybe it’s “just” love.

THE YUZU CHRONICLES IN TURIN – DAY TWO: SHORT PROGRAM

How hard it is to write today, I’m not even sure I should. I drink some more tea and check my watch: it’s 11 pm. I should work a bit. Maybe writing will heal my heart a bit, though, so okay, let’s start. Let’s go back to Thursday. The day of the short program. I reach the Palavela at 6.15 p.m. I was here for Yuzu’s practice in the morning – and it was so good: my favourite training outfit (black and grey shirt), some stunning jumps (the 4Lutz!), the impression that he’s floating in kind of a bubble of brightness – and now I’m back. There’s no queue and I get quickly into the arena. There are Chinese fans providing small banners to cheer for Yuzu. There are people gathered at the Edea stand, taking picture by a big poster of Yuzu. There’s an Italian man (a volunteer from the Palavela staff, I’d say) giving out pictures of Yuzu, with a long queue of ladies in front of him. And there are so many Poohs, everywhere. I just love this context, this atmosphere, but I can’t ignore the tension that is slowly making its way inside me. A couple of hours and Yuzu will compete. I can’t wait to see him, but at the same time I don’t want to see him. I want to pay my most heartfelt tribute to the most amazing skater in history, but I know I’ll quake with fear. How can I feel like that for someone I don’t even know personally? I think about that bubble of brightness, the sound of his blades, the grace of his arms, the fire in his eyes: of course I can, for someone like Yuzu.

Time to reach my seat and watch the opening ceremony. Time to wait for Yuzu. A presenter who speaks a bad English  – and I wait for Yuzu. Some famous Italian skaters who perform nicely – and I wait for Yuzu. The pairs’ short program – and I wait for Yuzu. Some more minutes. And here he is, for the warm-up. Still alone with his Pooh. Since yesterday , the rumours about Ghislain’s absence are never ending – he had an accident, he’s got problem with his visa, what kind of visa does he need to come to Italy?? – but they end now. Yuzuru is there, and when he takes off his Japan jacket and reveals his costume, he looks like a dream from my childhood: my mother would read me a fairy tale before sleeping, and when I closed my eyes I would think (or dream already) of princes and castles and singing birds and starry nights… and in this very moment, with his costume sparkling like a constellation, Yuzuru is  almost the incarnation of that enchanted realm I envisioned when I was young and innocent, and so happy. And I would probably lose myself into that dream, if I wasn’t aware of the fact that the short program is going to start. Yuzuru will be the last one to take the ice. Before, I watch the other five skaters: Boyang Jin, Dmitri Aliev, Alexander Samarin, Kevin Aymoz – and, of course, Nathan Chen. He’s good but not perfect: his 4Lz looks pre-rotated, the exit from his 3A is a bit problematic, the second jump of his combination is short and definitely not effortless. But he scores more than 110 points. Just a handful of hundredths behind Yuzu’s record. What, how, why? I look at Eleonora, an Italian fan sitting by my side, and I know that my face must show the same feelings displaying on hers: awareness and wistfulness. It’s the same old story, isn’t it? As long as Yuzuru and Nathan do not compete directly against each other, Yuzuru’s scores are way higher than Nathan’s; but as soon as they share the same ice, the scoring system seems to turn upside down. Yuzu, oh, Yuzu … He’s on the ice, taking his starting position. The first note of Otoñal fills the arena – nothing else can be heard, not even the occasional coughing here and there. Yuzu, oh, Yuzu, please… Some steps, some transitions, 4S. Natural like a leaf floating in the tranquil stream of a river. Twizzles, 3A, twizzles. Pure harmony. We all wait for the last jumps, the combination. 4T… and no triple. No triple. Manuela and I look at each other. What score will these judges award to this program? To two perfect jumps, and a perfect step sequence, and perfect spins, and an obvious mistake? The answer comes soon: 97.43 points. 13 points behind Nathan. Can Yuzu still win, with these judges? Because I still haven’t look at the protocol, but it’s clear that he didn’t get the points he deserved for the Salchow, the Axel, the spins. And I’m quite sure that, even if he had been perfect, he would have earned something like 111, or 112 – no more than that. And I am sad. And angry. And I need to talk, to talk a lot, like every time I feel sad and angry. It’s a good thing that I’m not alone in front of my PC but amongst hundreds of fanyus, so we can share our sadness, our anger, and talk, talk a lot: while my friend Paolo and I walk to the subway station, while we find out that the subway isn’t working at the moment, while we call a taxi, while we share the fare with two Germans and a Japanese… …but as soon as I get off the taxi and start walking home, all my sadness and anger calm down. They don’t disappear; they just shrink to give room to something  – someone – much more important: Yuzu. I wonder how he’s feeling  now. Mad at himself, disappointed, too tired to feel anything else than an urgent need to just go to bed and sleep? And Ghislain is not there… Oh, Yuzu, how I would like to do something for you; something useful, not only feeling this dull pain in my chest and complaining about the scores. If only I could, I would give you a hug – to comfort you, to protect you. Or maybe I would take your hand and take you to the Po river. It’s quite close, you know? And there’s a beautiful park, called Valentino, with meadows descending gently  to the water. We would watch the river flow for a while, talking only if you wished to, then I would take you to Fiorio. Have someone told you about this ancient café in the centre of Turin? There are old huge mirrors, armchairs in red velvet, big rococo chandeliers, and a creaking wooden floor; we could sit there, order a hot chocolate or their famous gianduia (hazelnuts +chocolate) ice-cream; and for a few moments, for only a few moments, you could close your eyes, savour that new, creamy taste on your tongue, and forget about those damn 13 points, that damn combo… but probably you don’t want to forget, do you? You want to understand what happened, and why, and plan what you have to do now. Just don’t spend the whole night watching your SP again and again, right? Oh God, I sound like an old auntie. I open the door of my apartment. Sadness and anger are like a faint but constant throb in my stomach. Will I be able to sleep, tonight? I’m not sure, but it’s not so important. What’s important, is that Yuzu can sleep, and Ghislain arrives in Torino, and the judges come to their senses. Have sweet dreams, Yuzu, my wonderboy.

