The sun doesn't rise until almost eight in the morning in Moscow in November, so it's well before dawn when phone and clock alarms start going off throughout the Star Hotel. It's a day to hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait, and no one wants to rush through it any more than they have to.
Yuri and his bag are outside Lilia's door at the appointed meeting time to say good morning to her and wait for Yakov, Mila, and Georgi to join them. They all know the drill, speaking as little as possible as they go downstairs to have a solid breakfast. Even without Yakov and Lilia's stone-faced presence, the Russian skaters are an intimidating wall of single-minded focus, their faces already set in concentration for the day ahead. Once the meal is over, the headphones come out, and the silence reigns absolute.
(In days long past, Russia's figure skaters and ballet dancers travelled and toured with the ever-present shadows of handlers, assigned to watch over them constantly. There is no one here to spy on them now, but the practice of avoiding unnecessary talking is yet another legacy handed down from Yakov and Lilia's generation.)
A wet, clumpy snow is falling in the grey twilight outside as the Russian contingent leaves the hotel for the arena. It's a little too warm still for the snow to do more than turn into slushy piles and puddles on the pavement, but they all hunker down a little in their coats, turning further inward for now. Once they're back indoors, inside the arena, they'll be able to open up again -- until then, it's enough to shut out the cold.
Men's Short Program
Yuri and his bag are outside Lilia's door at the appointed meeting time to say good morning to her and wait for Yakov, Mila, and Georgi to join them. They all know the drill, speaking as little as possible as they go downstairs to have a solid breakfast. Even without Yakov and Lilia's stone-faced presence, the Russian skaters are an intimidating wall of single-minded focus, their faces already set in concentration for the day ahead. Once the meal is over, the headphones come out, and the silence reigns absolute.
(In days long past, Russia's figure skaters and ballet dancers travelled and toured with the ever-present shadows of handlers, assigned to watch over them constantly. There is no one here to spy on them now, but the practice of avoiding unnecessary talking is yet another legacy handed down from Yakov and Lilia's generation.)
A wet, clumpy snow is falling in the grey twilight outside as the Russian contingent leaves the hotel for the arena. It's a little too warm still for the snow to do more than turn into slushy piles and puddles on the pavement, but they all hunker down a little in their coats, turning further inward for now. Once they're back indoors, inside the arena, they'll be able to open up again -- until then, it's enough to shut out the cold.