Whatever he was going to do was the same thing he always did. Wasn't it? Go over programs. Jot notes for the next practice, the next competition, the next season. Listen to his music and try to find the heart of it. Do calisthenics, walk Maccachin, eat dinner, go to bed early, wake up early, repeat. It's what he's done for years.
Maybe he does need something different. Maybe he does need a break. Yakov is probably right about that: rest is a part of training, too, and when he looks back at the last year, all he sees is an uphill slog from Sochi to Sochi, Grand Prix Final to Nationals to Worlds to Grand Prix to Olympics to Worlds again. It's the other part that doesn't quite land for him: finding how other people are inspiring themselves. Making something old into something new.
He doesn't want old that looks new. He wants new. Needs it, has built his entire career and professional persona on it, and the whole world will know if he's just recycling something or slapping a fresh coat of paint on an old theme and calling it a surprise.
Fortunately, Yakov is busy grousing at Yuri, and that lightens the mood, making Victor laugh and pat Yakov's arm. "Yakov! You shouldn't be so hard on him. Don't work him to the bone right before Junior Worlds."
Yuri has energy enough to spare, when he chooses to use it, although he seems to enjoy spending most of his time pretending he's gone deaf while Yakov shouts himself hoarse, and Victor can sympathize. Yakov is of the old school, and considers this beautiful rink with its always-frozen and carefully maintained ice and heating system and massive windows to be a luxury none of them quite deserve. Thus far, he hasn't had Yuri skate on rotten ice just to see what it was like not so long ago, you little punk, but Victor's not sure he'd put it past him, the way Yakov's grumbling now.
"If he doesn't win that gold, he'll find out what hard work really means. Talent isn't an excuse for laziness."
But Victor's moving over towards Yuri, now, peering at the cover of the book –– Onegin, really? –– worry smoothed from his face and seamlessly replaced by mild amusement. "I'm looking forward to seeing how your program has improved, Yuri."
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Maybe he does need something different. Maybe he does need a break. Yakov is probably right about that: rest is a part of training, too, and when he looks back at the last year, all he sees is an uphill slog from Sochi to Sochi, Grand Prix Final to Nationals to Worlds to Grand Prix to Olympics to Worlds again. It's the other part that doesn't quite land for him: finding how other people are inspiring themselves. Making something old into something new.
He doesn't want old that looks new. He wants new. Needs it, has built his entire career and professional persona on it, and the whole world will know if he's just recycling something or slapping a fresh coat of paint on an old theme and calling it a surprise.
Fortunately, Yakov is busy grousing at Yuri, and that lightens the mood, making Victor laugh and pat Yakov's arm. "Yakov! You shouldn't be so hard on him. Don't work him to the bone right before Junior Worlds."
Yuri has energy enough to spare, when he chooses to use it, although he seems to enjoy spending most of his time pretending he's gone deaf while Yakov shouts himself hoarse, and Victor can sympathize. Yakov is of the old school, and considers this beautiful rink with its always-frozen and carefully maintained ice and heating system and massive windows to be a luxury none of them quite deserve. Thus far, he hasn't had Yuri skate on rotten ice just to see what it was like not so long ago, you little punk, but Victor's not sure he'd put it past him, the way Yakov's grumbling now.
"If he doesn't win that gold, he'll find out what hard work really means. Talent isn't an excuse for laziness."
But Victor's moving over towards Yuri, now, peering at the cover of the book –– Onegin, really? –– worry smoothed from his face and seamlessly replaced by mild amusement. "I'm looking forward to seeing how your program has improved, Yuri."