THE YUZU CHRONICLES IN TURIN – DAY THREE: QUAD AXEL

Fear. Joy. Worry. Fury. Emotion. What a day, the third day of the Grand Prix Final.  And yet, it was supposed to be a quiet day, for us fanyus: no competition, only some practice. When it comes to Yuzu, though, quietness looks scarily like a storm, and there’s nothing we can do about it: there’s no way to be even remotely prepared to all the ideas, visions, plans and dreams that cross Yuzu’s mind and that he chooses to act out. That’s why I’m more or less calm, when I get to the Palavela. “More or less” because I had a tough night: I kept on tossing and turning in my bed, thinking about the short program, constantly grabbing and turning off my phone – eager to read anything the web could provide me about it, and scared by possible haters and nasty posts.  So now I’m still sad and angry, but also too tired to have very strong feelings: sadness is a dull, feeble pain in my chest, anger a whisper that I try to ignore. I queue, get inside, talk with some friends. A few minutes, and Yuzu appears. Alone with Pooh: so Ghislain hasn’t arrived yet. Gosh, it’s all so wrong. The scores, the absence of Yuzu’s coach… we are in the middle of the Grand Prix Final and there were a bunch of bad omens already. No, I don’t want to be so negative. Yuzu needs to feel, to breath optimism and trust. Think positive, Alessandra; for the sake of Yuzu, think beautiful, think glorious! But it’s Yuzu, the one who’s beautiful and glorious. I always loved all kinds of practices and rehearsals: when some ballet company comes to my town, I always try and ask permission to attend a class, or some rehearsal. I love to see a work in progress, and all the commitment and efforts that artists, dancers and athletes put into their performances. No costumes, no lights, sometimes not even music: just the focus, sweat and love needed to succeed. When practicing, Yuzuru is like that, of course, but he also has – is – something different. The way he can look incredibly focused – and actually a bit dangerous – and turn suddenly into a playful child. The long talks he has with himself. His ability to ignore all the people watching him, just to thank everyone with a deep bow. His unexpected smiles, his gloved fingers pointing here and there while he’s planning and calculating who knows what. The lightness of his warm-ups, the grace of his cool-downs. When you watch him practice, it’s like watching a painter create a masterpiece right in front of you: his (sometimes bizarre) rituals, his methods, some surprises, the development of his work – art coming to life stroke by stroke, bit by bit: and you realize how big the privilege is to witness greatness in the making. So, warm-up. Jumps. No spins (has Yuzu ever done a spin in any practice?). Run-through. Other jumps. And then. He has just tried a new sequence for the free skate, 3A3A; so, when he skates in my direction, I think that he will try that sequence again: oh yes, he’s preparing an Axel. Then he throws himself into the jump and pops it, landing heavily on two feet. Ouch, I hope it was not painful as it looked… he skates around the rink, then again in my direction. Does he want to try the Axel again? He throws himself into the jump and pops it, landing heavily on two feet… Wait. He’s not popping his jumps. He’s jumping like this on purpose. And he jumps so high. Okay, his Axels are always very high, but now he’s really taking off as if he wanted to touch the roof with his fingers! I turn to Lys and Giovanna, who sit behind me. We look at each other, knowingly. Yes. Yuzu is practicing the 4A. As if he wanted to confirm what we’re thinking, he throws himself into the jump again, but this time he doesn’t pop it: he rotates it. One rotation, two, three, four… he lands before completing the last half turn, crashing on the ice. A collective gasp runs through the audience, someone screams, I grab and squeeze Lys’ calf in my hands. Oh God, Yuzu, stop it. Oh no, Yuzu, don’t stop it, let me see it again. No no no, on the contrary, don’t do it, be careful. Well, be careful but try once again… and he tries: another jump, under rotated as well, another fall. The audience is hypnotized. Someone shouts, someone cries, but it sounds like nobody could break the silence surrounding Yuzu. He seems alone now, as if no skater was in the rink but him. He skates in my direction again, and I count every second, one two three four five, until he jumps again. One rotation, two, three, four… and a half. Four and a half. Then he lands and crash on the ice again. But he made it. He has just jumped a quad Axel.

And the Palavela explodes. Shouts, cries, applause, people standing, people frozen in their seats, people scared, people happy, people who don’t fully understand what happened, but we all sense the truth: today, we were so lucky to witness history in the making. The practice is over, and Yuzu exits the rink followed by the loudest applause ever – and the longest too: our jubilation began way before he took his bows. When he disappears, everybody starts talking about his 4A. Someone’s almost mad at him (“I hope his mom is going to slap some sense into him!”), someone’s reverently astonished (“Have you seen the height of that quad? How much it was, about 95 centimetres?”), we all look on the edge of a nervous breakdown. It was supposed to be a quiet day, wasn’t it? But we should have known better than this. Because it’s Yuzu, and Yuzu always wants to climb higher walls, to aim for wider goals; to go beyond the horizon of what is possible for us, normal human beings. And this is one of the reasons why he is who he is; this is one of the reasons why we love him so much. There are winners, but he’s a champion. There are athletes, but he’s a history maker. And I left the Palavela with tears in my eyes, vibrant love in my heart.

THE YUZU CHRONICLES IN TURIN – DAY FOUR: FREE SKATE

So here I am, not really ready for… how should I call it? The showdown? Maybe. Who are the main characters in this fight, though? Yuzu and Nathan? Yuzu and the judges, more likely. And I’m not sure it’s going to be a fair fight. No matter if the knight in his shining armour has a marvellous sword made of an outstanding technical value and of wonderful components: his opponent can be petty and play dirty, and only in fairy-tales Good always triumphs over Evil. The free skate is about to begin. The morning has been long and tiring already: we all had to queue in the dark and in the cold before Yuzu’s practice at 7 am (thank God I met some friends, like Petra and Astrid, so that I could talk a bit and I didn’t have to queue by myself, alone and anxious), then there was a collective scream when Ghislain made his appearance in the arena (he’s here! He’s here! FINALLY!!), then… well, then there was Yuzu’s practice, and watching Yuzu live is always an unique experience, no matter what he’s doing: it’s like when you’re a child and for the first time you see something unknown which surprises and bewitches you – Peter Pan is on stage and Tink is going to die, unless you clap your hands and shout: “ I do believe in fairies!”, full of emotions and on the brim of tears… After the practice I went home, walked my dogs, worked a bit: everything just to keep anxiety at bay. Now I should be tired, and probably I am; but I’m too nervous, and I have too much adrenaline running in my blood, to feel tired. I just want to see Yuzu skate. I just want to see Yuzu happy with his performance. I just want to see Yuzu win? Of course: because I want him to be happy, and I know how important for his happiness it is to win; because he’s the best skater in the whole world, and I’d like him to be acknowledged as the king he is. But CAN he win? I’m afraid not. I’m afraid that he can win only if Nathan falls, more than one time and quite hard: not just with his hands or his knee on the ice, but with his whole body… is that what I want? Do I really want Nathan to fail so badly? I wish I could instantly say: no, of course I don’t want it. But I must confess that I can’t, and I hate this unfair scoring system for this reason too: because it awakens the darkest part of me, and pulls out of me my worst feelings and thoughts. I’ve seen so many figure skating competitions, and I’ve always hoped that all the skaters could skate clean – may the best win! Since the 2018-2019 skating season, though, as the new scoring system showed more and more its limits and its unfairness, I found out how hard it is for me to go beyond my own limits, to be fair and good. So, while I’m waiting for the skaters to make their appearance in the arena, I try to think “May the best win”, but I’m not convinced. Nathan, I’m sorry, but could you please fall? Not too hard, okay, but could you undoubtedly, unquestionably fall? Or at least make several obvious mistakes, so that the so-called judges can see who’s the real king of figure skating? Oh, God, I hate myself. I have no time to blame myself, though: the music signalling the beginning of the competition suddenly resounds in the whole arena, louder than ever, and the lights go down. While the speaker is announcing what we’re about to see, there’s a collective start: the skaters are gathered just outside the rink. In the dim light I can’t tell who’s who, I just see some distant heads, but I recognise Yuzu immediately. I can’t see his features very well, but I could recognise him even if he was amongst a thousand people in the dark.  The simple way he stands is so peculiar. So elegant. And when he enters the rink for the warm-up and bows to the audience, he looks so noble and proud: he’s aware that all eyes are on him, all hearts are with him. Is this awareness giving him strength? Or is it a burden? In a moment like this, when there’s so much at stake for him, I would like – I would need – how I should behave to help him as much as possible. Screaming his name until I lose my voice? Clapping my hands politely and nothing more? If only I could know the answer; if only I could be of use for you, Yuzu… …and the warm-up is over. Already? Yes, already. And I cannot watch the first four skaters, not really, because I’m waiting for Yuzu, and skater after skater my heart beats faster and my hands get sweaty and cold. I’m so full of fear, and anticipation, and love. May the best win: may Yuzu win. And there he is. So handsome that watching him I feel my eyes burn like when I try and look at the sun. May Yuzu win. So dear to my heart that I want to see him but somehow I can’t stand seeing him, so I put a hand on my eyes and watch him through my fingers, just like a child watching a scary movie. May Yuzu win… 4Lo: perfect. 4Lz: perfect as well. 3Lz: perfect again. 4S: per-fect… I’m watching the competition live so I can’t see how the judges are scoring each element of Yuzu’s skate, and I don’t know whether it’s a blessing or a curse; anyway, so far he’s been outstanding, the judges have to give him very high GOE… 4T+euler+3F. Step out, maybe the 3F was a bit under rotated? Come on, Yuzu. 4T+…2T. He’s tired. But the quad was fantastic. Come on, Yuzu, you can do it, only the sequence 3A+3A is missing… alright, here comes his trademark, the counter back, and then… single Axel. Okay Yuzu, it’s okay, just go on, go on! Last spin. Final pose – and Yuzu can’t take it anymore, he’s so tired that the final pose lasts for less than one second, then he puts his arms and forehead on the ice, gasping for air. This is not an asthma attack, right? For a moment, I gasp for air too. Then Yuzu stands up, and bows to the audience, and I go wild like everyone else here, I scream, I cry, I throw my Winnie the Pooh on the ice, I clap my hand, I lose any awareness of myself – lost as I am in Yuzu, burning with pride and emotion. Yuzu, you made it. Five, five perfect quads, and one was that fated 4Lz. Okay, your skate wasn’t completely clean, but it was so special, and so much more than a simple “skate”: it was so full of humanity, and struggle, and glory. It wasn’t just a performance: it was a tale, and how beautifully you told it. How unforgettably.

Yuzu and Ghislain sit in the Kiss&Cry forever. Considering that picking up all the Poohs took a long while, it’s clear that the judges are having trouble with Yuzu’s score. Why? Why? The first answer coming to my mind flows directly out of the worst part of me: because they are probably looking for elements they can underscore. Oh no, please, no… “The score, please,” the speaker says. And here it is. 194 points. Technical score, 100.36; PCS, 93.64. This is not a score. This is a joke, and I can’t stand it anymore. Because I know, I simply know that Nathan will not only win, but he will set a new world record, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the judges give him higher PCS than Yuzu’s. I’m sorry, usually I’m not so mean; right now, though, I just can’t sit here, be polite and show any kind of sportsmanship. Those so-called judges have just humiliated the most amazing person in the whole world, and I can’t stay here and watch them play their foul game anymore. So I stand up and run out, and to hell this competition and its rules and everything. As soon as I’m in the hallway, I meet other people: some Asian women who don’t want to talk, and two girls from Los Angeles. They’re even angrier than me, and for the three of us it’s a bit soothing to share our indignation and to spit out all the rage we are feeling. If only our rage could be useful, somehow… it isn’t, though: in a few minutes we get to know that, of course, Nathan won, and that, of course, he set a new world record. So I was right, and I couldn’t be less proud of my foresight. Waiting for the victory ceremony is hard. As my friend Jacqueline and I queue at a café, rage gets less and less burning, turning into a heavy burden of bitterness. Will there ever be a way out of this shameful situation? A squad of incompetent (corrupted? Hopefully not) judges, an International Union doing nothing to promote fair competing and judging, and Yuzuru paying the biggest price. The whole queue, the whole Palavela is talking about it, but what for? We can’t change anything. We can only go back to our seats and cheer for Yuzu, make him feel how much we are proud of what he has achieved today – because that’s the truth: no matter how much the judges underscore him, no matter how many times they make him lose a competition, he’s the greatest skater of all time. It’s his technique that coaches refer to when they need to teach their skaters how to do a perfect jump/spin/transition; it’s him the one who always tries new combinations, new moves; it’s him who forced the ISU to change the rules in order to keep up with his greatness; it’s him who yesterday – just yesterday! – showed us that the 4A is possible. Only. Him. Time for the victory ceremony. And what a weird ceremony is this one. Not a single clap for any representative of any skating association, from ISU to the Italian Federation. People clap their hands for Kevin and Nathan, that’s it. For Yuzu, instead… for Yuzu, there’s an acclamation. This is not only a tribute to what he did here: this is a declaration of love and, at the same time, a battle cry. Yes, Yuzu, we love you, and we stand by you, and we will fight as much as we can to make those “experts” - those idiots who presume they have the right to judge you and humiliate you – acknowledge your magnificence. Our battle cry is so loud and never ending that Yuzu himself is astonished, overwhelmed, and points to Nathan as if he was saying “Thank you, but look, he’s the winner”. You are right, Yuzu: Nathan is the winner, yes.  In our hearts, though, you won  so much more than a competition. You came here, you fought your limits and fears (the 4A, the 4Lz, 5 quads plus transitions plus skating skill plus musicality plus grace), and you prevailed. You’re not only a king: you are a warrior king. The arena is full of signs with the writing “Unfair judgment”. For the first time at a competition, I hear boos from the audience. Okay, Yuzu. Let the battle start.

THE YUZU CHRONICLES IN TURIN – DAY FIVE: NOTTE STELLATA

It’s 9.30 a.m. and the Pellerina looks peaceful and welcoming. It’s a big park in western Turin, and I came here with my dogs to find some rest. After four days of Grand Prix – four days of Yuzu – I feel like a kaleidoscope: full of whirling colours, hypnotic spirals, and surprising patterns. It’s amazing, but it’s exhausting too. There are three ponds here, a big river and so many trees, and birds. I think you’d like the Pellerina, Yuzu; maybe you’d like all of my town. Its numerous parks, the long tree-lined avenues, the creamy colour of its buildings from the XVIIth and XVIIIth century. I would have loved to be your guide, allowing you to take a break from the mad, unfair competition that this GPF has been. I can’t even start to imagine how much tired you are, and it would have been nice to take you out – it would have been magic to see you here, walking under the trees, looking at the ducks in the ponds, smiling while my dogs play and run freely… but you prefer to stay at the Palavela, don’t you? Walking around the rink where Plushenko won in 2006, looking at the Olympic rings on the wall, chatting with your fellow skaters. Are you rehearsing for the gala? I hope you’re having fun. I check my watch: 10.15; it’s time to go. The gala will begin at 2 p.m., but I want to get to the arena at about 12 and spend some quality time with my friends. Actually, surviving the rollercoaster of this GPF would have been much harder, without all the lovely fanyus around me. Yesterday, after the medal ceremony, some members of our fan group met at the Edea stand inside the Palavela; it was so crowded and narrow and noisy, but ranting all together about the judges, praising Yuzu and taking pictures were exactly the things I needed to forget my sadness for a while, to turn my anger into good energy. Then Jacqueline and I went to Eataly, a famous restaurant and supermarket, and drank our bitterness away, turning quickly from being fans to being friends (and a bit drunk). Then… Eleonora, Petra, Linda, Shuko, Rory, Mara, Astrid, Barbara, and many others with whom I talked so much, inside and outside the Palavela, and stuck together through hope and rage, pain and love. Paolo, my faithful travelling (on many subway trains) companion. Lys and Carolina, who spent countless hours talking and crying and hugging and laughing and cursing with me. All the unknown fanyus in the audience, when we melted into one body with thousands of voices to scream out loud our love for Yuzu. It was a treat, and an honour, to meet so many beautiful people, and I know that as soon as the gala is over – as soon as I say good-bye to them all – I will feel empty, somehow, and alone. I drive back home, feed my dogs, then I’m ready to go to the Palavela for the last time… for the last time? I can’t quite believe it: from tomorrow on, I won’t see Yuzu every day. This week has been tough, but so intense: the thrill of the competition, for sure, but most of all the spell that Yuzu put on anyone watching him. His commitment, the 4A, his beauty, the stunning comeback of the 4Lz… I’m bewitched. And I’m pampered too, now that I’m (almost) used to see him so often: me wants Yuzu every day! The queue is endless as usual – I wait for my turn, apologizing silently to all the people here for how very badly this event was organised – but finally I’m able to get in.  With other fanyus, I wonder which exhibition program Yuzu is going to skate: Haru Yo Koi? Yes, Yuzu must be so tired, he will rather skate something not too physically straining. Masquerade? Well, many of us would love to see it live… some time before the gala, though, we find out that he’s going to skate Notte Stellata. Oh yes, it makes sense: he’s in Italy, in an Olympic venue, of course he has chosen the Italian song he skated to in Pyeongchang. Now that I think of it, it’s always like that with Yuzu: we always try to guess what kind of music/program he will choose for the new season/an exhibition and he always surprises us, even though his choices are perfectly sensible. And I must confess that any choice would be great for me: I’m quite sure I could watch Yuzu doing cross-overs for half an hour and I wouldn’t get bored. Notte Stellata… I never saw it live. Will it be an experience as strong as it was seeing Haru Yo Koi in Helsinki? Yes, it is. So much that, after seeing it, I will forget all the other performances. So much that, while seeing it, I cry. Usually I’m not the crying kind, but watching Yuzu float like a swan on a frozen lake brings tears to my eyes. Yesterday, after the free skate, a friend of mine wrote me this message: “Each movement seems to take him beyond the limits of his human body and to emanate grace and elegance, filling your eyes and lingering in the air even as he glides into a new step”. I also think of what the Olympic commentator said about this program: “With one delayed single Axel and one triple Axel, Yuzuru Hanyu, double gold medallist, just gave a masterclass on what figure skating actually is”. Yes, that’s what figure skating actually is. Going beyond one’s physical limits on a quest for grace, elegance, and beauty. Giving goose-bumps and tears to each and every witness of this travel from what’s known to the unknown, from sport to art. What figure skating actually is, is Yuzuru Hanyu. His last spin goes on and on, even if there’s not music anymore, just like Yuzu will go on and on: in our memory, in our heart, in the history as well as in the future of this sport. And while I scream at the top of my lungs, and clap my shaking hands, I thank Yuzu: for these five days in Turin. For how alive and privileged I’ve felt. For showing me that there can be greatness even in defeat. Ganbatte for Japan Championships and for the rest of your skating season, Yuzu, but don’t worry: somehow, you are always, always, the winner.

--written by Alessandra Montrucchio (in Yuzuru Hanyu International Fan Group on FB), re-posted here with her permission. Pics belong to original owners.